Launch Something! E-Book

Myung-hoon Bae

• Herausgeber: Honford Star
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 488

Beschreibung

Earth is experiencing a sweltering heatwave caused by a second "sun" – a shining object in the sky that either looks like Pac-Man or a pizza missing a slice, depending on who you ask. As this object increases in size and risks making Earth uninhabitable, the Korean government decides it has to do its part and help the US-led Allied Space Force. Launch Something! is a sci-fi novel about a Korean Space Force that contains his quirky brand of political satire.

Leseprobe

LAUNCHSOMETHING!

BAE MYUNG-HOON

Translated by Stella Kim

This translation first published by Honford Star 2022

Honford Star Ltd.Profolk, Bank ChambersMarket PlaceStockportSK1 1ARhonfordstar.com

Copyright © Bae Myung-hoon 2020Translation copyright © Stella Kim 2022Original Korean title: 빙글빙글 우주군All rights reservedThe moral right of the translator and editors hasbeen asserted.

ISBN (paperback): 978-1-7398225-4-5ISBN (ebook): 978-1-7398225-5-2A catalogue record for this book is available from theBritish Library.

Cover illustration by Jisu ChoiTypeset by Honford Star

This book is published with the support of the Literature Translation Institute of Korea (LTI Korea).

CONTENTS

Characters

1.Launch Something!

2.Trash Talk

3.Space Force Honor Guard

4.Romantic Relationship Occurrence Report

5.Strict but Flexible

6.Throwing Away a Stuffed Bear

7.Peace-Preserving Design

8.The Logic of the Jungle and the Logic of Civilization

9.The Front Line of Humanity

Author’s Note

Characters

Master Sergeant Han Summin, Launch Base Operations Division

Han Summin is an ace remote pilot. She dreamed of becoming a Space Force pilot as a child but mistakenly enrolled at the Aerospace High School, the training school for future non-commissioned officers, instead of the Space Force Academy. However, recognized for her outstanding skills in high school, she received exceptional support from the then principal, Gu Yemin. Summin has a soft spot for mint chocolate and is a fan of Oste.

Gu Yemin, Chief of Staff, ROK Space Force

The highest-ranking officer of the Space Force, Gu Yemin possesses intellectual dexterity, cool-headed decisiveness, and natural charisma. Determined to make the launch base the Space Force’s de facto headquarters to escape the interference of the Ministry of Defense, she regularly dispatches spacenauts from the Space Force headquarters to the launch base. Formerly, she served as the principal of the Aerospace High School.

Captain Um Jonghyun, Intelligence Department

Um Jonghyun is a special appointee and officer in charge of origami interpretation (analysis) with a degree from a prominent university abroad. He salutes air conditioners on hot days. His duties involve reverse engineering the shape of satellites in the orbits of Earth and Mars. Putting his academic major to practical use, he makes a significant contribution to resolving the case of who transmitted firearm data to the interplanetary shuttle.

Weather Specialist Suh Ga-ul, Weather Agency

There are numerous strange tasks you are assigned to do when you work for the ROK Space Force’s Weather Agency. One example is forecasting the weather on the day of a rocket launch a month in advance. But that’s nothing to Suh Ga-ul—she says the weather will be good and, when the day comes, announces that she’ll make an effort to get a southeasterly wind going. A wiz at giving people nicknames, she is the life of the party at the Space Force.

Major Park Soojin, Acting Inspector General

Park Soojin is the launch base’s Inspector General and joined the ROK Space Force’s Internal Review Department to learn the necessary skills for space accident investigations. Unfortunately, until now she had only been playing detective as there were no spacecrafts, and therefore, no accidents. She is considered kind, for the most part. She befriends Kim Eunkyung through their frequent encounters on the rooftop of the launch base main building, and she is also the first to learn about Eunkyung’s teddy bear.

Captain Park Kugyong, Public Relations Corps

There is no sound in space, like a silent movie, but Kugyong readily assumes the role of a silent film narrator in order to promote the Space Force. With an outgoing, cheery personality, he gets along with everyone.

Secretary Kim Eunkyung, Planet Management Corps

Mars completes one rotation every 24 hours and 30 minutes or so in Earth time. As a result, Eunkyung’s work hours as the officer in charge of communication with the Martian settlement are delayed by half an hour every day. She occasionally suffers from hallucinations featuring a teddy bear her ex-boyfriend gave her. She frequently runs into Park Soojin on the rooftop of the launch base main building.

Private Lee Ja-un (Oste), Public Relations Corps

Lee Ja-un is a member of K-pop boyband B Density and is currently doing his mandatory military service. Having dreamed of serving in the Space Force, he voluntarily enlisted despite a longer service period than other military branches. He hosts the Space Force radio show Let’s Raise the Density!

Major General Lee Jongro, Vice-Minister of Mars

AKA Mars Governor-General. Lee Jongro has had great success as an officer, suppressing the Mars Rebellion. Cold, cruel, and full of ambition, he is a one-of-a-kind in the Space Force. He chooses to return to Earth for reasons no one can fathom, creating a stir in the otherwise peaceful Space Force.

LAUNCH SOMETHING!

Chapter One

Launch Something!

There cannot be two suns in the sky, but there were two suns in the sky that summer. One of them was shaped like Pac-Man.

As there were too many people who had no idea what Pac-Man was, the government and the media outlets often used the analogy of a pizza pie. A whole pizza with a slice missing. A circle with a missing wedge. But since no pizza glowed with soft yellow light, many people still preferred to allude to the old arcade game character Pac-Man—the yellow circle with a piece cut out for a mouth that went around chomping and gobbling up yellow dots. In the government organizations and policy-making groups in which people in their fifties were considered young, Pac-Man was a better metaphor for the second sun than a pizza. In any event, it seemed unnecessary to choose one analogy over the other, as both the sales of a remake of the Pac-Man game and pizza consumption grew all throughout the summer.

The problem was not whether it was Pac-Man or pizza. The more significant issue was that this second sun snatched an extremely tiny portion of the original sun’s rays that scattered into the universe and reflected it to Earth. There were probably many more problems resulting from the second sun, but one of them was this: on October 23, when people would typically be wearing long sleeves in nippy weather, the temperature in Seoul reached a high of thirty-two degrees Celsius.

