The Next Continent

by Issui Ogawa

  “But why did you have to go to all that trouble? Sixth Continent is a private venture. We’ve already done everything we can to deal with the problem. Even if we can’t solve it single-handedly, it’s great PR.”

  “Of course it is. We told the world! But it’s no use.” Tae’s voice was filled with despair. “We can’t beat them!”

  Sohya drew back. He’d never heard her wail like this. “Joyful Homeland is attacking us with numbers,” she continued. “Real numbers. They’re right. Our PR isn’t working. The only way we can fight back is with numbers of our own. But we don’t have any.”

  Sohya wasn’t sure how to respond to this litany. He said to Reika, who was leaning against the back of the sofa, “What’s Phase E accomplished so far?”

  “We’ve eliminated 112 pieces of debris with five puffballs. We certainly proved the effectiveness of the approach.”

  “But it’s nothing compared to the forty thousand objects larger than ten centimeters that are still out there,” Tae whispered, her voice trembling. “Getting rid of them all would take almost two thousand puffballs. It’s completely hopeless.”

  “Is that why you’re hiding here?” Sohya tried to keep the edge out of his voice. Reika shook her head.

  “We knew we could never eliminate all the debris on our own. The problem is we can’t even clean up the debris that Sixth Continent is generating. Phase E isn’t going to have much effect if it can’t accomplish that.”

  “So—can it?”

  “We need to launch two more puffballs. If we can launch two more, we can clean up everything over ten centimeters in the orbital band that Sixth Continent is using. TGT is modifying their designs. Future spent boosters will automatically deorbit and burn up. So once the cleanup is done, we won’t be generating any more junk.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “Each mission costs three billion yen,” murmured Tae. “We don’t have the funds. No one will lend to us. Joyful Homeland has made sure the banks don’t see a future in Sixth Continent.”

  Suddenly Henderson’s statement about collateral made sense to Sohya. But it still didn’t explain why Tae had to go into hiding.

  “Reika, I’d like to talk to her alone.”

  “All right. I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.” Reika gave Tae a look of concern and left the room.

  “We haven’t had a chance to talk like this for a year,” said Sohya. “Not since Shinji died.” Tae didn’t answer. She stared at the floor. “There’s something I need to ask you. I want you to tell me the truth.”

  “What is it?”

  “What do you want?”

  She looked at him, puzzled. He peered at her steadily. “You seem to be taking the long way around to happiness. I have no idea what it is you really want. I asked you eight years ago. I’m going to ask you again. Why are you doing this?”

  Tae’s lips were dry. They moved fitfully, but the words would not come. At length she said, “I…I want friends.”

  “Friends.”

  “Yes. I’m going to wait on the moon for visitors from another world. Sixth Continent will be there to welcome—”

  “That’s the first time I’ve heard that. So that’s what the SETI package is for. Okay, I’m sure you’re telling the truth. But that’s not why you’re doing this. You don’t know yourself, do you? It’s all just a means to an end.”

  “An end? What end?”

  “You’re obsessed with Joyful Homeland. They’re no bigger than the other challenges we’ve faced. But your father is behind them. That’s why they bother you so much. It didn’t hit me till I heard you talking just now.”

  Tae pressed her lips together grimly. She shook her head.

  Sohya spoke softly. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “No. You’re wrong.”

  “Am I? I don’t know what happened between you and your father. But everything points to him. People all over the world think you’re a genius, but it’s never made you smile. There’s only one person you care about, but he won’t give you what you want.”

  “I’m twenty-one years old! What do I need approval for?”

  “Age doesn’t mean a thing. Let down the barriers for once, Tae. Sixth Continent is all about getting approval from your father—isn’t it?”

  “My mother is dead. It was his fault!”

  This was unexpected. “Are you sure of that?”

  Her shoulders were trembling. She closed her eyes. “There was an accident. At the park. People were hurt.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was one of the rides. A design problem. Twelve people were injured. Of course someone senior, a company representative, had to visit them in the hospital. But the whole management team was overseas, except my mother. So she had to go to the hospital. A truck hit her car on the way there. She died instantly.”

