Rocket Girls Page 9

  Wisps of smoke rose from an engine. Motoko stood nearby wearing ear protectors, her back to the door. She was alone, still as a statue. After a few moments, her shoulders began to shake. She was laughing. A small titter at first, then a roar that echoed through the test chamber. “I did it!”

  Yukari stepped into the room. “Excuse me, Motoko?”

  “I finally did it.”

  “Hello in there!”

  Motoko continued her celebratory dance, oblivious. Yukari walked up behind her and unceremoniously ripped the ear protectors off her head. Motoko spun around. She wore tinted welding goggles, which she then stripped off, revealing her familiar thick glasses.

  “Oh, Yukari. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Yukari took a deep breath. “I have a question to ask you.”

  “What is it?”

  “We’re just two months away from launch. What are you doing in here?”

  “Perfecting the fuel we’re going to use.”

  “Not anymore you’re not.”

  “Why?”

  “Rocket science is a conservative field…” She recited Mukai’s speech as best she could. “Stick with what we know,” she concluded.

  “But this mix is much better than the last one. I adjusted the oxidizer, and—”

  “This isn’t a request. It’s an order.”

  “After all the trouble I went to?”

  “We’re using the last formula.”

  “No no no!” She shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to the other. “Besides, I’ve already forgotten the last formula. We can’t go back.” Excuses, just as Mukai had said.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” said Yukari. “I guess we’ll just have to see what everyone at the engineering meeting has to say.” Yukari had real power now. And she liked it.

  [ACT 6]

  THE SOUND OF heels on tile echoed through Tianjin Restaurant. “Does anyone here speak Japanese?” A woman stood in the entrance. She wore a dark red suit with a tight skirt, but despite the sweltering heat, not a drop of sweat marred her face.

  Mr. Cheung greeted her. “Welcome to Tianjin Restaurant. My name is Tianjin Cheung. This is my restaurant. Japanese love my food.”

  “Maybe later. Right now I’m trying to reach the Solomon Space Center. Is it possible to get there by train or bus?”

  “Aiyaa. No train. No bus.”

  “Then perhaps you could arrange a car for me?”

  “I’m not taxi service.”

  “I’ll pay, of course. One hundred dollars.”

  “One moment, please. Have seat.” Mr. Cheung shouted to the back of the restaurant. “Hanrei! Customer need pullycar.”

  “And hurry, would you? I don’t have much time.”

  [ACT 7]

  THE ENGINEERING MEETING started two hours later. Various department heads filled the room. Yukari tried to recall her time as class president in middle school to calm her nerves. She began in a solemn tone. “I’ve asked you here today because I’ve uncovered a matter that poses a grave threat to the safety of the mission.” The assembled men and women regarded her coolly. “My investigation has uncovered that one of the departments is attempting to independently modify the design specifications of the rocket. Chief Engineer Mukai assures me that rocket science is a conservative field built up carefully over time. Am I quoting you correctly, Mr. Mukai?”

  “Uh, yes, that’s right.”

  “Then you can imagine my confusion when I witnessed the test of a new solid rocket fuel this afternoon at the Fuel Processing Center.”

  Yukari surveyed the crowd.

  Director Nasuda made a show of folding his arms. Mukai scratched his head. Satsuki cleared her throat. Kinoshita sat unfazed. And then there was Motoko, looking nervously from one person to the next, measuring the reaction of her peers.

  “The chief of the chemistry department, Mrs. Mihara, told me that the fuel she was testing was to be used in the upcoming launch. She assured me it was ‘much better’ than the old formula. But with only two months remaining, what assurances can we really have? More isn’t always better. So where does ‘much better’ leave the safety of the rocket? In light of this, I hereby request that all research on and use of new fuels be stopped immediately.”

  Yukari sat down. Let them argue with that.

  Director Nasuda broke the silence that had descended on the room. “You heard the lady. Reaction? Let’s start with you, Kinoshita.”

  “Her reasoning is sound. I’d say she’s struck on a real problem.”

