Orbital Cloud Read online

  “Shit,” Watanabe said. “Not again. Excuse me.”

  He ran off toward the counter, calling out to see if Mary was okay. The fire alarm shrieked. Watanabe quickly told one of the other Fool’s Launchpad residents what to do, then went to hold back the security staff running toward the commotion. “It’s just the microwave!” he said. “False alarm!” Watanabe wasn’t paid to deal with situations like this, but his sense of responsibility wouldn’t let him ignore them.

  “Mary was probably trying to dry out some papers in the microwave but forgot to take the paper clip off,” Kazumi said with a grimace. “You probably didn’t know this, but this’d be the third time she’s done that. When she isn’t too busy spilling her coffee.”

  “It’s no joke,” Akari said. “What if she really does start a fire? Just how dumb is she?”

  Kazumi decided to let that one go.

  “Why do sparks fly when you microwave something metal, though?” Akari wondered.

  “When you switch the microwave on, current runs through the metal. The sparks are the discharge. Which reminds me.” Kazumi put the needle back on the rails and rolled it with his finger. “A conductor passing through a magnetic field generates an electric current too, right? So if a space tether is in orbit, that orbit alone would generate current. In this paper by Jahanshah, he recommends using that to charge it for later use.”

  Akari’s eyes went wide. “You mean it could stay up there forever?”

  “In theory, yeah,” Kazumi said. “Battery degradation would bring it down eventually.” That would take decades, though.

  “So it can move around freely and stay in orbit indefinitely. That’s amazing. Scary, too.”

  “I’m going to try to get in touch with JAXA. If I can set up a meeting, can I borrow the planetarium from yesterday?”

  “Sure, but can I ask a favor in return?”

  Akari pulled a tablet out of her mountain of gadgets and woke it up. The screen showed the Meteor News web page. Akari pointed at the Kitten Master banner in the advertising box.

  “This ad pays really well, but can I set the page to not display it for a while?”

  “Huh?”

  “There’s something funny about it. It looks like the image has script fragments embedded in it.”

  “Could it be a virus or something?”

  Only strictly vetted items were transmitted for web advertising. Was it possible that some executable fragments had made it through that screening and onto his page?

  Akari put the tablet to one side and swept her gadgets out of the way to make room to work. “Maybe. I’ll look into it.”

  Mon, 14 Dec 2020, 10:03 +0900 (2020-12-14T01:03 GMT)

  JAXA Tokyo Office, Ochanomizu Sola City

  “Wish there was more to do around this place,” sighed Sekiguchi, tapping aimlessly at his tablet in the seat opposite Kurosaki.

  Kurosaki looked up. Sekiguchi had only been in the office an hour. “Don’t you have work to do? Did you reply to the observatory?”

  “I got the techs to reply on Friday. You were in CC.”

  Kurosaki shrugged. Sekiguchi was a fast worker and a solid thinker. The Japanese translation of North Korea’s declaration he’d prepared for the space policy minister’s talking points had saved the minister serious embarrassment. Kurosaki wondered if everyone on the bureaucratic career track was this sharp. Sekiguchi wasn’t exactly polite, but he was tactful enough not to hound his superiors about whether they’d read the mail he sent or not.

  “I didn’t spend much time on the reply from our side,” Sekiguchi continued. “Do you want to take a look?”

  There was a mischievous look in his eyes. He was trying to draw Kurosaki in. The mail had probably been overfamiliar—Sekiguchi thinking he could skip the politeness because of a shared interest in space.

  “I’ll pass,” Kurosaki said. “What about Wyvern, then?”

  “Already on top of it,” Sekiguchi replied. “Good for them, getting into orbit, right? I guess they’ll open the hotel soon. Here’s hoping all goes as planned.”

  No doubt he was collecting information on Ronnie Smark in English. Not that he would brag about that. For Sekiguchi, English was a bare-minimum skill. He’d mentioned once that he’d traveled around the world as a student, and Kurosaki could see him cheerfully getting his way wherever he went, just like he did now.

