Orbital Cloud Page 16

  “Sekiguchi?” Kurosaki said. He started to get up, but froze at the sharp look Sekiguchi threw at him. Sekiguchi put the bead-adorned smartphone to his ear and spoke in Korean.

  For a moment, Sekiguchi peered at the phone with a look more serious than Kurosaki had ever seen on him before. Then he furrowed his eyebrows.

  “They hung up,” Sekiguchi said. “But before they did, they answered me in Korean. Whoever it was, they were a native speaker of the language, or have at least been trained to conversational fluency.” He wiped the smartphone’s screen with his sleeve. “We have to get out of here, Kimura-san,” he said.

  “Huh?!”

  “What are you talking about?” Kurosaki said, standing up for real this time.

  “Give me back my phone!” called the woman outside, knocking on the door.

  “In a minute!” Sekiguchi called back through the door. “Very sorry about all this!” He silently beckoned the others toward him. Akari, apparently already having grasped his plan, was sweeping the projectors off the table into the pockets of her cargo pants. “Someone’s been out there for a while trying to see into this room,” Sekiguchi said. “I tried to keep my guard up, but they got a photo through the door just now. A spy, I assume. We have to leave now. Does this office have an emergency exit?”

  Sun, 13 Dec 2020, 21:01 -0800 (2020-12-14T05:01 GMT)

  Pier 37 Warehouse, Seattle

  Shiraishi pointed at the blurry photograph on the television screen.

  “That one in the middle must be Kazumi,” he said.

  The agent they’d sent to Fool’s Launchpad had managed to take one usable photo. It was too blurry and out of focus to make out much about the space itself, but you could still see how many people were there, their height and weight, and so on.

  “He’s a serious player, this kid,” Shiraishi went on. “Ozzy’s paranoid rantings were enough for him to identify the Cloud, and then he got those papers from Dr. Jahanshah. He’s already put most of the pieces together. Compared to him, these two officials might as well have been twiddling their thumbs.”

  “Quiet,” Chance said through gritted teeth.

  She’d slipped up.

  She hadn’t expected anyone in the room to have such fluent Korean. So fluent that when he’d said “Are you ready?” she’d replied “Yes” automatically. And in that moment she’d allowed the shadow of North Korea to fall over the whole thing.

  Chance looked down at her hands, balled into fists on her knees.

  “Don’t look so grim,” Shiraishi said. “It’s a waste of a pretty face.” He put his index finger under her chin and tilted her head until she met his eyes. “You made a mistake, but I’ll make up for it. We can track them in real time now. I’ll use the Sleeping Gun I left in JAXA’s systems.”

  “JAXA? What do they have—”

  Shiraishi silenced her with an upraised finger, then directed her attention back to the screen. He pointed at the middle-aged man in a suit.

  “This photo might be blurry,” he said, “but I recognize this man. I used to work with him. Name’s Kurosaki.”

  2020-12-14T05:22 GMT

  Project Wyvern

  It’s almost time for me to check in to the first hotel of its kind the world has ever seen. No bellboys, but who needs them when your luggage floats to your room?

  The orbital hotel we had folded up in the Wyvern’s docking bay is now fully unfurled. I can see how big it is even looking through the tiny windows here. The outer shell was folded using Miura folding, which was invented by a Japanese researcher. Now it’s all spread out without a single wrinkle. The space beneath this soft outer shell was pumped full of water. It took three whole hours.

  The outer shell is covered in thin gold foil. Inside there’s a two-layer outer wall woven of Kevlar fiber that protects against small debris. Even if both of these layers are torn, the water pumped between them and the inner wall should be enough to keep the hotel airtight—it can stop incoming objects moving at up to ten kilometers per second.

  The water will also protect us against another kind of unwelcome invader: cosmic radiation. The radiation levels 350 kilometers high are several times higher than they are at ground level, because down there we’re protected by the Earth’s magnetic field. The best protection against all those rays is, hands down, the same water that protects us from debris. Two birds with one stone? Three, actually! When we arrive at the ISS, they’ll add this water to their drinking-water tanks.