  “So it was an accident, right?”

  “Maybe. But it was the kind of role my father always shoved off on her. He would never have gone to the hospital himself.” She shook her head. “All he cared about was his own convenience. I hate him. He wouldn’t even take time off for a proper wedding ceremony—”

  “Tae, listen to me.” Sohya gently grasped her shoulders. “You’re building a wedding palace for your mother and father.”

  He watched her. Her eyes were wide-open now, brimming with baffled tears. He put a hand on her cheek. It was burning.

  “Try to remember. There must have been a time when your parents were happy together. That’s what you want to recapture.”

  There was no answer. She blinked several times, staring into some far distance. All her life she had been marching determinedly away from her past. Now her mind was retracing those steps.

  At last she regained her voice. “No…it can’t be. It’s not true…”

  “Relax. Take some time and think about it. We’ll figure out Phase E later. I have an idea.”

  Tae groaned, as if she were about to faint. Her eyes were blank. She was shaking. Sohya quietly moved away from her. Some space inside her that she had walled up long ago was breaking open. Only she could gaze into that darkness. He would just have to wait for her to return when she was ready.

  The front door jerked open. Sohya half expected to see Reika. Instead, it was a man in a tailored beige suit. He jumped to his feet.

  “What are you doing here?” he shouted.

  “You must be Sohya Aomine. I recognize you. I’m Tae’s father.”

  “How did you find this place?”

  “Your wearcom. You’ve been spending too much time with my daughter’s bodyguards. Very careless. They had everything we needed to trace it.”

  “Mr. Toenji! Please don’t do this!” Two ELE security men emerged from the kitchen with Reika firmly in their grip. Obviously they were familiar with the layout of the house. “She can’t see you now! She’s under tremendous stress!” cried Reika.

  “That’s why I had to come.” Kiichiro brushed past Reika and strode into the room. He went over to Tae and looked down at her coldly.

  “Come, Tae. Look at me. You know it’s no use. You’ve reached your limit. It’s time for you to come home and let go of Sixth Continent once and for all.”

  “Mr. Toenji, you should be ashamed.” Sohya stepped protectively in front of Tae. “Is this how you deal with your daughter? Is force the only language you understand? Can’t you understand why she’s going to so much trouble to stay away from you?”

  “This matter doesn’t concern you. I’ll deal with you later, after—”

  “Tae!” Reika cried out and broke free. She ran over and grabbed her hand. “Are you all right?”

  Sohya turned to see the girl slumped over, eyes closed. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. Something was wrong. Sohya felt her forehead; it was on fire.

  “Call an ambulance. She’s burning up!”

  “I’ll do it!” Reika ran for the phone.

  “Wait,” said Kiichiro. “I’ll take her.” He motioned to his
security detail. “Get the helicopter.” He looked at Sohya and Reika. “I need you to go to her place and bring a change of clothes.”

  “She doesn’t have a place!” said Reika. She pointed to a large suitcase in the corner of the room. “That’s everything she has now. She’s living like a nomad out of that one suitcase!”

  “I’ll take her to the hospital then. Bring the suitcase in your car.”

  Sohya put his arms around Tae and looked up at Kiichiro. “You don’t have the right to take her.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Leave her. But when she’s better, you owe her an apology!”

  “What in the world would I apologize for?” Kiichiro reached out to pull her away from Sohya.

  “A fatal traffic accident!”

  Kiichiro’s hand jerked back. Sohya could only have heard about the accident from Tae. Perhaps this young man knew his daughter better than he imagined.

  He motioned to the security detail at the exit. They parted to let Sohya through as he carried Tae in his arms like a fragile doll. Kiichiro did not follow. He stood and watched them go.

  [3]

  TAE HAD NOT dreamt for years. When she was able to sleep, she slept deeply, her heart barred against that inner world. She rarely experienced the twilight zone between dreams and wakefulness.

