The Next Continent (13 page)

“Sure.” Sohya let the matter drop.

Peng signed off his comm with Beijing Control. “Tae, after we touch down in the Gobi Desert, would you mind spending a week or so at CNSA's medical facility?”

She cocked her head and looked at him doubtfully. “I thought we'd get to go home right away.”

“China sent a young person into space a few years back, but frankly, we didn't gather the kind of medical data we should have,” said Peng apologetically. “And you've been all the way to the moon. Our scientists would really like an opportunity to look you over.”

“See? I knew it.” Tae puffed her cheeks in frustration. “Anyway, I can't say no, right? I mean, really. Just make sure they've got miso soup and some decent rice crackers from Japan. I only eat red miso. And I want deep-fried tofu in the soup.”

“Well, I guess we can manage that,” said Peng. He seemed slightly skeptical but passed Tae's requests to Beijing.

Sohya's amusement was interrupted when he heard Tae whisper to herself, “I won't give up.” She looked down at the moon again. “It's just as beautiful and amazing as I thought. The white sunlight, the blue earth, and millions of stars floating in black space. And feeling as light as a feather…Let's do it. Let's build our base here.”

Sohya still did not understand what she meant, but he said nothing.

AFTER THEY TOUCHED
down, Sohya was also subjected to a battery of medical tests. He could hardly refuse, given the favor the Chinese had extended in allowing him to go, so along with Tae he played the role of docile guinea pig.

Surprisingly, he was detained longer than she was. Tae left for Japan after a week, while Sohya had to spend an additional three days stuck on the continent. Naturally, the ever-curious media was waiting for him when he got home, as were media from around the world, all of them jostling for interviews. Japan's first girl astronaut had given them the slip, and they were determined not to let that happen with Sohya. How did it look? How did the low gravity feel? What was the meteor strike like? Favorite food? Height weight hobbies special talents? Seeing anyone? Are you and Tae more than just colleagues? No question was too personal. Tight-lipped Sohya told them to contact Gotoba Engineering's PR department, but every now and then he'd slip up and make a comment, such as that he thought Tae was cute, and that would just start the questions all over again.

Back in Japan at last, Sohya got off the train at Tokyo station, fed up and exhausted, to find Iwaki waiting for him behind the wheel of a company car. As Sohya got into the front seat, the first words from the Mobile Engineering Division chief left him stunned with surprise.

“One point two trillion yen.”

The look on Iwaki's face, forbidding at the best of times, was even more serious than usual.

“A trillion?” Sohya's jaw dropped.

“A trillion two. That's Gotoba's bid to build a base on the moon.” Sohya sat back, trying to grasp a number that large. Suddenly it hit him. “Wait a minute. That's impossible. Toenji's budget was only 150 billion.”

“During that first meeting, everybody was focusing on construction costs. Turns out the cost of getting it all up there is much larger. It costs at least five billion just to put a satellite in orbit. A hundred and fifty billion definitely isn't enough to build a base on the moon, not the way things are usually done.”

“Of course. After all, it cost three billion just to send two people. Then again, I assumed that was because we had to pay top rates to buy our way onto that launch. That's not the rate we used to run the whole budget, is it?” Sohya paused as his boss's words sank in. “Did you say ‘the way things are usually done'?”

“Yes. The Eden people claim to have a solution. I don't have the details yet. Some new type of rocket.”

“Makes sense. A launch vehicle is something Gotoba can't bring to the table. Is that confirmed?” asked Sohya.

“Confirmed according to her,” said Iwaki. “Right?” Iwaki jerked a thumb toward the rear seat.

“That's right,” said a female voice. A woman Sohya had never seen before leaned forward and smiled.

“Who are you?” asked Sohya, thoroughly flustered.

She looked about thirty. Her hair—its translucent red coloring had recently become popular—was pinned up, leaving her neck bare. She was dressed in a fashionable, peach-toned suit and smiled brightly at Sohya.

“Reika Hozumi. Special Auditor, ELE.”

“You're an auditor?”

“Yes. From now on, waste is our enemy. A half century of pennypinching is how a little amusement park operator in Nagoya called Paradise Tours grew to become ELE, Eden Leisure Entertainment. Our cost-control expertise will be a powerful asset for Gotoba Engineering.”

“Mr. Iwaki…?” After old man Toenji and Tae, Sohya was beginning to wonder if there were any “normal” people in ELE. “What about our auditors? Why does an outsider have to get involved?”

“Take it easy. This is how the client wants it. ELE saw the bid, and they haven't said no. They even said they were expecting it. They've already invested three billion. They're not bluffing. Gotoba is willing to take this as far as they want to go. Those are his instructions. You're going to Tanegashima.”

“Tanegashima? The island?” Sohya was so startled he half rose from his seat. “I just got back from the moon. What am I, the Flying Dutchman?”

“Can't be helped. Tanegashima is where the launch vehicle is. ELE suggested sending you, but now Tech Development is pushing for you to go too. Sando thought your report from the moon was top-notch.”

“You're just saying that so I'll shut up,” said Sohya, morose.

“Maybe. It's not up to you anyway,” Iwaki shot back. “Unless you want to find another job, better relax and enjoy the ride.”

“All right, okay.” Worn out, Sohya slumped into his seat. A chuckle came from the rear seat.

“You did a good job of cozying up to the chairman's granddaughter, but that won't work with me,” said Reika. “I hope you're ready.”

“Cozy up to her? Give me a break,” Sohya said tiredly. He was starting to wonder whether his real job was babysitting people no one else wanted to deal with.

CHAPTER 3

LAUNCH VEHICLE DEVELOPMENT AND LAUNCH FACILITY

[1]

“HERE'S THE COFFEE
, Boss. Whoa!”

