31. Ichijō, standing on the Moon

The Agirakana Moon Resort (AMR), affectionately known as Amoor, has a dome section with a diameter of slightly over two kilometers. It was too large to be built as a warship in one go, so it was constructed in Agirakana and then transported to the Moon via a hyperlane gate.

It’s more accurate to say it navigated there under its own power, rather than being carried—after all, it was a repurposed spacecraft module. It landed on a two-kilometer-square, solidified foundation built atop a leveled lunar surface. Positioned at the center of the Moon as seen from Earth, near the central bay, AMR always has Earth directly overhead when viewed from within.

Travel to the Agirakana Moon Resort (AMR) is open to countries other than Japan, but with an eight-to-two split—eighty percent reserved for Japanese nationals, twenty percent for nations with diplomatic relations with Japan. [Note 1]

Passengers must provide their full name and nationality when purchasing boarding tickets; if the name or nationality listed on the passport differs from that on the ticket at Narita departure, the ticket becomes invalid and will not be refunded.

Additionally, if a traveler causes issues in AMR, they will be forcibly repatriated to Narita, and the repatriation costs will be billed to the country of origin. Should the repatriation fee not be paid within the deadline, tickets for nationals of that country will be unavailable until the fee is settled.

Some argued the non-Japanese quota was unnecessary, but it was set up with a light-hearted attitude—after all, offering services to wealthy Westerners might yield some benefits down the line.

In addition, entering AMR requires consent to biological information scanning—a condition of ticket purchase. A precaution against foreign operatives, certainly, though AMR holds no information worth stealing, and carrying hazardous materials is physically impossible, so infiltration by spies is not considered a serious concern.

Ichijō felt thoroughly emptied out—mentally, if not physically—after the long journey aboard the passenger vessel Jupiter, and had just settled back into her seat, sipping mineral water, when the craft abruptly entered landing mode. It seemed she’d barely glimpsed the Moon, circling in the distance from Jupiter’s orbit.

After Jupiter docked at AMR’s spaceport, Ichijō joined the queue toward the exit, passed through one of several cabin doors, and stepped onto the boarding bridge.

From there, he moved forward in a slow, shuffling line with the other passengers. At the baggage claim counter, he showed his ticket, retrieved his checked suitcase, and arrived at the arrival hall.

By this point, there was no discernible procedure left for the passengers to go through. In reality, the arriving passengers’ detailed Biological Information had already been scanned and recorded during passage through the boarding bridge, and their subsequent movements and actions were monitored and logged—except in private spaces. The precision of the Biological Information collected was such that, in theory, it could enable pathological diagnosis, or even the fabrication of a bioandroid.

Six flights a day, arriving roughly every four hours, each disgorging around six hundred passengers into the arrival hall—yet the hall remains uncluttered, since no one comes to meet them. Occasionally, a pair of uniformed security officers can be seen patrolling. Ichijō has described this trip as an inspection tour, at least within the Embassy, but had intended to sightsee at leisure, viewing the AMR as a tourist might; accordingly, she had already declined any official welcome party.

She’d eaten something out of her mouth, so her stomach had started growling—though her luggage was in the way, making a meal impossible until she’d made it to the ANL Hotel, which she’d already reserved. Following signs written only in Japanese and English (..), she walked until, without noticing, she’d emerged from the Spaceport block onto AMR’s main street. After a short stroll, the lobby entrance of the ANL Hotel came into view. Check-in at the hotel wasn’t until 1:00 p.m. Japan Standard Time, so she had about two hours to spare. Incidentally, AMR used the same time zone as Agirakana: Japan Standard Time.

At the front desk, she completed the formalities, checked her luggage, and returned to the main street. The avenue was brightly lit, yet looking up revealed a sky full of stars, with a crescent-shaped Earth visible directly overhead. On either side of the street stood fast-food outlets, cafés, Japanese restaurants, and souvenir shops, though foot traffic was not particularly heavy.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Maria decided to peek into the souvenir shop. Inside, Earth (Moon) themed dumplings were on display, presumably meant as a specialty, but they seemed to attract little interest. Among them were items like pickled daikon and konbu simmered in soy sauce—products whose connection to the Moon remained entirely opaque—yet their description cards boldly proclaimed, 'Agirakana Officially Endorsed (go-yōtashi).' Checking the manufacturer's name confirmed it: a company known to trade with the Agirakana Embassy. Upon closer inspection, such products lined the shelves in considerable quantity.

Still, the real bestsellers were jewelry and decorative items crafted from lunar stone, drawing a steady crowd of customers who examined them with rapt attention. Though priced quite high, some patrons attempted to purchase in bulk—only to be gently but firmly discouraged by shop staff. Apparently, there were purchase limits in place.

The next place they entered was a casual restaurant near the souvenir shop. They’d intended to have a light meal, but since their stomachs were empty, they ended up devouring a full-sized Japanese-brand Wagyu sirloin steak. To top it off, they also indulged in the dessert—shortcake—and returned to the hotel with a noticeably distended belly. Ichijō, who usually just orders red wine casually with steak, apparently refrained from doing so this time, perhaps out of prudence.

After finishing dinner and returning to the hotel, they still had time before check-in at one o’clock, though the room was already available. They went inside. Their carry-on, left at the front desk, had already been brought up, so they changed into the swimsuit set stored within, layering it with shorts and a long parka that reached their knees, sandals on their feet. With this ensemble—already generating whispers among the staff—they promptly headed out to the newly popular low-gravity dive pool.