  She opened her eyes slightly. A flood of colors struck her retinas. Oh. This must be a dream, she thought.

  Eyes open wider, coming awake, she realized it was no dream. She was surrounded by flowers—a wall of them, from the floor to higher than her head.

  “What…?”

  “Well, good morning.” A nurse was standing next to the bed, making notes on a clipboard. She smiled. “We have a limit on flowers in the room, but the man who brought you here asked us to bring everything in. How are you feeling?”

  “I think I’m dreaming.”

  “You like flowers?”

  It’s not that, Tae was about to say, but she couldn’t find the words. It wasn’t that she disliked flowers. The nurse began replacing her IV bag.

  “It’s been three days since you collapsed. Fatigue from overwork, plus jet lag, aggravated by a cold. You almost developed pneumonia. You shouldn’t have been running around the world without vaccinations either. We’re going to conduct more tests. You’ll be here for a few more days.”

  “When can I leave? If I don’t get back to work, everyone will—”

  “Everyone is just fine,” said the nurse. “You’re famous, Ms. Toenji.”

  She tried to sit up. The nurse skillfully eased her back onto the pillows and inserted a thermometer in her ear. “A hundred and one. Still high. You need more rest. Tomorrow if you have an appetite, we’ll start you on soft food. Until then you’ll just have to be patient.” The nurse rearranged the bedcovers and left the room.

  Tae looked around. The number of bouquets was truly unbelievable. Those at the bottom were probably from TGT and Gotoba. So the next layer would be from partners and affiliates. Wouldn’t it? She plucked a tiny card from a bouquet nearby.

  Take care of yourself, moon Princess. A.B. Navamukundan, KL.

  She didn’t recognize the name. Someone in Malaysia? The next card was from another unknown sender. And the next. And the next. Some were from individuals, some from companies with no connection to Sixth Continent. There were even a few from foreign politicians.

  Then it hit her: her condition had been announced to the world.

  How was she going to deal with this? It was hardly good for Sixth Continent’s image for people to know that its prime mover had—

  Sixth Continent’s image?

  Hundreds of bouquets. An ocean of compassion. Best wishes from people she’d never met.

  Tae looked around the room in a daze. She would never have expected such an outpouring of support. She’d never paid attention to fan mail and automatically filtered messages that didn’t appear important. She’d never thought of the effects of her publicity except in terms of numbers—approval ratings, audience share…

  Now she was surrounded by pure affection no numbers could convey. As the reality sank in, she felt overwhelmed. She sank deeper into the pillows and closed her eyes. Sohya’s voice echoed in the darkness. “A means to an end…”

  I’m using these people. And Sohya.

  Tae’s fever roared back. She fell into a deep sleep.

  SENNOSUKE STEPPED OUT of the limousine and almost lost his footing. Two strong arms supported him from either side.

  “Are you all right?” said Ryuichi.

  “Sorry about that. I strained my back at the beginning of spring. Once you reach ninety-three, things start falling apart, it seems.”

  “Come now, the base won’t be complete for another three years. A year of that is our fault, of course,” said Gotoba.

  “Not just yours,” said Ryuichi. “I’m forty-five, you’re sixty-five. If we don’t get on with it, we won’t be able to go into space either. Let’s get this project finished as soon as possible.”

  “The question is whether it will be finished before I retire.” The three men laughed. Each wore an expression of resolve—none wanted to be the first to forgo a trip into space because of his age.

  The men left the car and driver behind and walked across a concrete roadway as wide as a six-lane highway. On the opposite side was an enormous, featureless building. Up close, it was so long that its ends were hard to make out. This was just part of TGT’s Tobishima facility.

  The men stood in front of a single door set into the vast expanse of wall. “What is it you wanted to show us?” asked Gotoba.

  “If you’ve only seen Eve and Adam on a video monitor,” said Ryuichi, “you don’t know what a rocket is really like. I want you to experience the real thing.”