On top of that, the second sun was growing bigger. The summer was going to be even longer than usual.

As soon as he stepped out of the car, Um Jonghyun, an intelligence analyst from the Intelligence Department of the Republic of Korea Space Force, began to sweat like a pig. Wearing a white shirt and a black jacket of the Space Force uniform, he seemed to be dressed for a funeral. The black tie certainly added to the mournful look. Had it not been for the badges, medals, the nameplate, and insignia that indicated that this was the official Space Force service uniform, he might have given off a solemn and somber vibe.

He tried to flap his unbuttoned jacket to fan himself a bit. It didn’t help at all. The jacket’s fabric was thick and unbreathable, and underneath, his sweat-sodden shirt stuck to his skin. He held up a folder to shield his face from the sun—the Republic of Korea Space Force logo on the front sparkled in the sunlight. It sparkled twice. Just as it was impossible to cover the sky with your hands, it was impossible to escape from the rays of two suns with just a single folder.

Jonghyun cut diagonally across the plaza. The ground was paved, so it wasn’t a training field. However, it wasn’t quite right to call it a plaza since civilians were restricted from using the area. The purpose of this place was a mystery, but the sound of footsteps resounded throughout the expanse. It was part of the Space Force headquarters, so perhaps it was meant to convey the emptiness of outer space. The small planets and constellations etched in the corners of the plaza seemed to support this notion. So he was crossing a plaza that encapsulated the universe, so to speak. The plaza was enclosed by roofed corridors like a European cloister. Stone roofs supported by stone pillars. Jonghyun glanced at the shade in the roofed corridors with envy but kept his eyes focused on his destination. Sweat poured down his face. On his shiny, polished shoes, two suns sparkled in turn. The tiny specks of sparkles embedded on his black jacket glimmered like distant stars.

Jonghyun stepped into the building and faced a pitch-dark lobby. It was the effect of having walked in from a very bright place, but for those who walked across an open plaza and into the building, such dark shade was a welcome relief. Jonghyun’s face visibly relaxed.

On one side of the lobby, the chief of staff’s aide-de-camp stood waiting, clad in the same uniform as Jonghyun. Recognizing Jonghyun, he quietly saluted. Instead of saluting him back, Jonghyun exhaled the breath he’d been holding and greeted the aide with his eyes. Then he looked to the ceiling where the air conditioner was installed and saluted it with the Space Force motto, “Ascension!”

The air conditioner mounted on the ceiling moved its flap in response. The spacenauts standing at the information desk let out a chortle. Jonghyun lowered his arm down by his side with control.

“They are waiting for you, sir,” said the aide, rushing Jonghyun to join the meeting.

“I would love nothing more than to have three minutes to myself,” Jonghyun grumbled.

“You are already very late, sir.”

“It’s because of this uniform. I took it out for the first time since being commissioned, and there were no badges or ribbons on it.”

“You should not say that to them inside, sir.”

“It’s the main conference room, right? Third floor?”

“Follow me, sir.”

The aide headed toward the elevator before hurriedly turning around and rushing over to the information desk. He held out his hand to one of the spacenauts standing on the other side of the desk. The spacenaut quickly took out a service cap and handed it to the aide. It was an officer’s cap with a red band around the edge. With the cap in his hand, the aide strode over to the elevator.

He said to Jonghyun, “There is such a thing as a service cap in dress uniform, sir.”

“Do I have to wear it?” asked Jonghyun as he buttoned up his jacket.

“Hold it by your side, sir.”

“Do I have to walk in and salute? Should I say ‘Ascension’ too?”

“They are in the middle of a meeting, so just go in quietly. And when you make eye contact, salute without saying anything. And don’t salute as you’re walking either. Stop and salute. Just … you know, what seems appropriate.”

“Is the conference room air-conditioned?”

“No, sir. It’s the government policy. There’s someone here from the Blue House.”

Jonghyun frowned.

When he opened the door and walked inside, there were a lot of empty seats. He strode into the room without making eye contact, and when he reached a point within a reasonable distance from the chief of staff, he raised his head and met her eyes. Holding the folder and his cap under his left arm, he stopped short and gave a salute. Chief of Staff Gu Yemin waved her left hand in the air in response.

Blackout curtains were draped over the windows in the main conference room. A portion of the windows was left uncurtained to let the light in, and only the sky and the woods could be seen outside. There were three people in the meeting: the chief of staff, who was clad in the field uniform of a Space Force t-shirt with insignia; a middle-aged man in a suit; and a male colonel in dress Air Force uniform.

The voices of the three people filled the entire room. Jonghyun felt cooled sweat beading on his forehead again. It did seem that the room wasn’t being air-conditioned. When the conversation came to a short lull, Gu Yemin pulled Jonghyun into the discussion.

“This is an intelligence analyst in our intelligence service.” She introduced Jonghyun to the two other men in the room. “Captain Um, this is the secretary of security at the Blue House.”

The introduction went smoothly without a single wasted second, almost as though Jonghyun was being led to hop into a long, rhythmically swinging jump rope. Jonghyun felt like he needed to jump otherwise he’d trip over the rope, disappointing everyone.

“Tell him about what you briefed me yesterday,” Gu Yemin nudged Jonghyun. “Take a seat.”

The chief of staff of the Space Force was not someone who needed help explaining what she’d heard the day before. She not only understood everything she’d heard even just once but could also organize and summarize the information she’d heard and explain it with all the necessary details. The fact that she’d waited for Jonghyun to give a briefing suggested that she wanted to show something to the other two people in the meeting. Perhaps even her long silver hair tied in a ponytail was a calculated style.

Jonghyun placed the service cap and the folder on the table and spoke.

“Captain Um Jonghyun, in charge of analysis at the Intelligence Department of the Space Force, sir.”

“He is our origami expert,” added the chief of staff.

At her words, the secretary of security widened his eyes.

“Origami?”

The chief of staff smiled and answered, “Due to the lack of budget, we fold spaceships out of paper. In the past, the Air Force also used to fold planes and fly them, but now that they have a lot of money, they can make the planes out of metal. Isn’t that true?”

