As everyone took their seats, the president of the powerful keiretsu addressed the large group. A ray of sunshine shown through the large bay window, hitting his eyes. Tajika motioned to the sensor and the glass tinted appropriately. Two members of the official party, present as volumetric holograms, appeared in specialized chairs.
“Tajika-san, go ahead and take your seat please,” a man said. He was Mr. Shigeyoshi Shimotsuji, the oldest and most powerful member of the group. The Americans in the room pressed against their ears as translation software changed Japanese to English.
“As you all may or may not know, I called this meeting to discuss the future of Nagoya Industries,” he said blatantly. Tajika briefly glanced at Aya, who looked on with attentiveness.
“I give the floor to the representative from the Bank of Japan, Mr. Aoki-san.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. President,” the man replied, bowing repeatedly while standing and walking to the front of the room.
Mr. Aoki was accompanied by a pre-prepared presentation that played on each individual table screen. First to show was a detailed analysis of Nagoya’s profit and loss statement, accompanied by graphs and charts. The other pages showed stockholders’ equity, balance sheets, and future earnings.
“I want to start off by saying the Bank of Japan and the Japanese government has always been a firm supporter and investor in the company known as Nagoya Industries,” he said, looking around the room at those present. “However, it needs to be known that Nagoya is currently in the net loss bracket and has been so for many fiscal years. Go ahead and skip to the current cash-to-debt ratio please,” Aoki said.
“As you can see, the second quarter earnings report shows Nagoya’s operating costs far exceeds its net income. At the current rate, the company is losing approximately ¥2.173 trillion each fiscal year,” he said, swiping through his notes.
“To solve this problem and prevent this company’s dissolution, we look to their worldwide assets valued at ¥49.830 trillion . . .” The presentation droned on for another half-hour until the next presenter was allowed to speak. Tajika struggled to pay attention. His thoughts were on his daughter, and what would happen to her safety if the company collapsed.
“So it’s final. Per association guidelines, a thirteen to two vote in favor of liquidating half of Nagoya’s assets and the restructuring of its two hundred thousand employees. I will leave the layoffs to you, Tajika-san. We must cut half for us, for you, to be profitable again. This presentation hasn’t even covered the massive amounts of unpaid credit and government loans. We would be here all day,” Shimotsuji-sensai said to faux laughter from those present.
“One last thing,” Shimotsuji-sensai said as everyone present retook their seats after assuming the meeting was at an end. “I brought in Toyama Group for the sale of the research ship Shintaro and all the accompanied equipment on Titan.” Before the president could finish, Tajika-san stood in protest. He bowed quickly in respect and began his counter argument.
“This is unnecessary, Mr. President! We are not an automobile company or a producer of cheap electronics. Space takes time and investments but it will eventually pay off,” he argued. His words were a slight towards Toyama, the leading technology company in Japan.
“Sit down, Tajika-san. This is not open for discussion. The Shintaro cost all of us ¥2.2 trillion over the course of the last decade. You will sell it to Toyama Group to fund the rest of the Mars mission.”
The group continued to discuss some more finite details before adjourning. There was no more protest from Tajika. He called in his support staff, who downloaded required documents and made preparations for the downsizing of the company. Tajika watched from his office suite window as the official party of shareholders and investors left in their convoy. He poured himself a glass of rice whiskey, looked at it intently, then opted to drink from the bottle instead.
•••
Back at Nagoya Mission Control, employees prepared for the winterization of the Antarctic facility. The secondary mission control, located on Hachijo-jima, had been subsequently destroyed by cruise missiles months earlier. Nagoya corporate staff scrambled to create a suitable tertiary site to move the necessary equipment and manpower needed to carry on the Mars mission.
The Micronesian island of Nauru was selected for its remoteness and close proximity to equatorial communications satellites. Mr. Nao Tajika gave the order to his corporate staff and the plan was implemented.
