The Next Continent (5 page)

“Go ahead, go home. Sounds like the meeting is going to take a while. My wife is used to me going straight in.”

“I don't have a wife to worry about,” protested Sohya.

“Aomine. You've been out of the country for three months. There must be someone waiting for you.”

Sohya had never seen this warm, fuzzy side to Iwaki before, but it was wasted on him. They stepped out onto the platform. “Look, no one's waiting for me.”

“You're kidding.” Iwaki's eyes grew large with surprise behind his thick lenses. “What have you been doing with yourself? In this kind of job, you wake up one day and you're past forty and still single.”

“Come on, Mr. Iwaki. How did you find a wife?”

“My wife was in the industry, and we just—look, Really…so you don't have anyone yet?” Iwaki shook his head. “Just get yourself back home. Repack your bags and come back to the office.”

“Excuse me?”

“Looks like we're sending you out to the field again.”

“Overseas?” asked Sohya, astonished.

“You could say that,” said Iwaki with an odd expression. Sohya stopped.

“What does that mean?”

“That's a direct quote. Don't ask me, I don't know what it means either.” Sohya stood for a moment in blank bewilderment. Iwaki clapped him on the shoulder. “Now get going.” Sohya ran to catch the train home.

HE WAS SOON
home: an apartment in Ogikubo, on the west side of the vast metropolis. A few minutes later he was back at the station with newly packed bags, but a downed power line had paralyzed the train service. He had no choice but to grab one of the hydrogen-powered cabs that were authorized to use express lanes throughout the city.

As he rushed through the entrance of Gotoba headquarters in Shinjuku, an alert receptionist directed him not to the sixth floor where the task force had its offices, but to the twelfth floor main conference room.
It's something big
, thought Sohya. He usually participated in conferences via the interface at his desk. Face-to-face meetings were strictly for limited-access discussions.

When he reached the floor, he found Iwaki, the other division heads, and President Gotoba huddled in a tight knot at the opposite end of the large room. They seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion with someone sitting in one of the high-back conference chairs, but the chair was facing away from Sohya.

Noticing him standing near the door, Iwaki quickly strode over, looking impatient and irritated. “What have you been doing?”

“The trains were stopped, so I took a cab. Is the meeting that urgent?”

“New project. Unbelievable.”

“We got something big?” Sohya excitedly tossed his bags in a corner. Iwaki motioned him to sit at the oblong conference table, which was equipped with monitors set flush with the surface. Iwaki punched his wearcom, sending data to Sohya's monitor.

“Remember Mr. Toenji?” said Iwaki.

“Toenji…” Sohya was momentarily nonplussed.

“The launch party.”

“Ah, right.” Sohya nodded. “Mr. Kentucky.”

“What are you talking about? He's Japanese.” Iwaki raised an eyebrow.

“No, go on. He just reminded me of somebody. So what's going on?”

“Doesn't the name Toenji mean anything to you? Well, I didn't recognize him right away either. He's the chairman of Toenji Group.”

“The amusement park Toenji?”

“The amusement park and a lot more.” Iwaki pointed to Sohya's monitor, which now displayed the Toenji home page. “The group's main business is their wholly owned subsidiary—ELE, Eden Leisure Entertainment. They run Tokai Eden, the leisure resort near Nagoya. The construction budget was 160 billion yen. They get seven million guests a year. The park is huge. Only Tokyo Disney World and Universal Studios Japan do more turnover. The group has subsidiaries in the hotel and travel business, fast food, magazine publishing, entertainment programming, music, you name it. You must have seen some of their promotions.”

“I know Eve and Adam,” Sohya answered quickly. “I have a friend who's up on all that stuff. Toenji's characters are more popular in Japan than the ones from overseas.”

“They're a major ice-skating sponsor—” Iwaki started to go on, but Sohya rubbed his temples. “What's this about?”

“The group has 1.25 trillion yen in assets. Sennosuke Toenji is the founder and chairman.”

“So that's who that old guy was. I'd almost say he doesn't look the part, but then again…” Sohya had a hard time grasping the concept of all that wealth concentrated in one man. The numbers were too large. Iwaki droned on, all business.

“He's fond of scotch and likes to surprise people, but that's not enough reason to travel all the way to the Spratlys, even if he does have the money. Do you remember what he said down there?”

“The moon.” Sohya found himself quoting from memory. Iwaki nodded, but Sohya was blank. “So what about it?”

“He wants Gotoba to build a base there,” said Iwaki.

“He can't be serious.”

“It looks like he is. ELE sent us a formal request.” Iwaki punched the keyboard on his left wrist, and the display switched to a document titled request for construction. “It's not a design solicitation. Nothing specific yet. We don't even know what they plan to do with it. But they did send this. They want a facility to accommodate ten people indefinitely, with future expansion for up to fifty. Feasibility studies, design, development, transport, execution, even initial operations management—they want us to handle everything, in coordination with ELE. The timeline is ten years. The budget is 150 billion yen.”

“But…I mean…” Sohya's head was swimming. He held his hands in front of his chest and waved his fingers absently. “Is any of this possible?”

“That's what we're trying to figure out.” Iwaki pointed to the group at the other end of the room. The discussion was proceeding more quietly than before.

“We can discuss it, but is it doable?” repeated Sohya.

“Humanity reached the moon decades ago.” The deep voice cutting across the room was that of the president. The division chiefs stood around him with expressions ranging from resigned to dazed. One by one, they took seats around the conference table. Gotoba stood at the end of the table.