The low-gravity dive pool, a facility附属 to the hotel, required guests to exit the elevator on the pool floor, check in at the front desk, stow shorts and a hoodie in a locker, then proceed toward the pool area.

A yellow line marked the path ahead, numbered sequentially—9.8 at the near end, 1.6 at the far. Each step along it brought a perceptible lightening of the body. By the end, it felt like walking on clouds.

"...Kindly take a few minutes to acclimate to the low-gravity environment by light walking around the pool perimeter..."

Ichijō either did not hear the announcement or chose to ignore it, proceeding directly to the ten-meter diving platform and taking a seat to await their turn.

The turn came quickly, so Yamada stepped onto the elevator ascending the diving platform and rode up to the tip, where he leaned over to peer down. Even from ten meters, the water below looked remarkably small.

Whether it was because he’d leaned too far, or whether it had been intentional—

“O-oh, o-ho? O-ho-ho-ho-hoo—!”

Ichijō plummeted, shrieking. The fall was slower than expected, and that sense of relief proved fatal.

BATH-SPLASH!!

He landed flat on his stomach, rubbing his now crimson abdomen. Glaring at the diving platform, Ichijō muttered, “I’ll never come back to a place like this,” as a substantial splash—having risen quite high—slowly descended and settled over his face.

Using a towel kept by the poolside, he wiped himself off and decided to haul himself back to the room. The path back followed the one he’d entered through—but each step grew heavier, which was surprisingly taxing.

He changed into shorts and a hoodie over his damp swimsuit in the changing room, slipped on sandals, and returned to the room. After changing back into his regular clothes, he decided to head out for the mini-tour featuring the lunar rover—his main reason for visiting.

The highlight of the AMR experience was the dedicated sightseeing spacecraft that took visitors on a round-trip tour to Mare Tranquillitatis, where Apollo’s landing pedestal and the remains of the lunar rover still stood—but reservations were required, and it seemed unlikely he’d catch one for today or tomorrow. Ichijō, for all his authority, apparently hadn’t gone that far in abusing his position. Or perhaps he’d simply forgotten.

At the hotel front desk, booking a lunar surface tour, they said the next departure was imminent, so I hurried toward the underground entrance marked for the tour departure.

The lunar surface vehicle consisted of two eight-wheeled cars linked together. The passenger section was fully transparent except for the floor. Once everyone fastened their seatbelts, the tour began. The airtight doors sealed shut, and the vehicle rolled forward. As the front gate—designed to isolate the outside from the AMR environment—opened, they stepped into the low-gravity world of the Moon. It was daytime, so the surface temperature outside should have exceeded a hundred degrees Celsius, but of course the interior remained comfortably regulated. The lunar vehicle proceeded at about twenty kilometers per hour, navigating the uneven terrain. Occasionally, as it accelerated up a small incline, it would briefly lift off the ground, eliciting cheers from the passengers—Ichijō among them. The tour lasted roughly thirty minutes, and was, by all accounts, unusually enjoyable.

When the tour ended, each participant was handed a small moonstone, about three centimeters across, encased in a resin-like transparent substance. The fact that Ichijō received one was, needless to say, a significant upgrade in her assessment of the mini-tour. At this moment, Ichijō was firmly in “dignitary on AMR inspection” mode. The morning’s humiliation had already vanished into the distant past—effectively erased from her memory. Given how pleased she now felt, it was not unreasonable to speculate that the miniature lunar rover tour might soon be followed by some form of preferential treatment from Agirakana.

Ichijō, having worn herself out from all the excitement, nevertheless realized it would be unwise to conclude the inspection entirely within the hotel, and so decided to head out to a public bathhouse some distance away, carrying a change of clothes. There, it was said, one could enjoy a ritual known as "Earth (moon) viewing sake"—a glass of sake poured from a chōzuya into a washbasin, while gazing up at the floating blue Earth above.

The water used in the AMR system is melted ice from asteroids in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter. For drinking, it is distilled, but for the bathhouses and hot pools, it is marketed as "cosmic mineral water," retaining a moderate amount of minerals—no specific health benefits are claimed, yet it remains extremely popular.

Within the AMR, the gravitational acceleration is set to 1 G in most areas, but some sections are configured at 0.16 G—the same as the Moon’s gravity—so visitors can experience it firsthand. Adjusting to 0.16 G can cause temporary disorientation in balance.

A particularly notable location set to low gravity is the series of heated diving pools designed for high dives. Each pool features diving platforms at 5 meters, 7.5 meters, and 10 meters. Jumping from the 10-meter platform into the pool requires courage, yet the impact is equivalent to leaping from just 1.6 meters on Earth, thanks to the Moon’s reduced gravity. Moreover, a fall from 10 meters takes 3.5 seconds. Once accustomed to the prolonged hang time, it reportedly becomes addictive.

On diving pools, the impact upon hitting water is minimal, but if the landing surface is something solid—like flooring or ground—there’s a serious risk of injury. Warnings are posted everywhere, sternly advising against jumping from any place other than a pool.

[Note 1] Ichijō has been discussing with Ain and, using information gathered online, compiling a metric of each nation’s goodwill toward Japan. It isn’t publicly available, but within the lunar ticket’s miscellaneous section, there are country-specific slots—those for nations with low goodwill are extremely small. Countries like Taiwan and Thailand have unexpectedly large slots. Palau, so it’s rumored, has no limit at all.

I’d assumed the national goodwill score was systemically and automatically calculated, but in reality, Ichijō was just deciding it on a whim, pencil in mouth.

‘Summoned by Accident. The Storage Officer is the Strongest, Right!? Short Story Collection’

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