Several specialized transport aircraft began landing at the Ohio Range’s frozen air strip. They came in twos, picking up equipment and personnel and ferrying them to staging areas in New Zealand. With special landing gears made into sleds, the aircraft could land and taxi with ease.
Men and women, with their signature Ohio Range jumpsuits and parkas, formed long lines in the blistering cold, awaiting transport, many unaware they would arrive at Christchurch with word of their termination from the company.
Dr. Hyuk sat transfixed to his computer screen in the main mission control room. He bundled himself up in his favorite parka and sipped on piping hot coffee. Maintenance personnel had been dealing with heating issues the day before but apparently had not fixed the problem. A faint vapor trail expelled from Dr. Hyuk’s mouth. He rolled his eyes and took another gulp from his thermos.
His assistants scrambled around in the cold room. They were running late on a scheduled video transmission to Mars. They hushed each other and appeared to argue in whispers, which caught the attention of the lead physicist.
“What seems to be the problem, Caleb?” Dr. Hyuk asked in a playful, already-knew-the-answer sort of way.
Straightening himself in his chair, the young engineering intern swiveled around to face Dr. Hyuk. The other interns kept their heads low and out of sight. “We . . . well . . . I am having trouble with the signal. The laser either isn’t calibrating correctly, or it’s damaged,
or . . .”
“So I gotta ask the obvious here, Caleb,” Dr. Hyuk interrupted him.
“Yes, sir?” Caleb responded nervously.
“Did the calibration program run, and did it go through?” Dr. Hyuk mentored calmly.
“Yes,” Caleb answered.
“Are all systems running normally? Is anything off, even by a single decimal?”
“Yes and no,” Caleb responded again.
“Ok, have you physically gone outside and checked the optical transmitter?” Dr. Hyuk lowered his head to look at Caleb over his glasses.
“No, sir,” he replied. An awkward exchange ensued as the group of interns sat motionless, staring at Dr. Hyuk.
“Go and check the laser. Come on, you guys. Critical thinking skills, let’s use them!” Dr. Hyuk’s voice raised as the group scurried out of the mission control room. The doctor tapped his wrist band and spoke into the microphone.
“Curtis, where are you?” Hyuk called.
“Jade and I are finishing up now, be over in five minutes,” Curtis replied.
“Good, I need you two to save me, please.”
“Say again, sir?” Curtis asked.
“I said, I need you to come and save me,” Hyuk said a little louder.
“Interns?” Curtis asked.
“Interns,” Hyuk replied.
“Good news, we only have them for eight more hours, sir.”
“Good, I think I’ll release them early for a packing detail,” Dr. Hyuk said. Curtis filled his mic with laughter.
The day at Ohio Range progressed normally as more and more personnel departed the facility. In a mere forty-eight hours, the center went from 5,000 to 1,000 personnel. Air transport continued until sunset when it became too perilous to land.
Mechanics and support staff who remained covered the dozens of test aircraft and other prototypes with temperature-resistant tarps. Unused offices were insulated and final communications were sent around the world, as well as to the crew on Mars.
“Everything’s been sent,” Curtis said. He turned off his compute
r and sat with Dr. Hyuk in reflective silence. Jade had already left on the final flight of the night, leaving Curtis and Dr. Hyuk to leave the following morning. “I’ve informed Dr. Krause of our intentions to leave for Nauru as soon as possible. She informed me they have a monorail scheduled to arrive in the morning from Amundsen-Scott with fifty pax,” he said.
Dr. Hyuk gave a long, drawn out sigh. “As long as we have two seats on that plane for our frozen asses,” he said.
“You know, since I’ve been here I haven’t seen that monorail run, not once,” Curtis commented.
Dr. Hyuk killed time by explaining a little about the monorail to Curtis. The Transantarctic Straddle Monorail, funded mainly by the Amundsen-Scott Station, provided access between the two population centers. With an elevated rail and adjustable support beams, the rail was an economical and safe transportation system in the frigid deserts of Antarctica.