The Air Force colonel roared a laugh. It was sharp and short. The secretary of security looked at Jonghyun with eyes devoid of humor. The jump rope had come around full circle, and it was Jonghyun’s turn again. Jonghyun studied the face of his superior, whom he admired and almost revered. She didn’t meet his eyes, but her face was relaxed. It was a signal that he shouldn’t be worried. I’ve got this meeting under my thumb, so nothing you do will ruin it, she seemed to say. Jonghyun exhaled with a hint of a smile.

He said, “Should I continue with the briefing, sir?”

“Go ahead,” the secretary answered.

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary, sir. Last Friday night, the Allied Space Force Command’s Data and Intelligence Bureau shared the blueprint for Pac-Man with the space forces of all twenty-nine member states. It was Friday morning ASF Command local time. The blueprint was raw data without interpretation, and the ASF Command did not respond to any questions. So each country began to interpret the data on its own. We assume that there are eleven countries that are capable of interpreting the data.”

“Fortunately, we are one of them,” Gu Yemin interrupted. Her voice sounded indifferent, almost like a footnote.

After a quick nod, Jonghyun continued, “The shared data was thirty-three pages of blueprints, and these three pages of the two-dimensional plan seem to be the most important. They contain the images that show the operating principle of Pac-Man’s key components.”

Jonghyun opened the folder. Inside was a yellow manila envelope with the flap tied closed by a string.

With a nod from Gu Yemin, Jonghyun untied the string and opened the envelope. He took out its contents and placed them on the table. It was a four-page document, and the ROK Space Force cover was stamped with the word “SECRET” at the top and the bottom. It was also marked with “1/1,” meaning that this was the only copy of the document.

Jonghyun flipped open the cover page and showed the secretary of security a portion of the blueprint. It was an image of a trapezoid, made up of three equilateral triangles.

He explained, “It consists of a repeating sequence of this shape. The size of a single triangle is about as big as the palm of your hand. The thickness is, well, it is extremely thin. Like a thin film. It seems that these triangles are unfolded one by one, gradually increasing the overall size of the film. Pole-like structures stretch outward radially from the center of the spacecraft, and these triangles fill the space between the poles. We believe that there is about a five-meter-thick prism made up of thousands of these triangles. And that pile is gradually unfolding, triangle by triangle.”

“In that Pac-Man?” the Secretary asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ve observed this? Using a telescope?”

“No, sir. The things we astronomically observed are the main body of the spacecraft, the first pole-like structure extending from the body, the size of the film that acts like a mirror reflecting the sunlight, and the shape and speed in which the film is expanding its size. We have discovered the rest using reverse engineering.”

“You’re saying that you’ve worked out how this thing was made from what’s up there now? With just that amount of observational data?”

“Yes, sir,” Jonghyun answered. “Astronomy is a field that involves a lot of inferences and deductions from a tiny observed difference, so this is nothing special. On a math test, when you have a multiple-choice question, sometimes it is faster to test out the answer choices than to come up with one from scratch. We have used that specific method. We took all the alternatives of space structure expansion techniques that have been developed by humanity, tested each one by simulating how a structure shaped like that Pac-Man sun would expand and at what speed, and compared the simulation results to the observed data. From that, we found one structure expansion technique that roughly corresponds to what is happening up there, and that is the paper-folding technique. Although it’s not paper that is being unfolded or folded. In all, we could call this origami.”

At this point, Gu Yemin chimed in again with the same indifferent voice, as if to indicate that she was merely providing relevant extra information rather than taking over the conversation.

She said, “When we launch something into space, we often convert weight into money, don’t we? However much per ton, or per kilogram. But volume is also money. If something takes up too much space, we can’t take it on the spaceship. So we fold it. If we can fold something extremely small and later unfold it to make it big, that’s perfect. They call this origami engineering, and it’s one of the key techniques in space engineering. No one likes to share their technologies, but luckily Captain Um Jonghyun here, whom we recruited last year, turned out to be an expert with a doctorate in the field and seven years of research experience. Well, that wasn’t just a stroke of luck.”

The Air Force colonel asked, “A doctor with seven years of experience? But he’s just a captain?”

“Major select,” replied Gu Yemin. “Captain Um, continue.”

Major select meant that he was about to be promoted and could therefore take on the duties of a major, but this was the first time Jonghyun was hearing about it. Yet his face didn’t betray his thoughts as he continued the briefing.

“This image on the next page shows how this triangular prism consisting of triangles is unfolded. The page after that shows how the unfolded parts are joined. These are all hypotheses, but they have been proven to a considerable degree.”

The Secretary of Security asked, “Wait, who is doing the unfolding? Is it done through a robotic arm?”

“Oh, it unfolds automatically, sir,” answered Jonghyun. Then, carefully removing a thin piece of tinfoil that was tucked inside a pocket on the folder, he said, “This would be helpful as a reference. It is a kind of magic trick that people in our discipline show to others who are unfamiliar with this field of study.”

It was a thin piece of tinfoil in the shape of a square, with each side about five centimeters long. What looked like an image of a circuit board was printed on top, but it was inconspicuous unless you looked very closely.

Jonghyun explained, “Some people mistake it for a gum wrapper, but I would get into trouble if I just crumpled it up and threw it out. This is a rather expensive robot.”

Holding a corner of the tinfoil between his thumb and forefinger, Jonghyun stood up and walked over toward the window. Then he placed it on the table where the sunlight that came through the gap between the curtains pooled. Jonghyun cracked open a window to have the sunlight shine directly on the tinfoil rather than through the windowpane.

About thirty seconds passed. Suddenly, the tinfoil twitched. The two guests’ eyes sparkled simultaneously. There was no look of surprise on Gu Yemin’s face—she seemed to have seen it before—but her eyes shone with intrigue.

In the next moment, the tinfoil folded itself, twitching with some kind of power that seemed to have surpassed a critical point. It wasn’t a complex shape—with the corners of the square folded down to points like legs, it looked like a simple spider with four legs.

The tinfoil robot began to walk on the table. It didn’t have any joints, but it had no trouble walking stiffly since it was made of light material. It certainly walked like a paper robot.