  See? It all fits together logically!

  Let me give you a quick rundown on my physical condition. When you’re weightless—well, in a state of free fall—the blood goes to your head. It’s a refreshing new feeling, but it also makes your face look a bit chubby. Makeup is restricted, too. I should have lost more weight before I came.

  There’s definitely a need for some makeup than can alleviate “space face.” We don’t want any couples choosing the Wyvern Orbital Hotel for their honeymoon and being disappointed with the view, so to speak. Anyone want to talk to me about a licensing deal?

  *

  And now, the long-awaited check-in! As soon as we took off our space suits (at last!), Ronnie jumped in, shouting “My hotel!” He’s as happy as a child at Christmas. I undid my harness and followed him.

  Does it sound like all we do is play around? Don’t worry, rocketeers, this “first frolic” was included in the project sequence, with properly allotted time and everything.

  It counts as R&D time, in fact. The hotel’s soft structure is the first of its kind. As we bounce around, changes in the shape of the rooms and their center of gravity are monitored and sent back to staff on Earth. They, in turn, check that the parameters of the orbital hotel’s tensioners are correct to maintain its orbital shape, research whether the docking bay could be made lighter, and so on. Oh, which reminds me—we’ll also be testing the engine that will drive us into a rendezvous orbit with the ISS.

  Here’s some trivia for the non–space buffs out there. The difference between an engine and a motor is simple: fuel. A motor uses solid fuel, and an engine uses liquid fuel. Solid fuel is like fireworks: once you get it started, it’s hard to stop, but it’s simpler to use and can give you quick access to large amounts of energy. For this reason, motors are often used for liftoff from Earth. But from now on, the orbital hotel will be making delicate maneuvers to dock with the ISS, which calls for an engine. The more you know, right?

  Anyway, I’m off for some mission-critical experimental play—or so it reads on the project sequence. I suspect Ronnie just had them put this in the schedule because he wanted some time to have fun.

  Next time: Breaking free from the Wyvern, and what the hotel’s like inside!

  Judy Smark

  A suite in low Earth orbit

  6 Discovery/Pursuit

  Mon, 14 Dec 2020, 15:23 +0900 (2020-12-14T06:23 GMT)

  The Nippon Grand Hotel, Iidabashi, Tokyo

  As Kazumi sank into the soft leather of an immaculate sofa, Kurosaki tipped the sofa facing it back at an angle and ran his hand along the bottom.

  Sekiguchi smiled as he watched from the built-in bar counter. “I told you already,” he said. “There’s no need to get all paranoid. This hotel is used by Chinese officials too. So please forget the couches and tell me what you want to drink.”

  Sekiguchi ducked beneath the counter, made of a single slab of natural green stone. The wall behind him was lined with crystal glass brandy bottles. The wood of the shelf showed a complex grain.

  Akari sank hip deep into the same sofa as Kazumi and swept her gaze around the room curiously. Of the four of them, only Sekiguchi seemed accustomed to the sophisticated decor.

  “Will cola do?” he asked them, placing a plastic bottle moist with condensation on the counter.

  They were at a luxury accommodation called the Nippon Grand Hotel, right near Tokyo�
��s Iidabashi Station. After hailing a cab from Fool’s Launchpad and riding it in circles all over the downtown core to lose their tail, they had had the driver bring the car up beside the entrance to a secret elevator in the semi-underground employee parking lot before being escorted up to this windowless suite.

  For the first time, Kazumi understood the true meaning of the expression “nothing but the clothes on their backs.” He’d managed to bring the laptop he’d been using in the meeting room but had left behind the bag he kept his writing implements in, and Akari had had to rush off without the cart loaded with her larger luggage.

  “Who’s paranoid? I bet spies stay here all the time,” said Kurosaki, righting the sofa irritably but softly so as not to scratch it and sitting down on the carpet.

