by Issui Ogawa
“If only I were still chairman of ELE…No, I’m too old to be calling the tune now. I just hope I can keep helping Tae.”
“We never should’ve allowed her to bear so much responsibility.”
The three men nodded sadly. Ryuichi and Gotoba were both seasoned executives; they had never blindly assumed Tae could handle the job. They had accepted her because of her abilities and her value as a symbol of the project. Even after ELE had washed its hands of Sixth Continent, they had agreed to her remaining its symbol. But working herself into the hospital could only be regarded as a blunder on her part, both as an executive and an adult. “We need someone who can take over some of her responsibilities. We’re the ones who are supposed to be helping her, after all,” said Ryuichi.
“But where can we find someone who’s as capable as she is and acceptable to her as well?” The three men exchanged resigned glances. Ryuichi’s wearcom chimed. He stepped away for a moment.
“Excuse me…Yes, it’s me. Clients? I’m busy. From Seattle?” His expression changed. Without ending the call, he said to his visitors, “You’re not in a hurry, are you? I’d like you to join me in a meeting.”
“Concerning what?”
“Something good, I have a feeling. A representative from Blue Origin is in my office. The private space development company in Seattle.”
“Private enterprise building launch vehicles?” said Sennosuke. “I didn’t know there were such companies in America—”
Ryuichi wasn’t listening. He was already running for the door.
KIICHIRO WALKED QUICKLY through the lobby of Nagoya University Hospital. He noticed an old man wearing traditional white and light blue priest’s robes talking to someone at the counter. As he walked past, toward the patient’s wing, the man addressed him.
“Mr. Toenji?”
Kiichiro turned and saw that the man was looking at him. After a moment he realized with a start that this was a Shinto priest with gray eyes—a foreigner.
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Aaron Halifax. You’re Mr. Toenji, aren’t you. Your father is a personal friend of mine.”
“Sennosuke?”
“Yes. You’re here to see Tae. So am I. Shall we go together?”
“As you wish.” Kiichiro was hardly pleased, but he could think of no reason to refuse. They walked down a long corridor marked with tape of different colors. The corridor was busy with nurses and patients in automated wheelchairs. Kiichiro kept three or four paces ahead.
“You have good news, I see,” said Aaron.
“What makes you think that?”
“Someone with bad news wouldn’t be in such a hurry. It must be something that will please your daughter.”
“You think I’m here to please her?”
“You think I’m here “You’re her father.”
“I’m afraid my domestic affairs are private.”
“My apologies. I had the feeling you needed some advice.”
“May I ask who you are?” Kiichiro stopped in the middle of the corridor, genuinely irritated. Aaron smiled calmly.
“Can’t you tell? I’m a priest. I’d be happy to perform the sacrament of reconciliation for you. If you need a confessor, I’m at your disposal.” Kiichiro saw that Aaron was holding a small cross. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
“You’re a clergyman?”
“I am a Catholic priest. The seal of the confessional is inviolable, of course.” With that, Aaron slipped through a door that opened off the corridor. Kiichiro followed him, about to say more, and found himself in a large linen closet.
“You love your daughter, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Kiichiro glanced around at the shelves of folded towels in bewilderment.
“And is she happy?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Then she does not feel your love. You should consider how you communicate it. Are you making a sincere effort to let her know how you feel?”
“I do…I mean, of course I am.”
“You’re certain?” asked Aaron quietly. Kiichiro felt a sudden constriction in his chest. What was he doing here? What were these questions? First that young friend of Tae’s, now this old man.
“My daughter…runs away from me. I try to stop her, but—”
“You don’t want her to leave.”
“No.”
“You want love.”
Kiichiro blushed. Aaron touched him gently. “No need to feel embarrassed. It’s normal to want the love of one’s offspring. But you realize love can’t be forced, don’t you? God enjoins us to love one other, not to be loved.”
“…Yes.” Kiichiro nodded.
Aaron smiled. “Thank you, you have confessed.”
“What?” Kiichiro looked startled.
“Your penance is complete. You know what to do. Don’t force it. If love doesn’t come today, it will tomorrow, or the day after.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t hurry. Take things a day at a time.” Aaron patted his arm and left the room. He headed toward the lobby.
“You’re not coming?” called Kiichiro.
“Give my regards to your daughter. Tell her I’m looking forward to becoming an astronaut.” He rounded the corner and disappeared.
For a few moments Kiichiro stood uncertainly in the corridor, then nodded and set off for Tae’s room. He felt as if he’d just experienced something unreal. Yet Aaron’s words lingered in his mind. Your penance is complete.
Had he really done penance? Lost in thought, he walked past Tae’s room without noticing. A nurse called to him. He doubled back and knocked on the door.
“Tae? It’s me.”
“Come in.” Her voice was unexpectedly casual. Feeling slightly disarmed, he opened the door and was astonished to see the flowers surrounding the bed. “What happened?”
“Everyone’s been so kind. They’re very pretty, but the ones at the bottom are starting to wilt. I’m going to have to do something. By the way, Sohya was the one who told them to bring them all in here.”