“I was a year old on July 20, 1969, when Armstrong and Aldrin walked on the surface of the moon. It was possible then. It can't be impossible now.” Gotoba spoke slowly and quietly, intent on convincing his listeners. “The Chinese have a small base there already. But everything has been the work of governments, not private enterprise. Our quick review today indicates that this project is well within our reach. Wouldn't you think so, Sando?”

“Well, yes. So it seems.” Tetsuo Sando was Gotoba's Technology Development Division chief. He was also a visiting professor at a major institute of science and engineering. Sando stood with one balled fist on the conference room's large display monitor, his face raised toward the ceiling. His eyes were closed. “Near-vacuum conditions. Huge temperature ranges. Ionizing radiation. Extreme conditions of every type. Build and maintain a facility in such an environment? Yes, we have the expertise. Robotic operations, remote surveying, communications, power transmission—we're very comfortable operating remotely via telepresence. We have experience building special-application construction equipment from the Spratly project. Obviously we would have no energy-supply problems. Solar radiation will be intense and abundant, with no intervening atmosphere to speak of.

“The question is transport. We need more time to study this, but concrete can be produced using surface material, so the heaviest and bulkiest of the necessary construction materials is up there waiting for us. Sending payloads into space has become fairly routine. I think current launch vehicles can lift payloads up to around twenty tons. Assume twenty-ton payloads of materials and machinery. Planning should not be difficult. Yes, twenty tons will do nicely. Gravity is one-sixth of Earth's, so we won't need heavy-lift equipment.”

Sando lowered his head—what hair he had left had gone completely gray—and opened his eyes. He stated crisply, “I would say this project is feasible.”

“There it is,” said Gotoba as he surveyed the room. “To build a base on the moon. What a project!”

Not
construct
. Build. Suddenly everyone in the room understood. In the mind of this man of rare imagination and dynamism, equipment was already crisscrossing the moon. The outlines of the base were steadily emerging from the surface. The vision was complete in every detail. His mind was made up. This was how the Saharan, Antarctic, Himalayan, and Spratly projects had started: with a single, definitive statement of unshakable intent.

“This is Gotoba Engineering & Construction's next challenge. I take it there are no objections?”

No one uttered a word of dissent. Far from it—faces relaxed. Some of the division chiefs began shaking with anticipation, the kind of trembling that seizes soldiers before an assault. This was why they had entered the extreme construction field—to execute large, difficult projects. It was what they lived for.

“Then we'll do it!” Gotoba had both hands flat on the table. He exhaled loudly, as if the project were already complete. Suddenly he stared across the room at Sohya. “Aomine!”

“Sir!” Without hesitation Sohya leapt to his feet, back straight. At the next words he nearly collapsed back into his chair.

“You're going to the moon.”

“Wha-at?” Sohya's jaw dropped.

“Site evaluation is first. Go see what it's like. As I said, the Chinese have a base there. They send a shuttle up every year to resupply and rotate personnel. The next launch is only a month from now. We'll handle the arrangements. I want you on that shuttle.”

“To the—me? Why moon?” Sohya scrambled his grammar in his excitement. “I mean, I'm too junior. There must be someone else. From another division. I don't have the background or the qualifications. It's not that I'm afraid to go. But—”

“Young people get the tough assignments. Your division will lead the charge once things get rolling. And who said you're not qualified? You don't need a diploma to travel to the moon,” said Gotoba.

“But, sir, you hardly know me.”

“I chose you because I've witnessed what you can do. And Iwaki is not a man to keep anyone but the best under his wing for three years.” Having dismissed Sohya's stammered protests out of hand, Gotoba leaned forward abruptly. “Anyway, it's what the client wants.”

“Senno—I mean, Mr. Toenji?” The chair that had been facing in the opposite direction the entire time swiveled around. Sohya nearly groaned. “Tae?”

White beret and collar were set off, as before, by the girl's long, jet-black hair. She smiled. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Aomine. My grandfather asked me to go with you. He's too old to travel to the moon. He wants me to travel in his place and see what it's like. Grandfather doesn't want me to go alone, and he was wondering who could go with me. Then we met you. We both agree you're very trustworthy.”

“You're going to the moon?” This was really too much for Sohya.

“That's right. It's so interesting—Did you know there's a junior discount for space travel? The less you weigh, the less they charge. For the first time, I'm glad to be kind of skinny.”

Gotoba cut in. “The fare for you is two billion yen. Miss Toenji's ticket is a billion. Three billion for two, round-trip. The client is footing the bill. We're counting on you, Aomine.”

“Three billion…for a site evaluation…” Sohya lapsed into speechlessness. His silence lasted so long that Gotoba added, as if playing his trump card: “Look, Aomine. If
you
won't go…”

The unspoken part of Gotoba's statement struck home so sharply Sohya thought for an instant he had actually heard it.
If I were you, I would go. In fact, I
will
go.

There was no way Gotoba could go. He was the heart and brains of the company. And since he could not, he was trusting Sohya with everything. Of course, Sohya could not refuse, nor did he want to. The power of Gotoba's trust was like a slap that brought his confusion and doubt into sudden clarity. He straightened up. “I'll go.”

“Then it's settled.” Gotoba nodded with satisfaction. “We'll be working on the details till you get back. I'll expect a comprehensive report.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. This conference is over,” said Gotoba. “Get moving!” He slapped the table. Everyone rose to their feet. “Starting now, Gotoba Engineering & Construction will mobilize to build a base on the moon. It will be a ten-year marathon, but we'll see it through, no matter what. Give it everything you've got!”

The roar that came in reply was a chorus announcing the birth of the Next Continent project.