Shinji Tai opened the door to the president's office and nearly lost his balance as the two visitors brushed past him. They marched off down the corridor without a word of apology.

“Hey, what about the coffee?” Shinji stared after them.

“Bring it here. I'll drink it.”

Ryuichi Yaenami motioned to Shinji from behind his desk. The early autumn heat was still fierce on Tanegashima Island, but Tenryu Galaxy Transport's president was, as always, impeccably dressed. Today's suit was tailored Italian. His long hair—had it ever been trimmed?—swept over his head and shoulders like a lion's mane. Shinji set the tray of iced coffees on the table in front of the desk. Ryuichi grabbed one and gulped it down.

“Should I bring them back?” said Shinji anxiously.

“Don't bother. The whole thing's off. Norvalt's going with somebody else.”

“What did we screw up? Their organ synthesis satellite went up without a hitch.”

“We didn't screw anything up,” Ryuichi said. “The launch team did the job perfectly—like always. They worked like slaves. Nobody slept for a week. You know what they accomplished.”

Shinji nodded. He was the director of TGT's Advanced Research Department. “'Course, I'm not on the launch team. I wasn't even in the blockhouse yesterday. I was kicking back with a can of juice, watching everything from Takesaki.”

“The control center? You jackass! Stay the hell away from the press. What if they start asking questions?”

“No worries. The only ones there were this NHK reporter and some deadwood from MEXT. No way would they recognize me.”

Ryuichi's face fell. “No commercial broadcasters? Oh well. With only two launches a year they were bound to forget us sooner or later.” His shoulders sagged.

“So what were the Norvalt guys unhappy about?” asked Shinji.

“‘Not enough depth.' ‘People who work without sleep for days on end are going to screw up sooner or later.' They want people who look more ‘experienced.' More ‘proficient.' They'll probably take their next launch to China or India,” said Ryuichi.

Ryuichi slapped the table angrily. “What the hell do you expect? We don't have enough experience! We're lucky to get two launches a year. How do we work out the kinks? I'm busting my ass rotating our people into different jobs. Holding seminars with the old industry veterans. Anything to help the younger guys get seasoned. Anything!”

“Our competitors launch pretty much every month. I'm not surprised Norvalt thinks we're greenhorns.” Shinji sounded dejected. “That's why we kill ourselves doing a good job, and it pushes our fees up. Higher fees mean less work. And that means less experience.”

“It's a vicious cycle. God
damn
it! The least the government could do is give us their satellites.”

“Now that we're privatized, they treat us like outsiders,” said Shinji. “They send all their astronauts to NASA. Foreign rockets launch Japanese satellites. Get this—yesterday the guys from MEXT said it was amazing that Japan had developed the capability to launch such great rockets. ‘Developed'? We've been building launch vehicles for thirty years. What's amazing is how little attention anyone is paying.”

“What do you expect?” muttered Ryuichi. “They don't have a stake in the industry. We might as well be invisible. These bureaucrats should be chosen via the web, just like the politicians.”

“On the other hand, we only managed to grab this facility because it wasn't making money.”

“The place was going to waste. All they were launching were birds.”

Ryuichi looked out the window. Shinji followed his gaze. TGT's headquarters looked out across a primeval forest of intense green. Mangroves thrived in pristine wetlands. The lush foliage rippled lazily in the offshore breeze. In the distance, TGT's launch complex rose from its cape jutting into the Pacific. The Vehicle Assembly Building, a gigantic white tombstone, shimmered in the heat like a mirage. Other than the flora and fauna, everything in the ten kilometers between the three-story headquarters building and the twin launchpads was under the control of Tenryu Galaxy Transport.

Ryuichi lit a domestic cigarette with a Longines lighter and absently blew a cloud of smoke. “Maybe it's time to get into the safari-land business.”

“Or better yet, sell this place, take the money, and run.”

The two men sighed.

Tenryu Galaxy Transport had been founded by Ryuichi Yaenami to offer commercial satellite launch services. TGT was now Japan's only rocket manufacturer and launch facility. Until the turn of the century, rocket manufacturing and launches were controlled by twin government entities, the National Space Development Agency and the Institute of Space and Aeronautical Science. The fact that TGT was now in control was the outcome of administrative restructuring carried out by Japan's government.

Deregulation, privatization, and cost reduction were the bywords of restructuring, and no exception was made for space development. In 2003, NASDA and ISAS had been merged with the National Aerospace Laboratory of Japan to form the Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency—JAXA. As if that wasn't enough restructuring, a large percentage of JAXA's staff was soon spun off to the private sector. Rocket development would now depend on profit and loss accounting, not the public purse. Inexpensive foreign launch vehicles would put Japan's satellites into orbit.

Until the waves of change hit, Japan's launch vehicles had been built jointly by NASDA, ISAS, and two giant corporations, Mitsubishi Heavy Industries and IHI. But space development was under MEXT, the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology. Following the government's mandate, the ministry slashed funding for NASDA and ISAS. Launching Japanese satellites and astronauts was left completely in American hands. With little work coming in, Mitsubishi and IHI backed away from space development, and the Japanese launch industry languished.

That was when Ryuichi saw his opportunity. The son of a wealthy businessman, he had been fascinated by rockets as a child. As he grew up, he watched in frustration as Japan's space program struggled to maintain its focus while China forged ahead and sent men into space. Like many of the sons of wealthy fathers, however, Ryuichi seemed unable to find his footing as an adult. He audited university aerospace lectures, worked as a parallel importer of foreign autos, managed to obtain a light aircraft license, knocked around Southeast Asia selling used industrial equipment, and generally drifted through life. Then five years ago, he had stumbled across Shinji Tai, and his path in life was set.