She was smiling cheerfully. It was positively disconcerting. He approached the bed hesitantly and noticed that each of the bouquets had a handwritten card attached.
“Are these all from individuals?”
“Not every one. Some are from fan clubs around the world. I don’t know any of these people. But look at them all. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
“About what?”
“So many people are wishing us success, regardless of the space debris. I thought I could control our image with publicity. Now I feel so embarrassed. The first thing I do at the next press conference will be to thank everyone for this.”
The old enmity had left her voice. Or was she was just hiding it? She was far more at ease than Kiichiro, who had come girded for another confrontation. Now the opportunity to go on the attack before being attacked seemed to have slipped away.
Tae picked up her wearcom from the bedside table and looked steadily at Kiichiro. “People are even making contributions.”
“Really?”
“So far we’ve gotten donations from more than thirty thousand people. It’s about five hundred million yen. I’m going to use the money for Phase E. Some of the contributors requested that anyway. It really helps.”
“Did you publicize your financial situation?”
“Yes, we did. Moody’s and S&P both dropped us in their ratings a bit, but I’m not going to worry about it.” Tae smiled. Like a flower.
She’s changed, thought Kiichiro. I don’t know how or why, but she doesn’t seem obsessed anymore. It’s as if a burden has been taken from her. She was never able to accept positive feedback like this before. Support had changed her—support from countless anonymous people. Tokai Eden had never received this much positive feedback from its guests.
“What brings you here?” asked Tae. Her question brought Kiichiro out of his reverie. Why was he here?
“I have good news
.”
Given what he had come to say, Kiichiro had been expecting to deliver his announcement with a tinge of sarcasm. Now he was mystified to find that his bitterness had dissolved.
“Actually, three pieces of good news. Reika Hozumi at TGT advised me of the first. Eight private space development companies in the United States, including Blue Origin, want to license the right to manufacture puffballs. They want to develop the expertise to sell orbital cleanup services to NASA.”
“Really?” Tae sat up excitedly. “Blue Origin developed their own TROPHY engine with information released by TGT. This must be their way of thanking us!”
“Number two: NASA is seriously considering paying private companies for orbital cleanup work. Not only that—the Indian and European space agencies have announced they will start cleanup operations within a year. China and India are rivals, so that may be why China has just announced a joint effort with Russia to do the same thing.”
“Why is this happening all of a sudden? When I talked to those agencies, they were all so unfriendly.” Tae’s eyes were wide with astonishment.
Kiichiro shook his head. “You’re still naive. There’s no short-term benefit from cleaning up the debris, but the national space agencies know there’s a long-term benefit to solving the problem. Still, no one wanted to be the first mover, so they were all hanging back. It’s inevitable. Once the main orbital bands are clean, whoever uses them will enjoy safer spaceflight, lower launch costs, and lower insurance premiums. Everyone has been waiting for someone else to grasp the nettle. If nothing is done, private industry is sure to go after NASA in a few years anyway, and they’ll have no choice but to deal with it. But they wouldn’t be likely to base their timing on Sixth Continent’s image problem.”
“So my timing was bad.”
“Of course. You confused their interests with your own. In fact, moving ahead after a push from you would only make them look worse for not acting earlier.”
Kiichiro felt a strange joy welling up inside him. He and Tae were talking instead of fighting. This simple pleasure, an everyday event between parent and child, was something he hadn’t experienced for many years. Tae’s eyes were shining. “What’s the third piece of news?”
“Joyful Homeland is disbanding. The response from the space agencies makes it no longer necessary. Three years from now, when Sixth Continent is complete, low earth orbit should be safe for manned commercial spaceflight. There’ll be no need to keep humanity tied to Earth.”
“Was that your decision?”
“I founded the group, but I don’t control it. Its main advantage was that its arguments were firmly based in reality. But reality has changed.”
“Father!”
Kiichiro was so surprised he almost retreated a step. Tae grasped his hands tightly. She could hardly speak from excitement.
“Father, I…I was thinking…I have a favor to ask of you. It’s kind of strange…I mean, sort of late…or maybe impossible…” Her voice died away. He squeezed her hand.
“Calm down now. Tell me.”
“I want you and Mother to have a wedding on the moon!”
She clung to his hand so determinedly that Kiichiro was almost pulled off balance. He was pondering the meaning of her request when Aaron’s words echoed in the back of his mind. Now I understand. We were both talking past each other, not listening. All it did was make sure neither of us understood the other. Now was the time to start listening.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” said Kiichiro.
Tae was stunned. For a moment she looked fearful. Kiichiro smiled.
“I think Sixth Continent is bit too grand for your mother and me. And so many people are waiting to go there. Let’s leave the moon to those people. The Earth is fine for us.”
“Does that mean—”
“Of course I’ll do it. I’ve no one else’s feelings to consider. I wish you’d taken more notice of the fact that I never remarried, Tae.” Kiichiro drew her toward him. She relaxed and closed her eyes.
“Thank you, Father.” She looked up at him questioningly. “So…you’re not against Sixth Continent anymore?”
“It seems I have no choice but to lend you my support. Your distant and nearly unreachable moon palace has captured the public’s imagination in a way our paradise on Earth never did. ELE will back you again. This time, I’ll guide the project.”