  “I’m telling you it’s fine. There are probably bugs in here, but there’s no way amateurs like us will find them,” said Sekiguchi with a smile as he poured the cola evenly into four mugs. “Our top priority right now is to protect these two from North Korean agents, right? And since this place is basically a safe haven used by Chinese government agencies, there’s simply no chance Northern agents are going to sneak in here undetected.”

  Sekiguchi’s point sounded plausible enough, Kazumi thought, but surely Japan had its own intelligence agencies. Kurosaki seemed to be one step ahead of him, saying, “Sure, but why on earth do we have to seek refuge with China? Didn’t you say earlier that you were going to call someone you knew at the National Security Council?”

  Inside the taxi, Sekiguchi had explained to Kazumi and Akari that he was a career bureaucrat on temporary assignment to JAXA as of the beginning of the year.

  “I did. This is where he said to go.”

  “What?! A Japanese spy told you to use a Chinese safe house?” Kurosaki let his shoulders sag as his gaze paused on something atop the coffee table between the matching couches: an ashtray. Seeing the troubled look in his eyes, Kazumi and Akari both told him to go ahead. Kurosaki got up from the floor and started to reach for his breast pocket but then sighed, seeming to change his mind, and sat on one of the couches. “Thanks, but I’ll light up in my bedroom later,” he said. “Just knowing I can have a smoke if I want one is good enough for now.”

  Sekiguchi placed the mugs of cola on a silver-colored tray and brought it to the table. “Let’s just have a breather here for a moment,” he said. “Once we’ve calmed down a bit, we can contact each of the agencies. I’m going to get in touch with our superiors at JAXA. Oh—Kimura-san, Numata-san, please don’t use the hotel Wi-Fi.”

  There was no need to give any information away to China for free, he explained, recommending that they use their cell networks instead. There might be no way to know how far North Korean intelligence operations had penetrated, but Japan’s information infrastructure was likely safe. Akari nodded, apparently convinced, which told Kazumi he could probably trust the logic behind Sekiguchi’s risk assessment.

  “Kurosaki-san,” Sekiguchi continued, “as I requested earlier, I’d appreciate if you could inform some foreign space agencies about Kimura-san’s report and current situation if that’s possible. Please try to find somewhere that will provide protection for these two.”

  “How about NASA? I can contact high-level officials there.”

  “America would be great. But it might take a bit too much time …” NASA, it seemed, was not an organization particularly well suited to dealing with messes like the one they were in.

  Sekiguchi scratched his chin. Kurosaki took out his smartphone and squinted at his list of contacts.

  Kazumi thought back on the small number of communications he’d had with government officials. The UN manager he’d exchanged emails with when posting the Debris Catalog data worked at the lowest rung of his organization. Not useful at all in the present case. Then there was the man he’d contacted at USSTRATCOM when asking them to disclose the TLEs … The email address had belonged to a high-ranking officer, but the body had just been a template response. Kazumi doubted the guy even remembered who he was.

  Then he remembered another organization. Also American military. Kazumi had never contacted them personally, but he expected JAXA would have some connections. “How about NORAD?”

  “Ah. I know someone there,” said Kurosaki. “I can contact Colonel Lintz in Orbital Surveillance. We’ve already exchanged PGP keys, so I can send him encrypted emails. How’s that sound?” He looked toward Sekiguchi.

  “Sounds good,” said Sekiguchi. “No less than I’d expect from the head of international cooperation.”

  Kurosaki smiled wryly. He seemed to be wondering which one of them was in charge. For his part, Kazumi appreciated the way Sekiguchi had taken the reins to keep them on track. Fleeing Fool’s Launchpad, Sekiguchi had seemed like a different person. Now he was back to his cheerful self again, but he continued to lead them as though savoring the unusual situation they found themselves in. By calling the shots decisively, Sekiguchi prevented the other members from succumbing to anxiety. Though he and Kazumi were around the same age, Kazumi saw this confident side of Sekiguchi and found himself beginning to look up to him.

  Sekiguchi inserted his index finger into the knot of his necktie and pulled it off in one tug. “All right, let’s take a break and maybe have a little chat for a while. I know we’ll probably start to worry about everything if we don’t keep ourselves busy, but it’s not over yet, and we won’t hold up if we don’t rest.”

