by Issui Ogawa
“You leave that to me. I promise I’ll handle it somehow.”
“Then it’s settled.” They shook hands. The elderly American in traditional shrine vestments and the old Japanese in a tailored suit made a strange pair.
“How soon should I start getting ready?”
“Oh, not for three years. There’s no rush.”
“I see.” Aaron glanced away. “You know, there’s something I wanted to ask you. I can’t get anyone to explain it to me.”
“What’s that?”
“Why does everyone around here call me ‘Xavier’?”
A smile spread slowly across Sennosuke’s face until he was grinning broadly. “It’s a term of affection.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s the name of a very famous priest who came to Japan a long time ago.”
Aaron stared at him, perplexed. Sennosuke chuckled for a moment, then Aaron remembered that the founder of the Jesuit order had visited Japan in the sixteenth century.
THE LOAN OFFICER walked into the senior managing director’s office and pulled up short. His boss had a habit of stabbing at figures he didn’t like with the tip of his finger. He was doing it now.
The loan officer spoke cautiously. “I see you received the updated numbers for Sixth Continent.”
“They want six billion. Look at these ratios. Are you sure this is prudent?”
The loan officer would have preferred that this particular application not go so high in the bank’s hierarchy, but the amount involved made it inevitable. “Sixth Continent is independent of ELE now. But Gotoba Engineering and Tenryu Galaxy Transport have indicated they will proceed with the project. Their ties with Sixth Continent are very tight. With a hundred billion already invested, I don’t see much chance of them pulling out. The earnings projection was independently audited by three firms. Two of the auditors came back and said the projections appeared reasonable. The other said it was impossible to assign any certainty to the numbers. Too many things could happen. The media has eased off its attacks, which is helping the reservation numbers. I don’t see significant risk in extending additional credit.”
“The media’s a temporary problem. I wish I could say the same for this. Take a look.” He pushed a newspaper across his desk.
“‘Joyful Homeland’?” The loan officer was puzzled. “Is it some kind of religious cult?”
“It’s a bona fide pressure group. Scientists, university professors, economists, critics, politicians. Even some well-known lobbyists.”
“What’s their goal?”
“They say Sixth Continent’s orbital debris will seriously interfere with other uses of space. Furthermore, trying to clean up even part of this stuff will sink them financially. A lot of the current funding is going to pay for Phase E.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll prepare a uses of funds statement immediately.”
“Don’t bother. I’ve already done it.” The director stabbed another paper with his finger. “Their own projections don’t promise much more than break-even performance. One more unforeseen problem could sink them. If that happens, even support from their partners might not be enough. Do you want a repeat of what happened twenty years ago?”
The loan officer frowned. The bank had briefly been a ward of the state after nearly collapsing due to bad loans. It had been a black day in Japan’s economic history. Public opposition to the rescue had been intense; people were fed up with taxpayer assistance to banks that could not manage their appetite for risk.
“We’re into these people for more than enough. No more. In fact, I want them to come up with more collateral for the loans they do have.”
“That would be their physical assets on the moon, sir—materials and equipment. If they default, I don’t see how those assets could be recovered.” The loan officer was perspiring. He had personally hoped to see Tae succeed. Her project seemed to offer some kind of hope for the future, even if he would never be able to go to the moon himself.
But the senior managing director dealt in facts, not dreams. “NASA is building something similar nearby. I don’t know if we could transfer the equipment to them, but I’m sure they’d find a use for at least some of it. If Sixth Continent defaults, we sell the assets to the Americans.”
“We’ll go anywhere to repossess. Even the moon,” said the loan officer wryly.
“Moneylenders have never been popular. We’re not in the business of selling hope for the future. Better get that through your head too.”
“Yes, sir.”
As he left the office, the loan officer realized the meaning of that “too.” The senior managing director had also been young once.
[2]
THE SPRING OF 2033 saw a string of small successes at Eden Crater.