After looking at it for about thirty more seconds, Jonghyun scrunched up the robot. Stuffing what was now nothing more than a gum wrapper into his pocket, he said, “It is expensive but works only once. And it is a secret. As you have just seen, it folds itself. From the folding mechanism to the operating mechanism, generator, basic communication device, and simple artificial intelligence technology, all the necessary data is printed on it. Just now, the sunlight generated micropower to power the circuit, and the robot folded its legs on its own to operate itself as programmed. For the time being, we use this robot for magic tricks, but considering that it can be mass-produced, we could use it in many fields. In any event, the triangles that make up Pac-Man seem to be able to unfold on their own without command. It means that there is no point in performing radio tracking. And as I have explained, the triangles are only about as thick as a thin film, and therefore don’t really function as a mirror. The reflectivity of the sunlight would not be very high. I believe that the unfolded triangles only work as a frame, and some kind of chemical is coated over them once they are unfolded.”

“Sounds like a complex mechanism,” said the secretary of security.

“It is complex and elaborate. It is too sophisticated to say that it was executed on an impulse. It must have been tested dozens of times. Gone through innumerable simulations. It is obvious that large-scale research has been conducted, and it is unlikely that there are a large number of research personnel capable of such activities. It seems that the Allied Space Force is conducting an investigation based on this reasoning. Information on the investigation process is not currently being shared, but there is a high likelihood that this is the case, sir.”

“I see,” the secretary of security answered. “Well, then, everyone’s been curious about this, and I’ve personally been wondering as well. What is that section that corresponds to the Pac-Man’s mouth? The missing slice?”

Jonghyun answered, “It seems to be a malfunction rather than an intentional design. The triangles have not been properly unfolded in that section, and actually, that was how we were able to confirm the analytical results. Because the malfunctioning triangles were not fully unfolded but still coated, it gave us an opportunity to examine the process. An entire block is first unfolded and then coated, and therefore it would have been difficult to learn the mechanism behind Pac-Man had it not stopped in the process.”

When Jonghyun finished his last sentence, the chief of staff chimed in again. This time Gu Yemin’s voice was full of life, as if she’d decided to stop footnoting his briefing and take over.

“That malfunctioning part is its weakness. Without a complete form, the structure’s durability is bound to be weakened. The attack will be carried out in a way where that portion can be effectively targeted.”

“Our Space Force is going to attack?” asked the secretary of security in surprise.

Lazily, Gu Yemin looked at the secretary of security and replied in a calm voice, “The United States will probably do it through the Allied Space Force. We don’t even have a missile to launch as of yet. As I’ve said before, we can only fold spaceships with paper, so we won’t get that kind of money, no matter how hard I squeeze. We can, however, purchase as much paper as we want.”

“I understand your situation. We’ve seriously discussed the matter at the State Council meeting. I can’t guarantee the results, but I believe that you will finally be hearing the first good news about funding at some point.”

At the secretary of security’s words, Chief of Staff Gu Yemin answered in a sincere voice, “I’m always looking forward to such developments. It’s about time it happened. It’s been about time for a long while now.”

“I know you must have heard this often, but I believe that now is finally the time.”

“You think so? From my perspective, I don’t think it’s anything we should be taking too seriously in the Space Force. It’ll be another empty promise. It doesn’t ring true in regards to the Space Force, at least. I imagine the Air Force would consider a well-funded Space Force to be a looming crisis. Isn’t that right, Colonel Kim?”

“Surely not, ma’am,” the Air Force colonel who had been listening to the conversation responded without missing a beat. He seemed skilled in jump roping.

The chief of staff quickly turned her attention to the secretary of security and said, “Let’s say that’s not the case for the Air Force then. Anyway, I agree—I wouldn’t want anything to come between our two organizations. But Mr. Secretary, now that you’ve heard our briefing, to what do I owe this discreet visit? Oh, Captain Um, good work. You’re dismissed.”

Jonghyun got up and pushed his chair in before gathering the documents he’d laid out on the table. Then he waited for the right time to hop out of the jump rope. Gu Yemin continued her conversation with the two guests without looking at Jonghyun. That was his cue. Jonghyun quickly turned around and headed to the door at the far side of the room.

Murmuring voices filled the main conference room. If the Space Force tried to express its identity in the design of this conference room by imitating outer space, they had indeed failed because sound doesn’t travel in space.

The three people were deep in conversation when Jonghyun arrived at the far door and reached for the door handle. So Jonghyun was able to hear them say:

“The time is ripe. However, you would need an opportunity.”

The voice belonged to the secretary of security.

The chief of staff then asked, “An opportunity? Do we have to wait until one comes up, or are you talking about something that can be arranged?”

“I didn’t come here to say that you should wait with an open mouth for grapes to fall in. The Blue House is saying, what if you launch something first?”

“Something? Anything? Is this the president’s idea?”

“It’s the Blue House’s position.”

“I’m unclear as to what you mean. It can’t be something the Blue House building itself thought of. Launch something? With what we have right now, we won’t even be able to reach that Pac-Man or pizza or whatever.”

“That’s not an issue.”

“Are you certain?”

Jonghyun slipped out of the conference room and closed the door. The chilly air that permeated the hallway touched the nape of his neck. Relief spread across his face as he turned away from the door. The chief of staff’s aide, who had been waiting in the hallway, approached Jonghyun with quiet footsteps.

“How was it, sir?”

Jonghyun held out the service cap toward him and answered, “Hot. And it looks like something interesting is going to happen.”

“Something interesting?”

“Obviously, it’s confidential,” Jonghyun replied. “Oh yeah, and since when have I been a major select?”

One afternoon several days later, Jonghyun drove his car toward the Space Force launch base. Behind the wheel, his face exuded boredom. He had been unable to speed along for several minutes now.

A truck blocked the view ahead of him as it slowly cruised the road. There were five or six cars behind Jonghyun who were in the same boat as him. A cow was loaded on the back of the truck—its eyes looked sad and resigned.

“It probably just looks like that, no?” Jonghyun asked aloud. “I know nothing about cow faces, but I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s just probably moving to a different cowshed.”

