by Taiyo Fujii
“I’ll leave them as they are,” said Chris. “I have no idea how much North Korea knows about the ASM-140, but we might as well act as though America still believes in the Rod from God.”
“And the second stage of the SAFIR 3 is still a pain in the ass either way.”
“Good point,” said Chris with a laugh. “Okay, then, I’m going to Seattle.”
“I’m relying on you to stick with Daryl.” They couldn’t leave the protection of their Japanese guests to amateurs.
Chris brushed cracker crumbs off the tablecloth and picked up her glasses. “Can I count on you to track down the illustrator from Los Angeles?” she asked. “Even if the Rod from God is just a diversion, he did receive the plans, so he must be involved somehow.”
“Jose Juarez. Leave it to me. I’ll get a commercial flight. You take the Gulfstream we came here on.”
The comfort of a private jet was tempting, but even on a regular commercial flight, he could arrive by ten o’clock local if he left now. Then he could round up some operators in the area, raid the man’s residence, and question him about where he had gotten the confidential documents that were the basis for the Rod from God.
Mon, 14 Dec 2020, 23:45 +0900 (2020-12-14T14:45 GMT)
The Nippon Grand Hotel, Iidabashi, Tokyo
With two small brand-new suitcases and the bags Kazumi and Akari had left at Fool’s Launchpad piled on a cart, Sekiguchi pushed open the door with his back and entered the room.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “I had to get Watanabe-san’s help bringing your stuff here.”
Kazumi got up to help him with the luggage, but when Kurosaki told him to relax and stood up to do it himself, he took advantage of the offer and sat back down.
Now that everyone was there, Kazumi decided it was time to tell them his one lingering worry. “In the email I sent to Colonel Lintz, I forgot to mention how Dr. Jahanshah got in touch with us.”
“Ah,” said Sekiguchi. He gazed up at the ceiling with chin in hand. Apparently he had let it slip his mind too.
“We only received a portion of Dr. Jahanshah’s paper, and the expanded orbital hotel will detach from the Wyvern soon. To speed up our analysis, I’d like to ask for his assistance. Would it be possible for you to contact someone at NORAD for me?”
“I don’t think so,” Kurosaki responded immediately. Iran and the US had tried to restore diplomatic relations six years ago, but the new president had halted it. There wasn’t even an embassy, so their hands would be tied if they proceeded through official channels. “We might be able to work out something if we could get an intelligence agency like the CIA to understand why connecting with Jahanshah is so important, but that’s not going to happen. We’ve got no time.”
“I can get you in touch with Jahanshah,” said Sekiguchi.
Kurosaki frowned. “I wouldn’t go making promises you don’t know you can keep.”
“I’ve got a few connections,” said Sekiguchi. “But I need your help, Kurosaki-san, so I’d appreciate your cooperation when the time comes.”
It seemed unlikely to Kazumi that JAXA could put them in touch with someone in a place like Iran where the Internet was blocked off. Instead, he guessed that Sekiguchi would probably ask his colleague at the NSC to pull some strings.
“Are you sure you can manage this?” asked Kurosaki.
“Just leave it to me,” said Sekiguchi. “Oh yeah. Where did I put that again?” From a suitcase, he withdrew a thin oblong box neatly wrapped in wrapping paper. He then stood up and proffered it to Akari, the orange ribbon attached to it quivering. “I wish this present could have been something more to your liking, but …”
Wearing a look of suspicion, Akari took the box, unwrapped it, and looked up at Sekiguchi. He pursed his lips and bowed to her in apology. It was then that Kazumi finally saw what the so-called present was: an electric shaver. Sekiguchi had a point; Akari’s Afro would definitely draw too much attention.
“I’m very sorry,” said Sekiguchi. “I couldn’t think of any other way.”
“No … I appreciate it,” said Akari. “This should allow me to go around with Kazumi-san without having to worry all the time.”
