The Next Continent (45 page)

The puffball could gobble up debris as much as a meter across, limited only by the fuel for its thrusters. Once that was almost exhausted, it would fire one last time, deorbit, and burn up in the atmosphere.

One problem remained: how to locate the debris. Pieces larger than one centimeter but smaller than ten—the so-called one-inch devils—were invisible to radar. U.S. Space Command was rumored to have the capability to detect these tiny killers, but their technology was classified. In any case, ground-based radar systems had their limits. The South American spotter's discovery of a debris cloud around the Russian satellite was a fluke.

The puffball needed an escort to locate the objects and guide it to them. Optical sensing was the optimal approach: there was no atmosphere in orbit to attenuate visible light, and its short wavelength compared to radar was better for detecting small objects. Monitoring was automated with high-resolution CCD sensors and computerized image analysis. The system scanned the entire horizon every two minutes as
Apple
moved through its orbit. From 350 kilometers up,
Apple
could scan 2,200 kilometers of horizon. Orbits would be calculated for any debris detected; objects in high or eccentric orbits were out of reach but did not pose a significant collision risk. Some debris had complex orbits that could not be evaluated. There was nothing to do but let these objects go.

Once a piece of debris was designated for fragmenting, simple pursuit was not an option if fuel was to be conserved. The debris was only followed long enough for its orbit to be calculated. Then a new orbit for
Apple
would be worked out, one using the least amount of fuel. This might mean orbiting Earth several times before the final encounter.

The crew returned to the habitat module. The hours till the next encounter would be filled with work. Clearing low earth orbit of debris yielded no profit, so the habitat module was crammed with microgravity projects waiting to be tended by the crew.

The navigator made his way to a workstation where his task was to cast ultrahard drill bits using a steel-aluminum-silica alloy. The bits had been ordered by a machine tool company.

“These things sell for 150,000 wholesale,” muttered the navigator. “If we make a thousand, that's 150 million. Our share is fifty million. But this mission is costing us three billion. It's like trying to fill a swimming pool with an eyedropper.”

Tae was adding hot water to freeze-dried food pouches. “Just keep at it. Reika went to a lot of trouble to get that order.”

Microgravity manufacturing was nothing new. The real profit was in taxpayer-subsidized scientific work, but such projects were typically years in the planning, and there had been no time for lengthy negotiations. The only projects they could take on were those where the manufacturing process could be implemented immediately. Reika was now a TGT employee and had searched high and low for accessible work of this kind.

But being in the subcontracted manufacturing business meant dealing with clients who pushed hard for lower prices. To make things more difficult, ISS and Vardhana had already had years to establish their grip on this market, so the only way to get clients was to offer deep discounts.

The pilot pushed off from a handrail to float toward another workstation. The navigator yelled in frustration. “You just spilled my alloy! I was in the middle of pouring.”

“There goes fifty thousand. Sorry, I'll be careful. But this whole thing shakes every time we move.”

“Just let me know, okay?”

Apple
's habitat module was not designed for microgravity manufacturing. Compared to the much larger modules used by its competitors, its smaller mass made it vulnerable to tiny vibrations that caused transitory gravity fluctuations, enough to impair the functioning of the equipment.

“Maybe we should rethink this whole operation,” said the pilot, dejected. “We can't solve this on our own. We should be investing in getting the base completed.”

“We'll do nothing of the sort. Phase E is vital for attracting customers.” Tae gave him a steely look. “You know what Joyful Homeland is saying. They've turned us into a poster child for the problems with space development. We're going to generate more debris with our launches—over a hundred before Sixth Continent is complete. With enough objects, you get a collision cascade, and the Kessler syndrome kicks in. Debris hitting other debris will create so many fragments we won't even be able to put satellites into orbit. Unfortunately, the science says they're right, or pretty close to it. We've got nowhere to hide. We lost 20 percent of our reservations in the past six months.” She pointed out the window. The silvery gray puffball loomed a few hundred meters away. “That's the only way we can neutralize people's fears.”

“But we can't clean up all of it.”

“Trying is better than nothing. When you buy a car, you go for the eco-friendly model even though one car, or even a whole car company, isn't going to make a dent in the world's pollution.”

“But how do we cover the costs? Phase E wasn't in the budget.”

“Don't worry. It's not a problem.” Tae smiled. The pilot returned to his task. He didn't seem convinced.

Tae wasn't convinced either. In fact, she was extremely worried. Phase E was putting serious pressure on Sixth Continent's finances. At this rate, they would run out of funds before the base was complete. To make things worse, construction was running a year behind schedule. Even her supporters were beginning to voice doubts.

But this was no time to give up. If she threw in the towel now, she'd have to go crawling back to her father. Proving him wrong was the whole point of being here.

Tae stopped, looked out into space, and made her decision.

“I'm going to EVA for the next rendezvous.” Her two crew members stared in disbelief. “Be sure and get me in the frame when the debris hits. If we just shoot the puffball in action, it might make some people even more nervous. With me in the frame, we can prove that the debris is nothing to be scared of. It's just another problem we're solving.”

“It's too dangerous! You might get hit by a fragment even from a distance of several hundred meters. If something a millimeter across—”

“I'm going to EVA.” She went to her locker and opened it. “I want you to shoot me changing into my suit and going through the core hatch too. I want everyone to see the redesign. I want them to understand that what happened to Shinji can't happen again.” She unzipped her jumpsuit and wriggled out. She was no longer the skinny little girl who traveled to the moon on Sohya's lap. The navigator gulped and went to fetch the camera.