  “That’s how you convinced Aomine,” laughed Gotoba. After witnessing the TROPHY test, Sohya had returned to headquarters fired with such enthusiasm that people wondered if TGT had brainwashed him.

  “After you.” Ryuichi opened the door. Inside, the vast building was awash with the flat, white illumination of LCD lights. Immediately before them was a squat tube the size of a microbus, lying on its side. A line of twenty tubes stretched off in both directions.

  “This is the HAB. Hybrid Assist Booster.”

  “A new engine?”

  “Nothing new about it. That’s our selling point.” Ryuichi walked up to one of the engines and laid his hand on it.

  “You’re familiar with the solid boosters strapped to Eve and Adam? They use conventional polymer-binder fuel. HAB uses solid and liquid fuel. The booster can be extinguished and reignited—no, let’s leave out the technical explanations. I’m not sure I understand it myself.”

  “Good,” said Sennosuke. “I have no idea how these things work either. ‘Paraffin fuel binders’? ‘Mandelbrot set cross sections’? It’s like a foreign language.” He was reading from a plaque on a stand in front of one of the engines.

  “Shinji was so good at explaining this sort of thing,” said Ryuichi quietly. “This was his final design. He thought it was his best. The point is it’s for export. As you’ve probably heard, the old Diet resolution against exporting rocket technology has just been repealed. These engines will be heading out the door soon.”

  “You said they’d sell because the design isn’t new?” asked Sennosuke.

  “The concept has a long history. Like TROPHY, people have been trying to develop an engine like this since the last century.

  Shinji made the design safe. These boosters could be used with the Eve launch vehicle—they’re reliable enough for manned applications. Of course we won’t be doing that since we’ve already manufactured all the boosters we’ll need for Sixth Continent.” He turned to Gotoba. “How are your multidozer sales? I heard you were selling them for extreme environment applications.”

  “We’re selling a few. If our bid for the Euphrates dredging project wins, we should be able to recoup our development costs.”
<
br />   “So both our companies have sources of income besides Sixth Continent. Can I interest you in a little philanthropy?”

  “I knew this wasn’t just a factory tour.” Gotoba’s expression indicated he’d been expecting this.

  “Reika and our finance people have been working hard. With eight billion in additional funds, we can finish the base. That includes the remaining costs of Phase E. I’d like to propose that Gotoba and TGT jointly provide the funds.”

  Sennosuke raised his hand. “Just a moment, Mr. Yaenami. It pains me to hear this. You don’t need to go that far.”

  Ryuichi ignored him. “I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Gotoba. Construction companies aren’t supposed to subsidize their own projects. You could withdraw from the project and make a profit elsewhere. So I won’t insist. This is a personal appeal.”

  “It won’t be easy to convince the board.”

  Ryuichi was not expecting this response. He’d expected hesitation, quite a bit in fact. But Gotoba’s answer meant he had agreed.

  “I’ve been president of the company long enough. The board might kick me out before the project is complete, but it’s worth betting my seat on.”

  “Mr. Gotoba, are you sure?” asked Sennosuke.

  “I can’t afford eight billion. That’s half the net profit we’re expecting from this project. I might be able to swing a billion. But let’s consider all the options.”

  “I thank you, sir!”

  “No need for that. People in our industry hate to withdraw from something once they’ve taken it on. If it’s necessary to get things completed, we’re willing to give a bit extra.” Gotoba waved his hand magnanimously.

  Ryuichi ran his fingers through his disheveled mane and murmured, “The question is how much of the other seven billion TGT can come up with.”

  Sennosuke shook his head and bowed deeply. “I don’t know how to thank you—either of you. I wish there were some way I could.”

  Ryuichi shook his head and smiled. “The space business has always been full of pitfalls. People make a fortune in the information or entertainment industries and apply their wealth to space development. Then the costs go sky high, they lose their fortunes and have to give up. Frankly, I’ve been expecting bankruptcy since I joined this project.”