A synchronized array of forty heliostats at the top of the crater rim focused sunlight on a kiln that revolved much like a cement mixer at the base. The mirror array raised the temperature in the kiln to over 1200 degrees, sintering the churning material into alumina cement clinker. The roasted clinker was transported by multidozers to the crushing module, and from there to the block assembly area, where permafrost catapulted over the crater rim by the bulk shooter was ready for mixing. The permafrost/cement mixture was poured, still frozen, into forms preloaded with a carbon fiber reinforcing lattice. The regolith embedded in the water ice matrix acted as aggregate for the cement. External tensioning rods stretched the carbon fiber lattice while pressure was applied to the form itself. This prestressing would reduce the tendency of the finished blocks to crack under tensile stress. It was essential if the concrete structures were to be pressurized safely.
The heliostats were then trained on the blocks. Eventually the kiln and block assembly would each have its own array of mirrors, but for the moment Sixth Continent was making do with one.
The solar heat applied to the forms melted the permafrost, initiating the cement’s hydration reaction and causing the concrete to progressively harden. The blocks were then left to cure for three days at constant temperature and humidity. Unless curing was carefully controlled, the concrete would not reach its potential strength.
The forms were then lifted off by a dozer. Each milky white block was three meters long by one square—on the lunar surface, a mass of 1.2 tons. As the first block emerged from its form, Sohya and his team moved in to inspect it.
Sohya hesitantly touched the surface of the block. It was free of bubbles or pores, as smooth as if it had been polished. It almost looked as if it could reflect the stars. On Earth, a block like this would attract no special notice. Here, on the rugged surface of the moon, it seemed as beautiful and priceless as a jewel in its flawless symmetry.
The most important component of Sixth Continent—concrete—was now a reality. Eighty percent of the work would consist of the manufacture of these massive cuboids, which seemed to radiate a gravitas far weightier than metal. For several minutes, the four men moved silently around the block in wonder, brushing it with the tips of their gloves.
The first block was carried by a multidozer and placed on foundation piles at a location pinpointed by laser from polar orbit. All further construction would proceed using this block as a reference point. Sohya anchored the white granite plaque brought from Earth to the side of the block. This was the cornerstone of Sixth Continent. The date was March 15, 2033.
Later that day, a party was held simultaneously on the moon and at Gotenba Ground Support. Sohya toasted Iwaki with a glass of sake.
“To progress. Tomorrow we start construction of the base.”
“To progress,” said Iwaki. “Listen, we’ve decided to hold off on spraying the ice blanket. We’ll be sticking with block placement for the time being.” Iwaki’s face was oddly devoid of expression. He was referring to the repeated spraying of liquid water on the completed surface of the structures. The resulting layer of ice would act as an additional seal against the vacuum and provide enhanced shielding from cosmic rays.
“W
hy put it off? The ice has to be applied in stages. If we delay it, it will change the whole timeline. What’s up?”
“We just don’t want to lock ourselves in…Listen, I’d better explain later. Have another one for me.”
With ice spraying off the schedule, they decided to begin the next day with liftoff testing for the Turtles and orbital fueling of the Titan X tugboat. The tugboat was the second stage of a rocket designed to launch NASA satellites, modified in the Unitd States with a lower-output engine for extended operational life and an adaptor port for refueling. The tugboat reached lunar orbit under NASA control. This would be the first time the Japanese had direct access. They called on Liberty Island to help with the handover.
The Americans had rerouted their large Mars Ambassador spacecraft to the lunar south pole and were rapidly expanding the base with inflatable structures. Liberty Island would serve as a planetary research facility and did not need concrete structures. Instead, it was steadily building a platform where JPL’s ground-based functions for tracking and controlling unmanned planetary probes could be fully replicated.