  Kazumi picked up his glass of fizzing cola and took a sip. He tasted nothing. As though in reaction to the cold liquid, a chill ran from his thighs up his spine. Kazumi began to wonder what he was doing in this luxury hotel. According to Sekiguchi, the agent at Fool’s Launchpad had likely located Kazumi by calling Mary and had been trying to take a picture of him. He had also asked for his address and cell phone number. If Kurosaki and the others hadn’t been visiting, he would’ve been photographed and then—kidnapped?

  Kazumi trembled. It wasn’t even 4:00 p.m. yet. Kurosaki and Sekiguchi had stopped by just after noon, but already they were in a suite used by Chinese spies. It was just as Sekiguchi had said. They were still in the thick of it.

  Kazumi found himself staring at the floor. Looking up, he noticed a relief of two female gods adorning the wall below where a clock hung. Their legs were slender like snakes and intertwined with each other like the strands of a rope. One of them held up a square ruler, while the other had a scale dangling from her hand. The relief had been carved out of some sort of pottery that looked like hardened sand, but the ruler and scale were made out of metal.

  “What’s that?” Kazumi asked.

  Sekiguchi, who was loosening the buttons on his shirt, glanced at it and said, “Looks like Fuxi. One of China’s first emperors … More like a god, really. That scale is strange. Usually they should have a compass and a ruler.”

  Kazumi approached the wall and touched one of the pans of the scale, making the chain held in the god-emperor’s hand shake and the other pan sway. Looking at the seesawing beam of the scale, Kazumi remembered the space tether. Constructed of two devices tethered together, this spacecraft revolved in orbit like a pair of dancers holding hands and could move around freely without using any propellant. Most likely North Korea was behind it, but what was the purpose of having so many of them floating around near SAFIR 3? The tethers that collided with it were scattered in all directions and lost forever. Was this just a demonstration of what North Korea was capable of or a rehearsal for terrorism? An uneasy feeling rose in Kazumi’s chest.

  What a waste, he thought. Jamshed’s space tether could be put to much more practical use. His design had been painstakingly tested through the crude method of sending up balloons in Tehran, where both funding and research facilities had to be sorely lacking. It didn’t seem right that it would be used as a tool for anything to do with terrorism. To Kazumi, its potential seemed so much greater than that.

&nb
sp; Sticking out his index finger, Kazumi raised it in front of his face and stopped it in the spot where it overlapped in his visual field with the center of the scale’s beam held up by the emperor. He imagined the two pans as the devices on each side of the tether and rotated them parallel to the ground in his mind’s eye.

  If Ozzy’s observational data was correct, the space tethers would spin at a velocity of one rotation every two seconds. If the radius was 1 km, the velocity of the terminal apparatuses would be 3 km/s. If the tether was long enough or rotating even faster, it might be possible to hurl an object into an even higher orbit. If you adjusted the tether’s velocity of rotation and tied it to a habitation such as Project Wyvern’s space hotel, you could generate an analog of gravity inside the room. Kazumi wondered if there was some way to discuss this possibility with Jamshed, who had surely spent years thinking about the space tether and—

  “What’s he doing? Calculating the time difference or something?” Kurosaki’s voice suddenly broke into Kazumi’s thoughts. Apparently he had been concentrating so hard that the conversation around him had not reached his ears. Looking toward the sofas, he saw Kurosaki pointing at him smiling.

  “Time difference? Sorry about that. I know I was supposed to be taking a break, but I was thinking about the tethers.”

  “Oh. So you can hear what we’re saying down here again, eh? Welcome back to Earth,” said Kurosaki with a laugh. He motioned Kazumi toward one of the empty spots on the couch. “Seeing you concentrating like that reminded me of an old colleague. He wore an expression just like yours when he was calculating time differences. He also helped send up satellites and such.”

  Akari gave him a quizzical look and said, “You don’t by any chance mean Uncle Ageha?”