Both of his hands were on the wheel. Instead of the Space Force uniform, he wore a t-shirt that revealed his soft, white arms. He kept on drumming the steering wheel with his right forefinger, unable to hide his impatience. On the winding twolane mountain road, he’d tried to overtake the truck several times, but every time cars came at him from the other direction. It was the same for all the other cars behind him as well.

“It looks healthy, so it should be OK, right?” said Park Kugyong, who was sitting in the passenger seat. “It looks young, but I honestly can’t tell how old it is.”

Also clad in t-shirt and shorts, Kugyong looked like someone who was far from ever being in a military uniform.

“Honestly, you’re not even that good at telling how old people are either, are you?” asked Jonghyun.

“Is age that important? People are just people.”

“That’s true, but if you’re working in the Public Relations Corps, isn’t it good to have the ability to distinguish between human beings at least? There must be some kind of sales involved in your work.”

Finally, Jonghyun found an opportunity to pass the truck. As he did, Kugyong glanced at the truck driver’s face. The man looked neither apologetic nor brazen. He seemed as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

With the cow out of their sight, their conversation ended as well. They drove in silence for a long time until a four-lane road appeared. There wasn’t a lot of traffic in this section, so Jonghyun sped up. The road was spotted with occasional military facilities, such as barricades and checkpoints, and it was flanked by guardrails on both sides, but no barrier marked the center of the road. There were signs: NO IDLING, ROAD CLOSED IN EMERGENCY, and MILITARY VEHICLES TAKE ABSOLUTE PRECEDENCE.

Jonghyun asked Kugyong, “That road sign, that means in case of emergency, a military vehicle carrying something huge could take up all four lanes of the road. But does something like that ever happen?”

“I doubt it,” Kugyong answered.

“Right?”

“We won’t be launching anything from our launch base, and if that ever happens, they’ll get it here by ship. The sign means that we’ll be transporting something via land if the seaway gets blocked or something goes awry, but we don’t even have a propulsion system big enough to launch something that would take up four lanes. It’s probably just there to mark the territory.”

“Like we’re showing people that we can do something tremendous?”

“Exactly,” Kugyong said. “And having the surrounding roads like this is like a tacit sign that says, ‘Up to this part is our territory.’ But Captain Um, do you think we’ll actually launch something next week?”

The road stretched far in a straight line like a runway. With no need to change lanes or stop for traffic, they only had to stay on and keep going.

Jonghyun answered, “It sounded like they are going to launch something, whatever that may be.”

“Is it possible?”

“I don’t really know since I’m pretty new here. You’d know. You’ve been here far longer.”

“Yeah, I suppose. I guess it can happen. But launch anything? Launching a rocket is not like getting something from a vending machine.”

“Looks like the chief of staff is intent on doing it. And in my opinion there’s no harm in doing a launch. Wouldn’t this be a good opportunity for the Public Relations Corps? It’s good for us to make some kind of a move when the time is ripe.”

“It would be an opportunity. If it works out, that is. If it doesn’t go well, then it’s going to be a real pain. Imagine having all the cameras there to shoot a launch and then, it blows up in the air.”

“I wonder if it’d be like broadcasting the Olympics,” said Jonghyun. “You know, saying that such and such athlete is bound to win the gold medal, and then when he loses in the semi-finals or something, they switch to some other game even before the athletes shake hands.”

Kugyong answered, “We’d be lucky if that happens.”

“You mean they’d keep on covering the launch even after it fails?”

“It’s like watching a fire. The most interesting things in the world to watch are fights and fires, so why would the reporters not air that? And as a captain in the Public Relations Corps, guess who has to work to death to try and stop such scenario from happening.”

“Really?” asked Jonghyun. “I wonder why the chief of staff is trying to go ahead with it then. We’re not even prepared.”

“She’s taking a risk,” Kugyong said thoughtfully. “In On War, Clausewitz said that a soldier is a risk-taker who likes to gamble. The public opinion looks pretty good about increasing the budget for the Space Force right now. They’re saying that this is the first time things are looking this good. You know that the government doesn’t take the Space Force seriously as part of the armed forces. We’re more like the Korean branch of an international organization to them. Like development assistance payments. We do pay a decent share of the Allied Space Force expenditure, and we couldn’t not have an organization to deal with the contributions, and so they were forced to create the Space Force—was what it felt like. But when the elections used to roll around, everyone from presidential candidates to provincial assembly candidates used to pledge that they’d cut the size of the Space Force. But now it’s the opposite.”

“Is it because it’s too hot?”

“Of course it’s because it’s too hot. And you can see the reason why right up there. It looks like it’s laughing at us with its mouth open.”

“And on top of that, it’s getting bigger,” Jonghyun added.

Kugyong continued, “It’s late October, but we’re still wearing short sleeves. People are annoyed. You know, Clausewitz also said that those who are the most barbarously violent are not the soldiers but the public. Right now, everyone’s obsessed with killing that thing in the air, and if we fan the flame just right, we might be able to raise the status of the Space Force. You can’t see New York from here in Korea, but you can see the moon. So in a way, the moon is closer to us than New York. But, you know that this is the kind of quotable content that you in the Intelligence Department should be giving me, not the other way around, right? Please settle in and carve out your place here, and be a great source for us.”

“Oh, is that how it is?”

“It’s just my hope,” said Kugyong. “Usually, when we try to write up something for the public, the Intelligence Department just scratches everything out with a red pen. But let’s turn this relationship into a mutually beneficial one. What would we get out of fighting among ourselves anyway?”

The car was now racing along a bridge that stretched over the sea and onto an island. It was a two-way, four-lane bridge just like the road they’d driven along, but theirs was the only car that was crossing.

The car stopped at the first traffic light upon entering the island. It was by a town. There was a bus stop about ten meters from the crosswalk, and a spacenaut clad in the semi-formal Space Force uniform was standing by the bus stop sign.

“Must be heading back to the base,” said Jonghyun. “Should we give him a ride?”

Kugyong shook his head and said, “He’ll be fine since the buses are still running. It’s already pretty terrible having to return to the base. And it’ll be a drag to head back with us.”

“That’s true.”

There was no need to stop at the next intersection, as there was enough time for Jonghyun to cruise through before the light changed. But Kugyong suddenly sat up and started yelling at Jonghyun to stop the car, startling Jonghyun enough for him to swerve into the other lane.