NASA astronaut Henderson—the same astronaut who had rendered assistance to Ryuichi in Apple 3—arrived at Xiwangmu 6 with a portable control panel for the tug. While he maneuvered the tug in orbit above the surface, Yamagiwa sat at another control panel, guiding the Turtle to its docking position. Managing this delicate operation was impossible from Earth given the three-second signal delay. In effect, Yamagiwa and Henderson were standing in for GGS and Johnson Space Center.
After a few tense moments, the spacecraft were successfully docked. The Turtle began transferring liquid oxygen and hydrogen to the tug. The astronauts wiped the perspiration from their foreheads and shook hands.
“That was a beautiful approach, Mr. Yamagiwa.”
“I couldn’t have done it without your help, Commander Henderson. Thanks for familiarizing yourself with the control console on short notice—we were planning to do this a bit later.”
“I had to pull an all-nighter to tell the truth. But she’s all yours now. Are you sure you can handle it on your own next time?”
Sohya had taped the entire procedure. He lowered his video camera and gave the two men the high sign. Then he looked from one to the other. “You guys were really in sync there. Do you know each other?”
“A bit,” said Henderson. The two men wagged their eyebrows and laughed. Sohya didn’t know that Henderson had been commander of the shuttle Frontier.
“Now Sixth Continent has a free ride from low earth orbit all the way to the lunar surface with the fuel you’re synthesizing here. If my bosses weren’t so stubborn, Liberty Island could benefit from it too.”
“We’d love to have you use it,” said Sohya, “but we don’t have much fuel on hand yet. Our ice-spraying operation was delayed, so we have to move on to fuel synthesis earlier than we planned. We’ve produced plenty of oxygen for the base, but we don’t have the facilities to store much liquid hydrogen—with the tanks we have, it would slowly leak away. On the other hand, shutting down the electrolysis unit loses us time too. This schedule change is a pain in the ass.”
“That’s not a problem,” Henderson said casually. “Any kind of storage tank will work. Put it in the shadow zone. The temperature is close to the boiling point for hydrogen there.”
“I see…That’s great advice. Thanks. I’ll get Gotenba to work out the details.”
“Glad to be of assistance.” Henderson waved as if to say no problem. “What’s up with the ice blanket? Have you run into something?”
“I’m not sure. Gotenba doesn’t want to seal the blocks in position yet. I don’t know why. There’s no way we’d move them once they’re in place.”
“I would say not.” Henderson shook his head ruefully. “It might be on the off chance that you end up having to sell the blocks to NASA. We sure could use them at Liberty Island.”
“What ‘off chance’?”
“If you guys can’t pay your creditors, say. One of the senior people at Johnson made a comment to that effect. He said your equipment and materials were put up as collateral for your loans.
If you default, your banks might end up selling them to us.”
Yamagiwa and Sohya gaped in surprise. “Did you hear anything about this?”
“No. The guys back on Earth aren’t telling us everything.”
“They probably don’t want to demoralize you,” said Henderson. “Look, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t even have mentioned it.”
Seeing their increasing bewilderment, he hastened to reassure them. “Seriously, I wouldn’t worry about it. Don’t forget, the Moon Treaty is still in force. As far as the UN Court of Justice is concerned, this is a SETI research facility, not a commercial operation. Converting what you have here into loan collateral probably wouldn’t stand up in court.”
Yamagiwa sighed. “I hope so. You know, John Swigert had to worry about the IRS while he was fighting for his life on Apollo 13. Even up here, we can’t get away from the bullshit back home.”
“Well, we’d best leave that sort of thing to our bosses on Earth. Worrying about it won’t do us any good.” Hoping to change the subject, Henderson looked around the interior of Xiwangmu. “It’s strange. Here I am, an American astronaut, visiting a spacecraft designed by the Russians, built by the Chinese, and operated by the Japanese.” He smiled. “It’s got to be some kind of miracle.”
“Just hard work,” said Sohya. “There are no miracles in space.” Henderson was about to say something, but Sohya’s expression stopped him. There had been no miracle for Shinji.