  “Hmm. Mukai? What about you?”

  “Well, the LS-5 is underpowered, we all know that, and it’s a little late to consider adding an auxiliary booster. It would be nice to squeeze a little more thrust out of the fuel…”

  “Stop mincing words.”

  “At this stage, going back to the drawing board is too risky. We need to stick to the original design.”

  “Noted.” The director faced Motoko. “What do you have to say, Mihara?”

  “Um, right. Well, there’s something I want you to see first.” She stood up, hastily gathering the materials she had prepared for the meeting and walking to the overhead projector at the back of the room. The lights went dark, and a hand-drawn molecular diagram appeared on the screen. “This is the chemical composition of the new fuel. It has a natural rubber base combined with ample quantities of methylene—”

  “Yes, yes,” said Nasuda. “How does it perform?”

  “I was getting to that.” A hint of a smile spread across her face. “For solid fuels, the entire tank containing the fuel is essentially a high-temperature, high-pressure combustion chamber, which adds considerable weight to the launch vehicle.”

  “Which is precisely why the rest of the world has adopted liquid fuel launch systems, we know this. We went out of our way to use solid fuel to save on costs, so we could launch lower-cost vehicles in greater numbers.”

  “That’s right. Only this new fuel actually weighs less than the liquid alternative.”

  The room fell silent.

  “That’s absurd,” said Mukai. “I don’t care how light you make the fuel, it’s the weight of the tank that’s the problem.”

  “This particular fuel burns from the inside out,” said Motoko. “Particulate cohesion is greater toward the outer edge—the fuel is essentially its own container.”

  Director Nasuda’s ears perked up. “What?”

  Kinoshita arched his eyebrows. “You developed a tankless fuel?”

  “More or less. It still requires some sort of casing—a three-millimeter duralumin sheath is more than adequate.”

  Mukai was speechless. The mood in the room had shifted dramatically. Yukari was getting worried.

  “I find that hard to believe,” said Kinoshita. “I don’t see how a fuel could be that strong and still burn.”

  “I had to adjust the catalyst to compensate. It’s composed primarily of platinum.”

  Yukari’s eyes went to Motoko’s left hand. There was a mark where her wedding ring had been.

  “If the walls of the tank are three millimeters thick,” Mukai said, tapping on his calculator, “that would reduce the mass by a factor of thirty! A liquid propellant rocket couldn’t come close.”

  “How soon could you prepare fuel for testing?” asked Kinoshita.

  “Two months should be plenty of time.”

  “No time for a dry run.”

  “We can do a ground test before—”

  Yukari sprang to her feet. “Hold it! It’s too dangerous to go back to the drawing board with only two—”

  Mukai cut in before she could finish. “But this is a breakthrough. A light, inexpensive, hybrid rocket that can be throttled—it’s the ultimate launch system. Tell her, Nasuda.”

  His face stiff, Director Nasuda slowly nodded. “If this is real, we’re looking at a revolution in rocket materials science.” He spoke in a hoarse whisper.

  “We’ll be making history,” said Kinoshita.

&n
bsp; “Not you too!” cried Yukari, her voice shaking. “What’s the matter with you people? You think I’m going to let you test your rocket on me? Forget it! What happened to safety? What happened to building step-by-step on proven technologies?”

  None of the department heads could look her in the eye.

  Finally, Mukai spoke. “Our current rocket has risks of its own. We’re pushing it to the very limits of its capabilities. In a way, this new fuel would reduce that risk. Back me up on this, Kinoshita.”

  “You do have a point,” Kinoshita conceded.

  “Here’s what we’ll do,” said Director Nasuda. “There’s no need to rush this. Let’s see how things develop and make our decision once we have a little more to go on. With full consideration for the opinion of our young astronaut, of course.”

  “We’re going to decide now,” growled Yukari. “I’m against this 100 percent. Remember who’s going to be riding in that death trap of yours. Try and see things from my point of view!”

  “Easy, Yukari. We haven’t committed to using this new fuel. We simply want time to evaluate—”

  Yukari kicked her chair and stormed out of the room.