Akari looked toward the whiteboard. Written on it was “1:38 AM,” the departure time for JL 293. They had two hours to go.
“You think we’ll be on time if I do this now?” she asked.
“Should be okay. Please use the bathroom.”
Akari stuck her empty hand inside her Afro and stirred it around. “I’m going to miss this …”
“In your suitcase, you’ll find a hat … and a wig. If you don’t like them, please buy replacements at your arrival airport.”
Kurosaki turned away as if he couldn’t bear to watch, muttered something, and pulled out his smartphone. “I’m going to hire a driver,” he said. “Even with business class tickets, you have to go through the gate twenty minutes early or you won’t be on time for— What?”
Sekiguchi was wagging his finger. It seemed they wouldn’t be needing the driver.
“To apologize for what I’ve done to Akari, I’d like to show her the ultimate nighttime view of the city.”
On her way to the bathroom, Akari stopped in front of the door and turned around.
Sekiguchi pointed straight to the side and said, “I called a helicopter over to the Korakuen Building next door. With this, we can be at Haneda Airport in fifteen minutes. Please forgive me.”
Akari smiled at him and said, “I’m going to come out of here looking cooler then when I went in. Just you wait and see.”
Now wearing a bathrobe, Akari looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror. In her right hand, she gripped the shaver that Sekiguchi had just given her. The words of Kurosaki kept echoing inside her head. So you think Shiraishi has something to do with this? At the time, she’d said no, but everything they’d discovered so far pointed to her uncle’s involvement. In addition to the shadow-ware installed in the advertisements, she’d also heard him talk about how a translation engine could be contaminated and how to remain anonymous inside a surveillance state by changing roaming SIM cards.
“Uncle Ageha …” she whispered.
Though Shiraishi was more than two decades older than her, he had treated her as a friend and taught her programming. To Akari, he was the model engineer. Listening to him describe his seemingly endless supply of ideas, she had adopted his way of thinking and dedicated herself to learning his techniques of choice. Whenever one of them had uncovered a seam in the global system that now depended on the Internet and cloud services, they would dutifully send reports to the manufacturers and providers. Fixing many of the security holes that Shiraishi had found would have required enormous funding, nationwide initiatives, or some other costly investment, and his suggestions were often rejected. Even so, the two of them had often laughed together at the special efforts they had made to make the world a better place.
Shiraishi never once tried to use the skills he had acquired for selfish purposes. It just didn’t seem possible that a man of his character, who had demanded a high degree of restraint from Akari and who had personally taught her engineering ethics, would exploit a security hole like the one they had witnessed. Petty little subterfuges like those with the advertisement, the translation engine, and the SIM cards would surely have occurred to someone else at some point. There was no good reason to assume it was her uncle. She was just going to Seattle to—
“To uncover those North Korean agents,” Akari muttered, putting the buzzing foil of the razor to her temple and watching her frizzy curls begin to scatter before her eyes.
2020-12-14T15:00 GMT
Project Wyvern
14:39 GMT. The orbital hotel has successfully detached from the Wyvern and became a single independent spacecraft. I wanted to blog about that moment, but it was totally quiet, and before I knew it an
announcement came from one of the staff on Earth saying that the separation was complete. Not much to work with there. They could have at least given me a thunk or something. Seriously.
According to our itinerary, our plan from here on is to enjoy five days in orbit before transferring over to the ISS and then returning to Earth on the Soyuz.
The Wyvern spacecraft that carried us all this way is going to remain in an orbit that will make it easy to rendezvous with our orbital hotel in case of a problem. Then, when we depart from the ISS on the Soyuz, it’ll dock with the ISS and become a new return vehicle. I can’t tell you how jealous I am of the astronauts who get to go back to Earth in the unrivaled comfort of this wonderful ship.
Through the big round windows of the orbital hotel, I can see the body of the soon-to-be return spacecraft, the Wyvern.