  Sekiguchi sighed. “What a life, right? Private spaceflight. Wish we could publicize some of the Japanese tech on the Wyvern. The orbital hotel Miura folds for storage, doesn’t it? Was it the IKAROS that used Miura folds too? … What, did I say something wrong?”

  “No,” Kurosaki said. “Just surprised you know about that.”

  “I’m only going to be in JAXA for four more years. I have to bone up while I can. I learn a lot from Judy’s blog, too.”

  “Better make sure no one else hears you say that.”

  There was grumbling throughout the office, right down to the smoker’s area, that there wasn’t a more substantial source chronicling the historic human achievement taking place in orbit right now. Fair or not, it didn’t help that the Japanese translation was being published on a news site marketed to women.

  “Really?” Sekiguchi asked. “But why? A lot of information about Wyvern is released for the first time on that blog. Like how its fuel comes from shale gas. I was actually surprised that Wyvern can connect to the Internet at all.”

  Kurosaki was taken aback. You could find stuff like that on that blog? Not even the engineers had mentioned that to him.

  “Judy’s blog is written in perfect PR style,” Sekiguchi continued. “I’ve read some of her work for political journals, and it was the real thing. Can’t wait to see what she puts up about the orbital hotel. A soft-shell spacecraft? There must be all kinds of trade secrets in there.”

  Sekiguchi was already looking back down at his tablet. Reading the blog in question, maybe?

  “She’s no lightweight, that’s for sure,” said Sekiguchi. “This is a mission planned by the Ronnie Smark. He’s not the type to bring his daughter along just because she asked nicely. I mean, he divorced her mother fifteen years ago, so this isn’t your standard parent-child relationship.”

  Kurosaki opened the Project Wyvern website and clicked on Judy’s profile. Her picture smiled back at him from the page.

  “She might be related to him by blood, but she’s only up there because she showed real ability,” Sekiguchi added.

  Kurosaki knew he was right. Judy Smark had been competing with every other journalist in the world for the gig as embedded writer on the first-ever commercial space journey. She clearly knew what she was doing.

  “This ‘iron hammer’ and ‘Rod from God’ thing couldn’t have come at a better time, that’s for sure,” Sekiguchi said.

  Kurosaki nodded. Over the weekend, the comments section on the Geeple article had exploded. The most popular topic had been whether the Rod from God was aimed at the ISS or Ronnie’s orbital hotel.

  “It’d be scary to think that someone might have it in for you like that,” Sekiguchi said. “The orbital hotel is supposed to connect to the Internet today, so they’re about to learn all about it. Let’s hope Astrogirl is up to the challenge.”

  “Yeah,” Kurosaki said. “Maybe I’ll start reading, too. Whoa—excuse me.”

  His jacket pocket had vibrated. His private phone, not the one from JAXA. He stood up. Sekiguchi made fun of him for it, but he hated dealing with private business in front of coworkers. He turned his face toward the document cabinets and pulled out his phone. The mail subject line hit him at once:

  Information on multiple orbital objects around SAFIR 3 / Invented by Iranian scientist

  From … Kazumi Kimura. He knew Kimura. A younger man. Came to JAXA’s data hackathon every year.

  “What a coincidence,” Kurosaki said. “I
t’s from Japan’s own Astroboy.”

  “You move in exalted circles, Boss,” Sekiguchi said.

  “What can I say? According to this, our friend’s got information about SAFIR 3.”

  He raised his hand so that Sekiguchi could see the screen from behind him and unlocked the phone. The mail appeared on the screen. It was in Kimura’s usual polite style, but it started off with a string of terminology Kurosaki was unfamiliar with.

  “Inductive-tether system? Space tether?” Kurosaki said.

  “Oh—that’s that thing they were working on at Sagamihara,” Sekiguchi said.

  Kurosaki turned to face Sekiguchi.

  “That research about deorbiting debris, wasn’t it?” Sekiguchi said. “They had a prototype but no budget. Did an experiment using the HTV a few years ago but never followed it up.”

  “I remember now,” Kurosaki said. The memories that came to him were not pleasant ones. An old friend who would later abandon Japan had argued passionately for the spacecraft, but even within JAXA it had essentially been buried. The three remaining researchers on the project had to keep up their maintenance on a satellite that would never fly, just to hold on to what amounted to a pity budget. Five, no, ten years wasted, for everyone involved.