Tae pulled her thermal undergarment on. “I'll do whatever it takes,” she muttered. “I have to rely on myself now.”

RYUICHI YAENAMI GAVE
a low whistle of admiration. “It's like a chapel in here.” He was in an office in Akasaka in the center of Tokyo. The building was elegant, sheathed in ivy.

“Miss Toenji insisted. This is the gateway to Sixth Continent. Couples who visit need to be in the right mood.” Reika was leaning with her back against the entrance. When she stepped away, Ryuichi saw that the inside of the door was faced with a mirror. The Sixth Continent logo and its motto—be fruitful and multiply, and fill the moon—were etched into the glass.

The walls of the office were faced in dignified red brick, interrupted at intervals by slender, Renaissance-style alabaster columns. The furniture was white cast metal. The window opposite the door was stained glass, with a representation of the Virgin Mary. The carpet was scarlet. The room was only fifty square meters, but the atmosphere was simple and refined.

“This office is all she has now,” said Reika. “We're trying to compensate for the size with nice decor. We don't want to spend more on staff, so Tae and I are managing everything.”

Yaenami glanced toward an elderly woman working at a laptop at the rear of the office, partially shielded by a few potted plants. An elegant shawl draped her shoulders.

Reika lowered her eyes, embarrassed. “I'm sorry. I'm with TGT now, but I'm spending most of my time here.”

“Don't be so formal. You're not an employee. You're my partner. If you think being here is best, go ahead.”

Reika whispered
Ryuichi
and looked at him gratefully. He quickly adopted a serious expression, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

“Maybe we should get married on the moon.”

“You can't be serious. It's very expensive.”

“Okay, okay—just kidding. People are canceling, but we're still overbooked. I don't think I can wait that long.” He looked suddenly pensive. “But I'd like to visit Shinji.”

“I would too.” Reika had seen a lot of the two men's friendship over the last six years. In some ways, Ryuichi had been closer to Shinji.

“You know…it would be nice if we could at least have the wedding portrait taken right away.” Reika looked shyly at the floor. She was thirty-six. She wanted to be photographed in her dress, and soon; who knew how long it would be before they could travel to the moon?

She had complete command of the millions of line items in Sixth Continent's budget. Her take-no-prisoners approach to budget austerity had earned her a fearsome reputation as a cost cutter at TGT and Gotoba. But right now she was blushing furiously and digging at the carpet with her heel.

Yaenami laughed awkwardly. “Taking a wedding picture is the kind of thing you do when the time comes.”

“All right.”

“But let's go to city hall after we're through here.”

“What?”

Without allowing time for this to sink in, Ryuichi nodded toward the old woman. “Aren't you going to introduce me?”

“Oh…Yes, of course. That's Ms. Halifax. She's helping with the office work. Dorothy?”

The diminutive woman removed her spectacles, rose, and approached them. Her silver hair was carefully coiffed. She smiled at Ryuichi and extended her hand. “Good day, Mr. Yaenami. I'm Dorothy Halifax.”

They shook hands. Ryuichi was charmed. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Halifax. May I call you Dorothy?”

“Of course. You know, Reika never stops talking about you.”

“Dorothy!”

The old woman chuckled. “She's so cute. A bit too old to be shy, though.” Reika blushed. Dorothy winked at her.

Ryuichi cleared his throat. “Did you know Reika before this?”

“Oh no. Tae asked me to help out. I put her up when she was going to school in California. It was Sennosuke's idea. I've known him for half a century. We met in Hong Kong.”

“She's very helpful.” Reika had recovered her composure. “Students from sixteen countries have stayed with her. She's good at advising young couples. Her husband is a Catholic priest, so she knows a lot about religion. Sixth Continent will be hosting couples from all over the world.”

“Then we'll need her advice,” said Ryuichi, smiling at the old woman. “Experienced wedding consultants are hard to find.”

Dorothy's eyes sparkled. “That's just my hobby. Let's take a look at my real work.”

She went to her desk, sat down in front of an ancient laptop, and typed a password with her index fingers. Ryuichi and Reika watched over her shoulder. The computer and its operator were old; the software was anything but.

Data began scrolling up the screen, splitting off into red and blue icons representing compressed data. The icons formed up into opposing ranks, like a game board covered with carefully arranged pieces. They moved forward, jostling each other. Lines began busily extending across the gaps, connecting icon to icon in apparently random fashion. The connections made the icons pulsate; some grew larger and brighter, while the others shrank or disappeared completely, sometimes reappearing, sometimes not. The disappearance of some icons also seemed to give rise to new ones. After a few minutes, the blue icons were gradually overwhelmed by the red.

“What is this?” asked Ryuichi.

“The blue icons are positive factors. The red are negative. This is a risk-management simulation for Sixth Continent. The future can be predicted by assigning numerical coefficients to different factors affecting the project. It's not terribly precise, of course. But as fortune-telling goes, it's reasonably effective.”

“Dorothy was a professor of computer science at Caltech before she retired,” interjected Reika.

“I like that. But red just won. Does that mean we're on the brink of disaster?”

“Yes, it looks that way. Unless the right steps are taken, the project will probably fail.” Dorothy's matter-of-fact tone stunned Ryuichi into silence. She clicked on a red tile, and a window with data opened beside it. “Take this risk factor, for example. This is the influence posed by the dangers associated with space travel. One person has already died. That accident has greatly activated this factor and strengthened its influence. Something very positive must be found to oppose it, or it will never be neutralized.”