“She’s a weather specialist at the Weather Agency, that person over there,” said Kugyong. “She still must not have gotten a car. I don’t know how she thought to come to this place without a car. We can give her a ride, right?”

When the car stopped, the weather specialist recognized Kugyong. When Kugyong gestured at her to get into the car, she got in and instantly started chatting away.

“Captain Park Cooking! Have you been summoned too? Oh, I don’t think I’ve met the driver. Thank you for giving me a ride.”

“Don’t call me that,” said Kugyong.

“It’s an affectionate nickname. Park Kugyong sounds like Park Cooking. Anyway, nice to meet you, sir. My name is SoCal!”

Not quite understanding what she said, Jonghyun hesitated, and Kugyong chimed in, “She means Suh Ga-ul. Now she even says her own name like that. Strange, right? She’s a civilian worker for the Weather Agency at the Space Force headquarters. Looks like you two haven’t met. And from what she just said, it sounds like she’s been summoned to the launch base because of next week’s launch. This, here, is Captain Um Jonghyun from the Intelligence Department. He’s a specially appointed elite officer who went to school overseas.”

“Oh, him!” exclaimed Ga-ul. “The one who got parachuted in without ever having to actually pull the strings of a parachute in basic training! Oh, I mean, I’m sorry, sir. I saw you on the news. Never in person though. At HQ you must not come to the mess hall for meals either. You shouldn’t pay too much attention to the rumors.”

Kugyong turned to Jonghyun and said, “You can just leave her here. No one will say anything.”

“But you won’t, right?” Ga-ul asked as she buckled herself into the backseat. “I did get abandoned here. I got a ride from Seoul with Shoojeans, but then she dropped me off here saying that she wasn’t going all the way to the base. She told me to grab a cab or the shuttle. Oh, Shoojeans is Park Soojin. She’s a funny lady who works at the Internal Review Department. She’s nice but oddly not all that nice. People who don’t want to live in the dorms on the base live in this town. Oh, this isn’t your first trip to the base, is it? Well, we call this a town, but there’s nothing around here, as you can see. There’s a supermarket at the far back of the town somewhere. But anyway, if you abandon me here too, it’ll be a tragedy. I was waiting for the bus for over twenty minutes.”

Right then, Kugyong interrupted her, determined to stop her from rambling on. The timing was perfect, as expected of a public relations officer.

“Are you planning to stay in the dorm?”

“I should, shouldn’t I? The busiest streets in town are in the base. Plus, the security’s great. I’m not much of a country girl.”

The car started racing again. After a little while, another bridge appeared before them. It was higher than the previous bridge, making it possible for big ships like cruise or cargo ships to pass under. And it had a great view—the spectacular scenery made even those who regularly traveled the area turn their heads and look out the window.

In the sky, the second sun was casting a soft light toward the Earth. A white half-moon hung farther up in the sky.

“Even until last year, it used to be dark around this time, but now it’s too bright,” said Kugyong.

For the first time since they picked up Ga-ul, Jonghyun spoke to her.

“I have a question about that second sun. Is it really hot?”

Ga-ul pulled herself closer to Jonghyun. She said, “Well, it’s hot but not as hot as you’d think. But then, it did have a bigger impact on the climate than we’d expected. It’s getting bigger, so the longer we let it be, the more problems it’ll create.”

“It’s so hot here, but that thing’s not as hot as we think?” asked Kugyong.

“The planet was already getting warmer,” Ga-ul explained. “Global warming. It’s not easy to say how much impact global warming has on climate change or how much impact Pac-Man has. But it’s not that the mirrors are reflecting heat from the sun to the Earth’s atmosphere, raising the Earth’s temperature by that exact amount. What’s actually happening is that the high-pressure system from the North Pacific decided to settle here in Korea instead of moving back to where it came from. That’s how complicated meteorology is. But people completely forget about that. They’re talking as though the Earth suddenly turned hot in early June.”

“So we can’t say that that’s the reason we don’t have a fall this year?”

“Correct, sir, Captain Um. It’s Captain Um, right? There were twelve days last year that could be called ‘autumn’ based on the traditional standards. That means we were Pac-Man last year. But you know what the funny thing is? Although people have spoken for decades about stopping global warming, it’s been difficult to earmark the budget for it—for us here in Korea or in other powerful countries around the world. Then that Pac-Man appears, and suddenly the government is handing out money like an ATM. Isn’t humanity amazing, in many ways?”

“That sounds like you’re saying …”

“That the people who shot that up into the sky are environmentalists? Not exactly, but the result is the same. I think it was a good thing. As long as we don’t launch anything next week.”

“Why’s that?” asked Jonghyun.

Ga-ul answered, “Because of what a weather specialist is expected to do. Figuring out whether the weather will be good or not on the day the higher-ups decide to make a launch. But the weather forecast model has become a mess this year. All the academic papers on meteorology have become ancient meteorology. They’re not right anymore. None of them are. Not for the typhoons, not for the rainy season. Well, they were often wrong even before, but anyway. It’s like this. They pick a date for the Space Force HQ sports day three months from now, and then the chief of staff asks the Weather Agency whether it’ll rain on that day. But how would we know?”

“So then what do you do?” asked Jonghyun.

Once again, a storm of chatter rushed down on the two men.

“It doesn’t rain for eighty percent of the year, so we just tell her that it’s not going to rain, and then we wait. It’s not like we can make the weather happen. Oh, and me, I majored in astronomy. Planetary meteorology. It’s true that it’s also meteorology. The Earth is a planet, after all. Though it’s much too close for my liking. I can explain the meteorological changes that occur over the course of thirty million years or so, but I’m not confident in forecasting tomorrow’s weather, yet here I am.”

What followed was silence. A natural yet awkward silence among coworkers who don’t have anything to say.

Like the cow truck driver, Kugyong was impassive. Jonghyun’s face soon turned the same. Around the time they passed through the barricade at the entrance to the base, darkness had finally fallen outside.

The weekend passed, and Monday morning came. Jonghyun strolled toward the launch base main building, which stood on top of a hill overlooking the ocean. The spot would’ve been a perfect site for a fortress to defend against pirates in ancient times. Or had it not been the government that took an interest in this spot, a Buddhist temple might have been built there.