  Not going to use this new fuel? Did they expect her to believe an out-and-out lie like that? Yukari was young, but she hadn’t been born yesterday. She might not understand the science behind it, but she saw how they swooned at the idea of this “breakthrough.” The angrier she became, the faster the thoughts turned over in her head. As she strode down the hall, she realized what she had to do.

  Yukari entered the dressing room and retrieved her skinsuit from one of the lockers. She put on the suit and slipped on an extravehicular activity backpack. So long as the batteries and water supply held out, the EVA pack would allow her to survive for days in virtually any environment.

  Grabbing a survival kit, she headed for her desk in the medical office. Matsuri was there studying.

  Matsuri looked up from her textbook. “Do we have EVA training today?”

  “No.” Yukari ripped a calendar off the wall and began writing something on its back with a thick marker. “I’m going to teach them something about being an astronaut.”

  “Hoi?”

  “As of now, I’m on a hunger strike. Spread the word.”

  Matsuri could only stare in wonder as Yukari hurried out of the room.

  [ACT 8]

  YUKARI SAT CROSS-LEGGED on the concrete, her head resting on her hands. REDESIGNS KILL! SAY NO! declared a protest sign taped to the wall behind her. Thirty minutes had passed since she had announced her hunger strike to Matsuri.

  “Listen to me, Yukari,” said Satsuki. “I understand how you feel, but if you don’t abide by the decision made at the meeting, it’s tantamount to sabotage.” She was using her most persuasive tone. “If you won’t listen to reason, I’m going to be forced to report this to your father.”

  “Be my guest. I’m holding up my end of the bargain. I’ll do what’s required of me. What I won’t do is ride in that jury-rigged experiment you’re trying to pass off as a rocket!”

  Satsuki shook her head and sighed. At her back, the department heads watched the proceedings from the sunbaked asphalt of the parking lot.

  “So much for our trump card,” muttered Director Nasuda.

  “She has a point, you know,” said Kinoshita. “We all went a little starry-eyed at the thought of Motoko’s latest invention.”

  “Even so.” Director Nasuda was grim. “If we can put a person into orbit, and do it with a revolutionary lift vehicle to boot, it will turn the global space industry on its head. How can we not use it?”

  “I don’t disagree, but can’t we just let this run its course? What’s the longest she can keep this up? Two, three days?”

  “If we ignore her, we’ll only confirm her doubts about us. No harm in showering her with a little attention.”

  Satsuki rejoined the group. “I gave it my best shot. Who’s next?”

  “I’ll go,” said Mukai. “What we’re suggesting may not be by the book, but even from an engineering standpoint, this new fuel isn’t all that risky. Maybe I can explain that to her.”

  “Break a leg.”

  “So it’s like this, Yukari. Since the structure of the fuel provides the necessary strength, it doesn’t place any additional burden on the rocket. And of course the fuel itself is safe. You with me so far?”

  “Because that’s what the specs say, right?”

  “Right. So—”

  “Well, of course the specs are going to look good on paper. But what happens if something goes wrong when you make it?”

  “That’s why we have ground tests.”

  “You expect me to trust a test?”

  Mukai didn’t have an answer for her.

  “I don’t think I’m on her friends list anymore, Satsuki.” Motoko knitted her brow as Mukai came scampering back with his tail between his legs. “I thought she’d be delighted.”

  “Under different circumstances, I’m sure she would have been,” said Satsuki.

  “I didn’t mean any harm.”

  “I know. You don’t think I’d have let you get away with this if you had.”

  “But she seems rather upset.”

  Satsuki tapped Motoko on the forehead. “Your timing leaves something to be desired.”

  “Maybe I should apologize.”

  “That would just make things worse. She doesn’t want an apology, she wants an answer. She’s much more grounded than you, Motoko.”

  “Grounded?” Motoko considered the word, what Satsuki might have meant by it—but if she reached a conclusion, she didn’t share it.