“No, I don’t want that.” She drew away. “Everyone’s relying on me. No matter what problems are waiting, I want to see them through myself.”
“This whole thing is bigger than you can handle now. Before you overwork yourself again—” Kiichiro stopped. He was giving orders. That’s going to take some time to change, after all. He exhaled and relaxed. “All right. If you need something, let me know.”
Instead of rejoicing, Tae looked puzzled. Perhaps she’d also been expecting another test of wills. At length she nodded, cautiously. “Thank you. I’ll do my best.”
“I’m sure you will. Good luck.”
Father and daughter looked at one another awkwardly. They had reached a compromise, but it would take getting used to.
AFTER HER FATHER left, Tae lay limply in bed. In a few moments, her situation of a week ago had been altered in ways she could never have imagined.
When Sohya had pointed out that everything she was doing was for approval from someone she thought she hated, she’d plunged into a deep depression. She hadn’t been willing to admit she could act so illogically. But finally she had admitted it and had fought her way through the depression. That led to a reconciliation with her father. It pained her to think how shallow she’d been. Doubtless there were more discoveries like this waiting for her, things she was sure she understood about herself but did not.
It was Sohya who had seen clearly into her confused heart. He understood her better than she did herself. Yet what did she know about him? For eight years he’d given her support whenever she needed it. Yet in all the time she’d known him, had she ever really tried to know him? She could only remember shrugging off what he’d said or disagreeing with him. She’d never initiated a frank discussion about anything, yet he’d never given up on her. For the first time, Tae felt a genuine yearning to see him—to be with him and start a new friendship.
She touched his speed dial on her wearcom. No answer. She called Gotoba. Because Sohya had not been able to do a proper handoff to the second team before returning, he’d already left with them for another stint on the moon. He would not be back for at least three months.
“Sohya…”
She heaved a dejected sigh. A tear ran down her cheek and fell on the pillow.
[4]
REKIA WAS ABOUT to enter Sixth Continent’s offices in Akasaka when the door opened and a couple in their forties emerged, gazing fondly at each another. She stepped aside and watched them go.
Inside, she found Dorothy filing documents. The couple had signed a contract. Even in this era, Japanese didn’t feel comfortable entering into agreements without affixing their personal seal to a paper document.
“How many is that?”
“One hundred and eighty-nine. They said they hadn’t been able to afford a proper wedding when they were young and wanted to do it right. About half our customers are like them. It makes sense. It’s not exactly cheap.”
“Make sure you put that in box C-2 before you forget. I don’t want to tell one of our couples that we lost their contract during the move.”
“I’d gotten rather fond of this place, I must say.” Dorothy looked round the office, sighed, and filed the folder of documents in a box. Sixth Continent was moving into bigger offices at ELE’s Tokyo branch.
ELE was giving them more than just office space. It had positioned Sixth Continent as a major company venture and was contributing significant funding and staff. The credit rating agencies had issued new opinions, ranking Sixth Continent’s debt even higher than before Tae had collapsed. The attitude of the banks was starting to change. Those
assets on the moon were beginning to look very safe after all.
“Dorothy, we’ve got some bad news. Adam 20 was hit by a lightning strike just after launch. It didn’t reach the correct orbit, so Gotenba gave the autodestruct command. Fortunately the problem wasn’t due to a malfunction.”
“Ryuichi said something like this would happen sooner or later. Let’s check the computer.”
Dorothy sat down at her laptop and launched the risk simulation. Hundreds of red and blue icons rose out of a black background. Reika watched intently as a red icon, representing the negative effects of a failed launch, linked to all the other icons. Apparently the accident would impact the entire project. But nothing happened; the other icons seemed hardly affected.
“See? That’s the benefit of full disclosure. Sixth Continent has carried out forty launches. Our warnings about an impending failure have had their effect. The accuracy of the prediction is almost a plus. Good.”
“How can it be good? The rocket and payload were worth two billion.” Reika sighed.
“Don’t worry so much. The payload was insured. ELE is backing us again. Every time there’s a failure, the designers go to work and the safety margin improves. We need more failures if you ask me.”
“Dorothy, you can’t be serious!”
“Now if we can just have a crash with Eve, it will help publicize our launch escape system…Oh my.” A new icon had appeared on the screen. It was yellow.
“What’s that?” said Reika.
“A wild card. Positive or negative? I don’t know. Gotenba is updating the simulation all the time. This is something new.”
“I want to know what it is!”
“All right, don’t get impatient.” Dorothy clicked on the icon. A video opened in a small window. The image was jerky, taken by a handheld camera. It showed a black sky and a circle of light traveling across a sparkling surface. There was no sound.
“It’s from the crater,” said Dorothy. The video showed two space-suited figures. One was pointing to what appeared to be a home brew metal detector. A crude wand or antenna extended from a small box. The astronaut was bringing the antenna close to the surface and raising it again. The camera zoomed in on the box. A small LCD screen with digital readout was affixed to the box with suit-repair tape. The data changed with the distance from the box to the ground. The two women watched the changing numbers, mystified.