The main building wasn’t far from the dorm, but many came to work by car. The S-shaped road meandered up the hill. Jonghyun cut across the serpentine road and walked up the stairs that led to the building. He was clad in semi-formal, short-sleeve uniform and loafers befitting an officer, instead of a Space Force field uniform t-shirt. Yet when he reached the top of the stairs, he looked nothing like an intelligence officer.

“Have you gone for a hike this morning, sir?”

People heading into the building from the parking lot recognized Jonghyun and asked him the same question, as though they were reading from a script. And they all responded to his reply the same way—with disinterest.

When he stepped into the entrance of the building, Park Kugyong from the Public Relations Corps came over and greeted him.

“You look tired.”

“Tropical nights,” said Jonghyun. “And I thought it was going to be cool here because it was by the sea.”

“Well, they built the thing without giving any thought about ventilation. Don’t you have a fan in your room?”

“Nope. Don’t they have air conditioners here?”

“Oh no, air conditioning in the single occupant dormitory near November? Normally they cut it off when September rolls around. They did go easy on us this year since they are still air conditioning the offices. In fact, they might turn the heat on at night in late November. These tropical nights better stop before that happens.”

“What? Why would they do that?”

“Because we’re supposed to turn the heat on at night in late November. This is the military. What do you expect?”

“Common sense?”

“Ah, yeah, yeah. Are you going to do the exercises? Apparently we have to do the exercises before the morning briefings starting today.”

“The Space Force freehand exercises? I don’t even remember how to do them.”

“What? It’s only been a year and a half since you learned them. Well then, just sit back and relax. Now that I look at you, you’re sweating like a pig. Have you gone for a hike this morning? Oh, oh, I see, I see. You must have missed the MAIN BUILDING IS FURTHER THAN IT APPEARS SIGN.”

Jonghyun sat in the Operation Briefing Room to cool himself down, and a few moments later people filed in. There were chairs lined up on three sides of the room, while the middle of the room was empty. The side without chairs had a gigantic projection screen. When the beam projector was turned on, people took their seats by the walls. There were about forty people in various clothing, from t-shirts to camouflage field uniforms, maintenance uniforms, civilian blouses, and shirts. It was a meeting for important officers, and consistent with the gender ratio in the Space Force, a little less than half of the people were men.

There were six people in semi-formal uniform. Aside from an Air Force liaison officer who was there dispatched on an assignment and Jonghyun, the other four were from the Weather Agency.

“I heard the Weather Agency pulled an all-nighter.”

Jonghyun heard someone whisper. Giggles escaped from one side of the room, and the Weather Agency people sitting across from them turned their heads toward the sound. In civilian clothing, Suh Ga-ul looked rather gaunt. The whispers continued.

“What do they do when they work overtime? Do they hold a ritual or something?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like they can make the weather happen.”

“So then they come in to work on weekends and fret together?”

“Doesn’t sharing worries lighten the stress load or something?”

A senior officer from the Launch Base Operations Division stood next to the screen and spoke with restraint. “We will begin the morning briefings. Starting today, the chief of staff will be in attendance via video. Please turn on the screen.”

People’s gazes all turned to the big screen covering the wall. Soon, the projector began to beam a huge image. At that moment, the people in attendance flinched. Looking out toward the people from the projector screen, Chief of Staff Gu Yemin noticed people’s reactions and asked curiously, “What? Why are you all startled?”

People jumped once again. This time, it was because her voice was much too loud.

The director of the Orbit Operations Office calmly gestured at the spacenaut sitting by the projector to lower the volume.

On the screen, the chief of staff’s face, filling up the entire screen on the wall, said, “Who set up the system? You have me in god mode again, don’t you? I can hear my voice blare throughout the room even from over here. How should we do this? Should I come back a little later? Or can you fix the setting right away?”

Lieutenant Colonel Shim Jaesun, Director of the Orbit Operations Office, answered her question perfunctorily, “You can stay where you are, ma’am. There, please reduce the screen size.”

“You’ve zoomed in on my face too? How big is my image on the screen?”

“We can only see your face, ma’am. We’re all scared here, ma’am, so please stay still.”

“You have my face filling up that entire wall? Hey, I see someone taking a picture with their cell phone.”

“Oh, that’s just for the Public Relations Corps’ records. Don’t worry about it, ma’am.”

“But it’s the Public Relations Corps, and I’m not wearing any makeup!”

Soon the chief of staff’s face grew smaller. Bookcases appeared behind her shoulders, but they were still gigantic enough for everyone sitting in the room to find a book in their academic discipline. Now that the bookcases appeared in the background, the chief of staff’s divine authority that had overwhelmed the entire room subsided, giving way to her usual intellectual face.

“You still look big like an Egyptian god, ma’am, but we’ll begin now.”

“Wait, Colonel Shim … Well, never mind. Go ahead and begin. As long as I don’t turn my head to the side, I won’t look like the goddess Isis.”

“According to the chief of staff’s orders, we will begin with a briefing from the Weather Agency. Director of the Weather Agency?”

The entire room did look like something right out of an Egyptian relief. The giant goddess in glasses and the small people sitting around her. A picture where the important people are painted big while the less important are painted smaller. And the goddess occasionally opened her mouth to express her wishes.

After the briefing from the Weather Agency, the chief of staff said, “So it looks like the weather’s not going to be too bad. No wind. And it would be better for it to be hot, at least until then?”

The director of the Weather Agency answered, “Yes, ma’am. Because the high-pressure system is creating a heat dome over the Korean Peninsula, the weather will be favorable.”

“Great. And even the typhoons have bounced off.”

The operations and technology briefings continued. Then at the end, the launch control officer offered up a comprehensive opinion on the launch.

“The conditions for the launch are favorable. Today’s assessment is to go ahead with the launch.”