  “So the tether—what about it?” asked Sekiguchi.

  “It’s in orbit,” Kurosaki said. “Times ten thousand.”

  Sekiguchi leaned forward. “Who’s the mail from? Where’d they get that idea?”

  “Kazumi Kimura. Runs a website called Meteor News.”

  Kurosaki was about to read off the URL, but Sekiguchi beat him to it with “Found it!” A fast typist, too.

  “Wow, this is hard-core,” Sekiguchi said. “Is this guy Japanese? We need someone like him on our site’s design team. Looks like the most recent blog entry is the one we want. Says he found something unusual in the data from the X-Man—the guy who discovered the Rod from God. Nothing about any space tether, though.”

  “When was it posted?”

  “Two days ago. Saturday.”

  “Maybe that’s what this Iranian scientist saw. Apparently Kimura got a video call from Iran yesterday—a scientist who told him that the mysterious objects up there were running on space tether technology. Sent Kimura some papers, too, but the connection was cut halfway through. Sounds fishy to me.”

  “Do you know what time yesterday?”

  “Evening, I guess?”

  “Case closed,” Sekiguchi said. He turned his tablet to show Kurosaki his screen: video footage of a man pulling blue shutters down over an Internet café. “Yesterday, at 5:30 p.m. Japan time, Iran cut off all access to the Internet. Kimura’s story checks out. We may as well see what he has to say. What have we got to lose? I’ll set up a meeting.”

  “Not too boring for you?”

  “Even if it is a red herring, it’s an interesting one. I like this Meteor News site, too. Maybe we can hook him up with some JAXA data, use our kind donation for PR somehow. You’re free first thing this afternoon, right?”

  “Uh …” Kurosaki opened his groupware schedule with a sigh. His eyes opened wide when he saw that a trip to Shibuya was already scheduled for 1:00 p.m. “Hey!”

  “I took the liberty,” Sekiguchi said. “Looks like Kimura’s office is in a building connected directly to Shibuya station. Let’s get lunch on the way.”

  2020-12-14T01:30 GMT

  Project Wyvern

  Good morning! Good evening!

  I just woke up. I’m looking at America for the fifth time today through the Wyvern’s sole porthole. Seeing the outlines of Earth is such a shock to the system. The atmosphere’s a crisp blue line no thicker than a fingernail. At sunrise and sunset, the hills and valleys of the clouds and the ground below are all thrown into relief by bright scarlet light.

  And we’re in zero gravity! … is what I want to write, but my science grip Rob would get mad at me, so I’d better explain it properly. It’s true that if I let go of the mission check sheet I’m holding, it floats. I feel weightless myself. My ponytail’s waving back and forth. But even here in the Wyvern, orbiting the Earth at seven kilometers per second 350 kilometers up, gravity isn’t entirely absent.

  Technically, we’re in free fall. The Wyvern is falling toward Earth, pulled down by about 80 percent of the gravitational pull at the surface. But it never gets any lower, because we received enough velocity from Loki 9 and the rotation of the Earth at blastoff to keep moving sideways instead of just down. Imagine throwing a ball as hard as you can—it lands pretty far away, right?

  We’re basically an orbital-scale home run.

  I wish I could write more, but Ronnie is giving me one of his looks, so I’ll wrap it up. It’s going to be a busy day. We’re going to unfold the orbital hotel in the docking bay and get it connected to the Internet. I was involved in the decision-making, but our access might be even faster than what you get on an airliner. A high-speed connection through a combination of Elysium and Global Satcom lines!

  And why will I be busy, you ask? Because a certain IT billionaire glaring at me right now doesn’t know how to set up his own wireless router. Oops—did I just violate my NDA?

  See you all in six hours!

  I hadn’t planned to write more, but I guess I can’t stay silent on this one. Yes, I saw the launch video. According to this one email from the project staff, my screaming has been viewed more than two million times. I do wish I hadn’t looked that much like a zombie with the drool and the tears … No, I’ll be honest: it’s incredibly embarrassing. I’d be happy never to see that video again. But I guess it’s destined for the textbooks of the future.