  Matsuri joined the crowd in the parking lot. “Hoi? What’s going on?”

  “Yukari’s hunger strike—the one you told us about,” said Satsuki.

  “Right,” said Matsuri. “What’s a hunger strike?”

  “She’s refusing to eat until her demands are met.”

  “But she’ll starve. What are her demands?”

  Satsuki gave Matsuri a quick rundown of the situation. Matsuri walked over to where Yukari was sitting. “You don’t need to worry.”

  “So you’re on their side too?”

  “The launch will be fine. No point going hungry.”

  “What are you basing that on? Most of the rockets they launch explode, you know that.”

  “Only because of the Taliho curse.”

  “The what now?”

  “Before each launch, everybody in the village gets together to put a curse on the rocket so it’ll explode, like fireworks. Only I’ll tell them not to do it when we’re aboard. So everything will be just fine.”

  “Yeah, riiiight.”

  “I know what you’re thinking.” Matsuri nodded sagely. “They’ll want to see fireworks so much, they’ll forget and curse the rocket anyway. But Dad will make sure they won’t. It will be fine, I promise. Everybody likes Dad—they’ll do what he asks them to.”

  Yukari sighed and shooed Matsuri away. “Time’s up, Tarzan.”

  “Want me to bring you something to eat?”

  “Then it wouldn’t be a hunger strike, would it?”

  “Hoi. See you later then.”

  As Matsuri hurried away, a security Humvee pulled into the parking lot. The door opened, and there was the dry rasp of heels on concrete. A woman in dark red stepped out and started walking toward Yukari, ignoring the department heads assembled beside her.

  Yukari watched, disinterested. Then she did a double take.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Yukari.

  If there was anyone who would show up at the far corners of the earth without warning, it was her mother.

  “I have a Pacifico meeting in Sydney, so I thought I’d drop in on my way. You look good.”

  “You think so?”

  “All slim and toned—and that space suit’s adorable. It does wonders for your figure.”

  “A little too much, if you ask me.”

  “Don’t be absurd
.”

  “Pardon me,” said Director Nasuda, “but I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

  “I’m Hiroko Morita, Yukari’s mother.”

  “A pleasure. We didn’t expect to see you out here so soon. I’m Isao Nasuda, the director of the space center.”

  “Yes, we spoke on the phone. I was out this way on business, and I thought I’d stop by.” Hiroko paused. “I have to admit, I’m a little shocked by what I’m seeing.”

  Director Nasuda scratched his head. “Yes, well, I assure you, we’re doing everything we can to—”

  “I expected to see row after row of high-tech buildings. All this exposed concrete is terribly heat inefficient, not to mention unattractive. This is a gateway to space, to the future—it should look the part.”

  Yukari rolled her eyes. Her mother was an architectural designer; the buildings were always the first thing to grab her attention when she visited someplace new. And if there weren’t any buildings, her thoughts went to what might be built there.

  Yukari tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m on a hunger strike.”

  “Oh, the sign? ‘Redesigns kill. Say no.’ What’s that about?”

  Yukari explained how the situation had started. They went back and forth, with her mother asking questions about the procedures for launching a rocket.

  “I think I understand,” said Hiroko. “Are any of the rocket scientists here? One of those people, perhaps?” She pointed to the department heads.

  “That’s right,” said Director Nasuda.

  “Do you think I could have a word?”

  “Well, I suppose.” He waved them over. “A minute of your time, if you would.”

  “In short,” Hiroko began, “my daughter is concerned about using a fuel that has never been flown. It seems to me the best way to address her fears would be to fly the fuel before her launch. Am I wrong?”

  “We have to launch Yukari in two months,” said Mukai. “That deadline won’t budge. It’s going to take that long just to prepare the fuel.”

  “You have two launchpads, don’t you? You can build two rockets in parallel—one the test vehicle, the other Yukari’s. I’m told it’s only six minutes from launch until the rocket reaches orbit. Launch the test rocket six minutes earlier, and if there aren’t any problems, you can go right to Yukari’s launch.”