In its early years, a major crash took place that killed two Dutch researchers. The accident was caused by brittled steel crystalline structure from the subzero temperatures. To combat this issue, engineers installed a nine percent nickel, ninety-one percent steel alloy, solving the problem.
•••
On a lonesome airstrip in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, a single transport jet laden with construction supplies landed. Its mission was to establish a new mission control center on the poor island nation of Nauru.
A suit-clad man disembarked the transport aircraft with several others in hard hats and jumpsuits. He met with the President of Nauru and his small cabinet. They exchanged handshakes and exchanged currency for a deal to use Nauruan manpower.
“A plot of land parallel to the airstrip will be cleared and a command center constructed,” the man said. Work began immediately as unemployed phosphate miners lined up outside chain link fences surrounding the airstrip.
Chapter 18
0626 hours, Sol 12
Southwestern Lyot Crater
Earth Date: May 16, 2045
Frank snored loudly as Mia kicked him from inside her sleeping bag. The temperature inside the tent had warmed significantly but was still hopelessly frigid. Frank stirred, opened his eyes, and stood with a jolt, striking his head on the center lamp.
“Ah!” he blurted out, gripping his head in pain.
“Wake up, bruh,” Mia said. It was the first time Frank had heard her speak slang.
“You aren’t cold?” she asked.
Frank exhaled a large breath of air, the condensation billowing out like thick smoke. He quickly grabbed for his helmet. His ears and nose were bright red from cold. The two lay next to each other in silence.
Mia grabbed two meal rations from her pack and offered one to Frank but he waved it away. Inside his helmet, a silicon straw connected to a mouthpiece deployed from atop the internal air filter, equipped with active nuclear, biological and chemical protection. Frank sipped slowly on water and played with the settings on his suit.
He watched as Mia poured a small amount of water into a ration heater, causing an exothermic chemical reaction. Steam rose from the bag, safely heating the contents of her breakfast: beef hash. She nibbled on a granola bar while waiting for the food to heat.
Inside the HUD’s main menu, Frank scrolled down to the bottom and selected the NBC protection system. Data poured onto his screen and showed the system as active. He read the description: “This suit contains an active, multi-stage radiation protection system. The first stage consists of a lead-injected gel that deflects, by reflection, alpha, beta, and some gamma radiation. The second stage is a thick tantalum-boron liner that is effective in reducing remaining gamma radiation by half. Deadly cosmic radiation is effectively reduced by 75%.”
A single red diode fluttered light above Frank’s visor, making it known he was running his suits diagnostics program. They sat in silence, hearing only the sounds of granola crunching between teeth and the continuous noise of life support.
The day continued on. Like the previous eleven, it was filled with hard work and moments of sacrifice. Astronauts at Ōme Station worked diligently preparing the settlement for maximum efficiency so as to begin conducting experiments and exploration of Mars. Regardless of how much they toiled, without more water they could not achieve that maximum efficiency since many systems required water to function.
Roland and Alexei had returned many of the rovers back to working condition. The reasons for their deactivation remained a mystery. Each rover had a primary power source. Most of the newer models relied on lithium batteries and curium-based radioisotope thermoelectric generators. The curium RTGs were housed in fifty millimeter-thick lead casks for added protection from self-made radiation.
Old solar-powered rovers were shown to have malfunctioned from exposure to dust over extended periods. The mass amounts of dust frayed the exposed internal wiring of the machines, rendering them inoperable after a decade of use. Newer rovers, being self-contained in complete housings, exhibited no such degradation. It was almost as if they were deliberately turned off.
Roland wrote about their findings in his report, detailing what they had found. Now, however, they had a new fleet of operable robots to search for water in Lyot Crater. The challenge was reprogramming and installing the necessary equipment to mine the regolith.
At 1530 hours, Amirah hailed the incoming Goza airship approaching from the south. The crew at Ōme watched as the giant airship crested the crater’s central uplift and made its final approach.