With an impassive face, Gu Yemin placed her glasses on the table and said, “OK, great. Please do your best until the day of the launch. It seems that the Allied Space Force’s launch date has been set as well, so unless the weather conditions worsen, I hope that the launch can be safely completed by Thursday, the launch day, or Friday, the backup day, at the latest. Let’s do it right when it looks good instead of missing the perfect timing and ending up running around in a panic. I’m sorry that the date has been set out of the blue, but we are the Space Force. Let’s not think that this is unreasonable, since we have to launch something when we are suddenly given an order. It is an order from the commander-in-chief, and the fate of the Space Force depends on it, so let’s do our best. Oh, I see the Air Force liaison officer over there. The Air Force and the Space Force are closest partners, so I hope you understand what I meant just a little earlier about the fate of the Space Force depending on this launch. All right, that’s all.”

The chief of staff vanished from the screen. All together, people who had been sitting upright in their seats relaxed like balloon dolls leaking air. Suddenly, the briefing room was abuzz with chatter.

Everyone started to get up and leave. Park Kugyong grabbed people in the Development Corps and started asking, “So about that ‘something.’ The thing that’ll be loaded onto the launch vehicle. What is it going to be?”

“We have no idea.”

“It’s going to be mounted today or tomorrow at the latest, isn’t it?”

“It’s coming this afternoon, or so I’ve heard. Once the inspection is done, we’ll mount it tonight.”

“Can’t you tell from the data? They must have sent over the data at least.”

“They’ll send it over when it’s time. We’ll let you do an exclusive, so don’t worry and just go and relax. If you’re that curious, ask the Operations Division or HQ Transport Corps.”

The launch day began with commotion early in the morning. Park Kugyong ran into Command Sergeant Major Jo Yeonjung at the entrance of the main building.

“My goodness,” Sergeant Major Jo exclaimed. “I finally have a moment to catch my breath. It’s the prime minister, prime minister.”

Unable to understand what she meant, Kugyong asked, “What’s going on?”

“Have they not contacted you guys in the PR Corps yet? The presidential helicopter’s not coming. The prime minister’s visiting instead. Go to the office and let them know.”

Kugyong mumbled almost to himself, “Huh, I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. We’re doing all this to make it look like it’s a big event, but that’s kind of anticlimactic.”

“That’s true, but with all the chaos right now, even things that are bound to happen might not happen. It’s best to do things quietly. It won’t do us any good to have people be louder than the rocket itself. And it’s a headache to have three helicopters in the air so early in the morning. It’s better to have a car drive in quietly. Imagine having the president here. He would have to say something after the launch, and if the reporters are there, he would have to stay and answer questions. It’d be exhausting.”

“Sure, well, if you say so, I suppose it is a good thing.”

“Of course. Well, I’m off to do my regular job and go discipline some spacenauts that are probably dozing off right now.”

Kugyong walked through the corridor and stepped into a room with the sign reporters. Something seemed to be off in the room. Journalists sat complaining about having to come all the way to the base and not being allowed to cover the launch from a close distance. Sure enough, as soon as they recognized Kugyong, the reporters hurled the same grievances at him. Kugyong scratched his head. Right then, his cell phone rang. After checking his phone screen, he turned to the reporters.

“I’m here to tell you something. I just received final confirmation that the plans for a presidential visit have been switched to a prime ministerial visit.”

Reporters jeered, but the booing was so much quieter than Kugyong had expected that he felt a chill run down his spine.

Stepping out of the room, Kugyong made a phone call. He had to take care of something that was even more troubling than the canceled presidential visit. He held the phone to his ear as he walked through the building corridor and into the yard outside.

“Well, the reporters are right. They’re here, but now we’ve banned them from taking pictures during the launch. I mean, how could they have found out about that this late? If we’d known about it, we could’ve canceled the press coverage. Well, I suppose we couldn’t have since it was the chief of staff’s orders. Yes, I understand. I understand but …”

He could see the launch area atop the hill in the distance. The rocket stood erect on the launch pad.

Kugyong spoke into the phone in a loud voice, “I’m looking at it from the outside now, and you can’t really see it because it’s dark. Can’t we just let them take pictures? Sure, the camera might see more than the naked eye, but even then I don’t think they’d be able to tell. Really? It looks the same to me. Really? You can tell? OK, yes, I got it, sir. I’ll figure something out. And you’ll send us the launch video taken from a decent angle? Yes, sir. Sure, you have to focus on the launch now. No, I won’t call anymore, sir.”

Kugyong hung up the phone and glowered at the launch pad. Weather Specialist Suh Ga-ul, who was passing by, noticed him and approached.

“Something not working out?” she asked.

“Oh, hey. Yeah, it’s getting a bit troublesome. All of a sudden, we’re not allowed to take pictures.”

“Ah, they’ve prohibited photography? I heard that they’d mounted something strange. They’re not allowing pictures even from a distance?”

“Apparently you can tell if you know what it is. Damn it. But you look good, SoCal. You haven’t looked this cheery this past week. I’m guessing the ritual went well?”

“As you can see! The southeasterly wind is blowing! Of course, not the real southeasterly wind but the southeasterly wind in my heart.”

Ga-ul shot her two hands up into the sky with a triumphant smile. There wasn’t even a breeze to sway the starlight, which poured directly down onto the ground.

At her ludicrous remark, Kugyong let out a laugh and said, “Gosh, I extend my congratulations, oh, Wise One. The Weather Agency, or should I say the Magic Agency, has made a great achievement!”

“This is nothing. You should do your best too—then something will come about, one way or another.”

Um Jonghyun opened the doors, which resembled those of a movie theater, and stepped into the Launch Control Room. There were no blackout curtains or seat tickets, but the inside looked something like a mid-sized cinema with stadium seating. The wall straight ahead of Jonghyun was covered by a brown curtain, and the aisle from the doors to the curtain was a gentle downward slope. On both sides of the aisle were seats akin to those in theaters.

Jonghyun quickly found an empty seat in the corner, and moments later, the prime minister and his staff entered the Launch Control Room. Everyone rose from their seats and turned to the back of the room. Chief of Staff Gu Yemin briskly walked over and greeted the prime minister and his staff. Numerous medals and badges dangled with moderation on her uniform, befitting the chief of staff’s position.

Like the intelligence officer he was, Jonghyun studied people’s faces with a furtive eye. Aside from the chief of staff, everyone else seemed a bit nervous. One person tossed his head from side to side as if to wake himself up. Only the chief of staff seemed relaxed and full of confidence.