No picture could ever convey to you how exciting this window is. You probably think a five-foot circle is tiny. Well, think again. From what I heard, when Ronnie came up with the idea of having a window this size, all—and I mean all—the architects were against it. If I’d been at the meeting, I’m sure I would have been against it too. Here in low Earth orbit—they call it LEO—thousands of bits of space garbage are zipping around at speeds between six and eight kilometers a second. Then consider that this orbital hotel moves at seven kilometers a second. This means that if there was a direct collision, one of those little bits might smack into one of the screws or solar panels at the unbelievable velocity of 13 km/s. Just like that, thirteen times the speed of a rifle bullet. The hotel has to be able to take lumps of metal flying at those speeds.
A shell made of multiple layers of metal can hold off small pieces of debris, but it’s difficult to make something that strong with transparent materials such as glass and acrylic. But Ronnie wouldn’t give in. And the designers actually fulfilled his request. Jammed into this window is an appalling amount of technology: a heavy water bulkhead, a shutter operated by gunpowder, and, carefully folded in so as to be invisible to the human eye, carbon nanotubes.
The view of the Earth through this window is simply magnificent!
As I write, I’m standing with the soles of my sandals on the window frame … This really makes me miss the Earth. Is that the Atlantic Ocean under nightfall straight beneath my feet? Inside the clouds floating over the Gulf of Mexico, I can see lights bigger and sharper than any illumination that humans can create: flashes of lightning.
I have one surprise announcement to make. Project Wyvern will be providing a complimentary sojourn on the orbital hotel to heads of state. It’s hard to say how many years you’ll have to wait in line, but we look forward to your applications. We would be delighted for all you leaders to see the countries you’ve been entrusted with from 350 km up.
With-a-touch-of-that-on-top-of-the-world-feelingly yours,
Judy Smark
7 War
Tue, 15 Dec 2020, 01:17 (2020-12-14T16:17 GMT)
International Terminal, Haneda Airport, Tokyo
Once Kurosaki had watched Kazumi and Akari disappear into the full-body scanner, he stopped waving and dragged his hand down his face. In twelve hours, the two of them would arrive in Seattle, where Sergeant Daryl Freeman, a subordinate of Colonel Claude Lintz, would pick them up at the airport. The body odor that came with old age wafting from Kurosaki’s wrist reminded him of how stressful the day had been. Only twelve hours had passed since their visit to Fool’s Launchpad, and already so much had happened.
Sekiguchi, who’d been looking out behind them, leaned his back on a barrier and slid down into a crouch.
“Are they gone?” he asked.
“Yeah. Anyone look like they’re tailing us?”
“No one was paying special attention to those two. I think we’re okay.”
“Good work. You did a great job today. I’m scared to think of tomorrow though …” Kurosaki said, feeling overwhelmed as he went over all the things they had to do the next day in his head. He would have to report to his superiors about the North Korean plot as well as the space tether that he was still trying to wrap his mind around, and explain the expenses that Sekiguchi had been putting up for them. He could justify the change of clothes and the suitcases they’d given to Akari and Kazumi, but the cost of the chartered helicopter to Haneda and the suite in the Nippon Grand Hotel went way beyond their allowance for entertaining important guests.
“You did a great job yourself, Kurosaki-san. This is far from over, so I’m sure we’ll be relying on each other more from here on out. All right. So let’s go back. The train to Iidabashi should still be running.”
Kurosaki nodded. Thanks to the Olympics, the trains now ran late into the night. Nonetheless, to get back to his home, he was going to have to take a taxi from Nakano Station. Kurosaki was just pulling out his smartphone to call his family when Sekiguchi waved at him to stop.
“Please don’t turn on any smartphone provided by JAXA,” said Sekiguchi.
Kurosaki remembered how Sekiguchi had had everyone turn off their smartphones before boarding the helicopter from the Korakuen Building. He’d thought that this was to prevent any interference with the vehicle’s instruments, but perhaps not.