Henderson nodded. He moved toward the air lock. “Good luck. Hope to see this place completed soon. Don’t let the bickering back home get under your skin. NASA’s rooting for your success.”
“Good luck to you too, Commander.”
Henderson waved farewell and disappeared into the air lock.
For the next two months, block production proceeded smoothly. A Turtle made six trips into lunar orbit and back. Sixty tons of supplies arrived from Earth aboard the tug and were brought down to the surface. But on its seventh journey into orbit, the Turtle’s engine exploded. A round-trip took three burns—one to climb into orbit and two to return to the surface—so the engine had managed a total of twenty ignitions before giving out. This was three more than expected, which meant this test to failure could be counted a success. The explosion had been anticipated, and the side of the habitat module facing the landing pad had been shielded with regolith by the multidozers. The only collateral damage was the loss of a few panels on the solar array.
At some point the tug’s main engine would also fail. No engine yet developed had an unlimited operating life; the next challenge was to determine a safe schedule for replacing the engines before they failed. Otherwise the tug could not ferry humans to the moon.
Every success produced a new challenge. This alternating cycle of progress and challenges was something Tetsuo Sando had anticipated. Every problem that arose was reported to Gotoba for resolution by its team of engineers.
At the end of May, the first team wrapped six months of work on the surface and prepared to return to Earth. This first six months on the surface had been filled with hurdles, but they had pressed ahead and managed to complete all their objectives. They had planned to wait for the arrival of the second team before departing but were told that the launch had been delayed at the last minute by bad weather. Gotenba ordered them home on schedule. But when they emerged from the core on the runway at Tanegashima, they saw that all the launch pads were empty.
“TAE, ARE YOU here? Tae!”
Sohya was knocking on the door of a house near Nagoya International Airport. After a minute, Reika Hozumi peeked out.
“Sohya, how did you find this place?”
“Ryuichi. Tae’s wearcom isn’t responding. Is she here?”
“Yes, but…”
“He only told me after I’d looked everywhere else. I’ve got to
see her.” He brushed past Reika into a corridor that gave onto a spacious living room. Tae was sitting on a sofa in the corner of the room, wearing her usual monotone ensemble. She was leaning back on the cushions with her eyes closed.
Sohya advanced toward her. “What’s the deal? Things are falling apart. This is no time to go underground.”
“Sohya, don’t. She’s exhausted.” Reika tried to pull him aside. “She just got back from Guyana this morning. Before that she was in Riyadh, and Paris before that—”
“I just got back from the moon. I’ve been gone six months. I can barely walk on this planet anymore.”
“You don’t know how hard she’s been working!”
“Reika.” Tae waved a hand and leaned forward. She ran her fingers through her tousled black hair and sighed. “I’m fine.”
“But—”
“It’s all right. Sohya should know everything.” She kept her eyes on the floor. “Sit down.” Perplexed, Sohya sat beside her. “I was in Paris to ask the ESA for help,” she said, still staring at the floor.
“What kind of help?”
“They told me to talk to their sponsors. So I flew to Riyadh. I talked to Arabsat. ESA launches their satellites.”
“What did you need help with?”
“But Arabsat said they only launch geostationary satellites. They’re not part of the problem. So I went to Guyana. To ESA’s Phaedra launch center. If the sponsors wouldn’t talk to me, I thought maybe the people at the space center would.”
“I still don’t follow you.”
“I wanted a partner to help with Phase E.” Tae looked up at him. Her eyes were welling with tears. “Almost all the debris belongs to the world’s space agencies. It didn’t come from us.”
“Why talk to Arabsat? What about the Americans? Or the Russians? Most of the junk is theirs.”
She shook her head. Sohya suddenly remembered that she’d sued the Russian government after Shinji’s death. That had gone nowhere though, and she’d had nowhere else to turn.
“It’s no good. I went all over the world. They just slammed the door in my face.”