Frank descended the Goza’s mooring lines to an awaiting rover with a crane-extended grappling hook. They caught without incident, officially ending the nearly two-day mission.
Returning to the ground, the two astronauts were exhausted and running low on oxygen. The others huddled about and asked questions as Renee pulled up in the MEV, towing the next twenty kilometers of plastic tubing. She was thrilled to see them back safely and gave Mia a warm embrace.
“Ok, lets get you two indoors,” Roland ordered, breaking up the welcome party.
“I’ll escort them back, sir,” Renee said, her arms slung around Mia’s and Frank’s shoulders.
Frank glanced back at Roland, Alexei, and Keiko. He watched as they began loading supplies into the airship for the next mission. A small four-wheel rover zipped past Frank’s leg with several bags strapped to its roof. Alexei, he thought.
Compressed air finished pouring into the main airlock. The red light changed green and the door into Ōme opened automatically. Not waiting another moment, Frank removed his helmet and breathed fresh air.
“Oh my gosh, it feels so good to be back,” he pined. Mia smiled in agreement and took a knee next to Frank as he lay outstretched on the hard station floor.
Mia scanned the interior. It looked emptier than normal. “Where are all the plants?” she asked. Frank sat upright and looked around silently.
“In the compost bin. We’re on emergency water procedures now,” Renee replied. She walked toward her medical dome. “Once you get settled in, meet me in the medical wing for examinations. I’ll fill you in then.” She disappeared into the medical dome and shouted from inside. “Oh, by the way, if you have urine or feces they’ve gotta be recycled. Amirah, tell them please.”
“Because of the current water shortage, urine flasks must be disposed of at the stations distiller, located in the pump room. Vacuum-sealed fecal waste will be discarded inside the compost vessel labeled Biosolids. If you need further assistance, I will be happy to assist you,” Amirah said with artificial inflections.
Frank made his way to his personal quarters. The station had changed greatly, even after just two days of being gone. More heat had been generated, causing the indoor temperature to rise by some twelve degrees.
Once inside closed doors, he watched outside as Roland helped Keiko up the wavy rope ladder of the Goza airship. She struggled to climb it at first, but then found a groove that worked and scaled it rather quickly.
He watched as they made the necessary checks on th
e flight systems and before he knew it they were off. Plumes of CO2 blasted out the back of the ship, accelerating them, albeit slowly, across the expanse of rocky plain. Alexei and Keiko soon disappeared over the central uplift of jagged mountain tops and debris aprons.
As evening progressed, what was left of the Yamada crew at Ōme hunkered down for the night. A 500 gallon payload of water, sent down from space, provided a small reprieve for the thirsty crew. Roland allowed thirty second showers and increased water rations to boost dwindling morale. It was a welcome gesture to Frank especially. His own body odor made him queasy.
Once inside his cramped latrine, Frank removed his suit's components one module at a time. Fumbling, he fat-fingered the pelvic release slide and two days’ worth of sealed excrement hit the floor. Thankfully, none of it tore through the plastic packaging. Being more careful, he removed each urine flask with the utmost care as they were more fragile.
“That can't be good,” he spoke to himself. The urine flask he held contained swishing orange liquid.
“Frank?” a female voice inquired just outside the half-opened door.
“Uh, just a sec . . . just a second!” Frank scrambled the remaining flasks and bags out of sight. Putting on a pair of spandex briefs, he walked into the main living area.
“Oh, I just . . . ” Mia paused. She had never seen Frank so underdressed before, with hardly more than his matte black prosthetics, bruised abdomen, and middle-aged body, littered with scars. For the first time in a long time Mia felt vulnerable, but also an undeniable pity for the old pilot.
“I just wanted to say, we made a good team,” she commented.
Frank let a sheepish smile sneak past, then disengaged his laser-like stare into Mia’s eyes. He very much enjoyed her eyes, light brown, almost yellow, with tiny specks of brown. He had never seen anything like them. He began to study the floor and Mia sensed the conversation was getting uncomfortable.
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