“We can turn our phones on when we get back to the hotel,” Sekiguchi continued.
“What are you talking about? I’m going home.”
“After we have a nap at the hotel, we’ve got to get moving right away. Our flight to Turkey tomorrow leaves at noon. Since we’re taking economy, we’ve got to be at Narita by 9:00 a.m.”
“Hold on, there. Turkey?”
“Yes. There’s no direct flight from Japan to Tehran, so we’re getting a connecting flight from Istanbul. At 5:00 p.m. … This itinerary is going to be rough.” Sekiguchi put his hand on the barrier to push himself to his feet and bowed his head to Kurosaki. “I’m very sorry. There was no time to explain. We’re going to Tehran.”
“Tehran …” muttered Kurosaki and stared at Sekiguchi.
“Yes. We have to find Jahanshah. I promised Kazumi.”
Sekiguchi explained that they would bring satellite phones and other devices to create a network-connection environment that would allow them to communicate with Seattle. “This is going to be my first official trip abroad since I started working for JAXA,” said Sekiguchi, doing a big stretch.
“You … you think they’re actually going to approve this trip?”
“What better time than this for me to throw my weight around?”
Within a few years, a career bureaucrat like Sekiguchi would rise up the ranks in the Ministry of Science and Education and might even enter the department that controlled JAXA.
“I used your stamp to approve the application for our trip and included your portion on— What? You said I could use your stamp ‘when necessary.’ I also took the liberty of bringing your passport from inside your desk.”
“You fu— That’s not what I meant! What—”
“Kurosaki-san, I apologize for arranging all this without consulting you. But it’s of the utmost importance that we go. If Kazumi-san has a chance to speak with Dr. Jahanshah, the man who came up with the concept, our insight into the situation will only deepen further. And most importantly, this is what Kazumi-san wants.”
“… Well, that may be so. But there’s absolutely no need for us to go.”
“No, there is. We need to go into hiding.”
“What’s this?”
Sekiguchi lowered his voice and leaned in close to Kurosaki. “North Korea has us in their sights too.”
Sekiguchi took out his powered-off smartphone.
“I had to go to Ochanomizu to pick up your stamp so we could approve the trip, but when I got there, our IT team was in a frenzy. Apparently they’ve detected the unauthorized use of MDM.”
“MD what?”
“Mobile device management.” The moment Sekiguchi sa
id this, Kurosaki recalled that JAXA had adopted a system to centrally administer the smartphones and tablets used in their operations. In case any of them were lost or stolen, the IT department was set up to wipe out all its information. They could also check how many times certain apps were activated, where phone calls were made, and each device’s current location. Employees of the device manufacturer on temporary transfer from its systems integrator were in charge of running this system, and Kurosaki supposed that Sekiguchi had heard about the misuse of MDM from them.
“There was a record of someone checking the location of our smartphones right when we were in the Nippon Grand Hotel.” Pausing for a moment, Sekiguchi looked around and dropped his voice even further. “The account used to manipulate the MDM was Shiraishi’s. A disgruntled ex-employee’s account, still active. The password hadn’t even been changed. Once this is all over, we’ve got to let human resources and IT know how badly they screwed up.”
“Shiraishi’s account?” Kurosaki was surprised that it hadn’t been deleted.
“We still haven’t determined 100 percent that it was Shiraishi who did it,” said Sekiguchi, apparently noticing the look of dismay on Kurosaki’s face. Kurosaki was having serious trouble telling anymore which one of them was older and had seniority.
“I put off dealing with the problem because I didn’t want whoever it was to know we’re onto them,” continued Sekiguchi, “but we can’t use JAXA’s infrastructure until this all settles down. That’s why I submitted our application to travel on paper. It’ll be input into the system eventually, but this will at least buy us some time.”
Kurosaki was grateful for Sekiguchi’s quick thinking. “Ah … So that’s why you had us turn off our smartphones before boarding the helicopter.”