  Which gives me a new goal for the mission: do something impressive and meaningful enough to make that the image people have of me. Wish me luck!

  Yours from 350 km up,

  Judy Smark

  5 Evasion

  Mon, 14 Dec 2020, 13:02 +0900 (2020-12-14T04:02 GMT)

  Fool’s Launchpad Conference Room, Shibuya

  Dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt, Kazumi Kimura stood in front of the whiteboard and nodded politely to Kurosaki, then Sekiguchi. The woman with an Afro sitting in the chair beside him—Akari Numata—nodded as well. Kurosaki and Kazumi crossed paths once a year at an event they both attended, but this was the first time Kurosaki had seen Kazumi give a formal presentation like this.

  “Thanks for coming, Kurosaki-san, Sekiguchi-san,” Kazumi said. “And sorry about the handwritten agenda.”

  “Doesn’t bother us,” said Kurosaki. He jerked his thumb at Sekiguchi. “It’s this guy’s fault for rushing you, anyway.”

  Kazumi responded to Kurosaki’s informal manner with an easy smile. “No, I appreciate the quick reply,” he said, and then turned to the whiteboard.

  Akari, acting as notetaker, sat up ramrod straight and tapped at her keyboard. Kurosaki felt himself in a very strange situation. Despite their casual dress, both Kazumi and Watanabe, who’d met them at reception, displayed perfect business manners. Even Akari, with her shock of orange hair, behaved exactly like a regular office worker. Especially surprising was how clear and easy to understand the materials Kazumi had sent in advance had been. What was a guy like this doing in freelance web design?

  Kazumi turned back to his audience and replaced the cap on his marker.

  “These are the three things I want to share,” he said.

  - Jamshed Jahanshah’s space tether

  - SAFIR 3 R/B—irregular orbit

  - Objects near SAFIR 3

  “Excuse me,” Sekiguchi said, rising to his feet. “I realize that this is outside your field, but I’d like to get opinions from you two on one other issue.” He borrowed the marker from Kazumi and added a fourth bullet point.

  - Q: Translation of cheolgwon?

  “There’s no need to ask these two—” Kurosaki began to o
bject, only to be interrupted by Akari raising her hand from the seat directly in front of him.

  “In that case,” she said, “I have one too.”

  Kurosaki noticed that she had a metal keyboard strapped to her left arm, the sort of device he’d seen only in high-tech war movies. She tapped on the keys, and one of the miniature projectors on the table came to life. The sentence she had typed moved into place beneath the one Sekiguchi had added.

  - Report: Shadow-ware

  Shadow-ware? Kurosaki was mystified. Some kind of computer software, maybe?

  “One surprise addition from each side,” Sekiguchi said, handing the marker back to Kazumi. “Seems fair.” He returned to his seat.

  Kazumi looked at the two newly added points and tilted his head for a moment as though in thought. “Well, here’s hoping I can be of some use on these too,” he said. “Let’s start with the space tether. This is all based on papers I received directly from Jamshed Jahanshah in Iran—there was no title for him on the paper I read, but he might have gotten his PhD and be Dr. Jahanshah by now.”

  Kazumi began his explanation, using the Lorentz force experimental apparatus on the table to demonstrate the effect. Kurosaki shook his head in amazement. The guy made it so easy. It was like they were up in orbit looking at the space tether itself. Everything was new to him, but he understood it perfectly already.

  Kazumi must have developed a knack for explaining the unfamiliar in simple terms while writing English posts for Meteor News, Kurosaki mused. The service catered to amateur astronomers around the world.

  Kazumi’s presentation moved on briskly to the observational data from Ozzy “X-Man” Cunningham. When the projectors on the table turned the conference room into a planetarium, projecting images onto the walls and even the ceiling, Kurosaki couldn’t help grunting in admiration. Even Sekiguchi was stunned to hear that Akari had thrown the planetarium together just the day before. Having Kazumi around to clarify the astronomical side of things must have helped, but to get something like this running in a single day was impressive.