Tech Giants: Starting from Bankrupt Companies

379: Chapter 379 Experiment Module LaunchWinter in Hainan doesn’t feel like winter.

In December, the Command Center is still twenty degrees Celsius, with sea breezes blowing in from the South China Sea, carrying a salty, humid tropical scent.

On the coconut trees lining the launch site, green coconuts hang heavy from the branches, and occasionally, a ripe one falls onto the grass with a dull thud.

At Launch Pad No. 1, the Tianlong medium-lift rocket is awaiting its sixth mission.

From December 2020 to May 2021, the Command Center launch site has been like a tireless clock, with a rocket soaring into the sky every thirty days or so.

Each launch’s fairing bore a different inscription: ”Kunlun - Laboratory Module A,” ”B,” ”C,” ”D,” ”E,” and ”F.”

Six launches, six rockets, six laboratory modules, flying one by one into space four hundred kilometers away like building blocks.

Chu Tianming stands before the glass curtain wall of the Command Center, looking at the launch tower in the distance outside.

Half a year ago, he watched the core module ”Tianhe Plus” lift off from this very spot.

Now, the final laboratory module, ”F,” is being fueled.

At sixty, he has significantly more gray hair at his temples than he did half a year ago, but his eyes remain sharp.

”Six launches in half a year,” Liu Peiqiang says, walking up to him with a cup of coffee in hand, ”the whole world is waiting for us to make a fool of ourselves. They think it’s impossible.”

Chu Tianming smiles: ”And now?”

Liu Peiqiang takes a sip of his coffee: ”Now they’ve shut up.”

At three in the afternoon, the launch begins.

The moment the countdown hits zero, orange flames erupt from the base of the rocket, and white steam rises like a mushroom cloud.

The rocket slowly leaves the launch pad, accelerates, pierces through the clouds, and disappears into the sky, trailing a long plume of fire.

Inside the Command Center, no one cheers.

After six launches, they have grown accustomed to this rhythm: launch, orbit, docking, inspection, and then the next one.

Spaceflight has transformed from an act of passion into a daily routine; this is the true sign of humanity venturing into space.

Half an hour later, news comes from the Command Center: ”Staging successful. Laboratory Module F has entered the planned orbit.”

On the large screen, the real-time configuration map of the Kunlun Space Station is updating.

The core module ”Tianhe Plus” is in the center, and the six laboratory modules are arranged like six petals in a cross formation on the six docking ports of the core module.

The total weight is fixed at 175 tons—though still less than half of the International Space Station’s 420 tons, Xingchen Aerospace achieved this in only half a year.

Chu Tianming looks at the configuration map and says softly: ”The building blocks are finished.”

Liu Peiqiang nods: ”Time for people to move in.”

At an altitude of four hundred kilometers, the arc of the Earth rotates slowly outside the window.

Blue oceans, white clouds, and brown land spread out like a massive oil painting beyond the porthole.

Inside the space station, it is a different scene: silver cabin walls, blue storage bags, floating astronauts, and the omnipresent logo of Xingchen Aerospace.

Sergei Prokopyev floats out of Laboratory Module A, holding a pouch of rehydrated food.

The forty-five-year-old Russian astronaut is burly, and he hasn’t shaved his beard in three days.

He has spent time on the International Space Station twice, with a cumulative time in space exceeding three hundred days.

But the Kunlun Space Station is the most comfortable home in space he has ever seen.

”Sergei, it’s breakfast time.” Wang Yaping floats over from the core module; the forty-year-old Chinese female astronaut wears a ponytail and a smile.

She is one of the first commanders of the Kunlun Space Station, responsible for coordinating the work and lives of the six astronauts.

”Coming, coming.” Sergei kicks off the cabin wall and drifts lightly toward the core module.

Passing by Laboratory Module B, he can’t help but peek inside—there, Thomas, an ESA astronaut, is operating a materials science experiment device, where the sample floating in the air emits a blue fluorescence under laser irradiation.

”Thomas, how is your experiment going?” Sergei asks in English.

Thomas turns his head, his face full of excitement: ”Perfect! In this microgravity environment, the lattice structure of this alloy is even more regular than predicted on the ground. Doing materials science here is like doing experiments in a dream.”

Sergei smiles and continues floating toward the core module.

In the center of the core module is a folding table, now unfolded.

Five astronauts sit around the table, their bodies secured to their seats by elastic straps under their feet.

On the table are pouches of rehydrated food: Russian borscht, Chinese Kung Pao chicken, and European pasta.

Sergei sits in an empty seat, tears open the borscht pouch, squeezes some thick soup into his mouth, and wears a satisfied expression.

Then he looks around, his gaze sweeping over the spacious cabin section, the tidy equipment, and even a tablet computer fixed to the cabin wall, which is playing news from Earth.

”This place is much more comfortable than the International Space Station.” Sergei says, his voice filled with genuine emotion.

Wang Yaping smiles: ”Where is it comfortable?”

Sergei counts on his fingers: ”First, the space is large. The cabin sections of the International Space Station are stuffed with equipment and cables; it’s hard to even turn around. Here, I can do somersaults. Second, the equipment is new. The air conditioning system on the International Space Station is always malfunctioning, but everything here is new. Third—”

He points to the tablet: ”The internet is fast. 10Gbps, 4K videos don’t lag. Over at the International Space Station, it takes half an hour just to upload a photo. It’s practically the difference between a phone line and fiber optics.”

Everyone laughs.

Russian astronaut Oleg floats by and interjects: ”Sergei, didn’t you spend two hours scrolling through YouTube yesterday? I remember when you were on the International Space Station, you had to compress a video three times just to send it to your daughter.”

Sergei spreads his hands: ”That was my daughter’s request. She wanted to see her dad’s life in space. Now I can livestream to her in 4K.”

Wang Yaping says with a smile: ”If your daughter sees you eating borscht in space, won’t she think you’re at some resort on Earth?”

Sergei pretends to be serious: ”That is the true meaning of space technology—to let your friends on Earth think you’re on vacation, rather than inside a tin can four hundred kilometers up.”

Everyone laughs, their laughter echoing in the microgravity.

In the afternoon, the astronauts return to their respective laboratory modules to begin their afternoon scientific experiments.

Sergei operates a fluid physics device in Laboratory Module A, observing the merging process of droplets under microgravity.

Transparent droplets float in the center of the device, slowly approaching, touching, and merging, like two planets meeting in space.

Outside the porthole, the arc of the Earth rotates slowly.

In the distance, a point of light is approaching.

Sergei looks up and recognizes what it is: the International Space Station.

Both space stations are currently in the same orbital plane, with a distance of only a few hundred kilometers.

From this angle, the International Space Station is just a blurry little point of light, but Sergei knows that there are still a few astronauts holding their ground up there.

He thinks back to his days on the International Space Station.

Old equipment, noisy ventilation systems, and endless malfunctions that could never be fully repaired.

Back then, he felt that space was just like that—hard, cramped, and full of danger.

It wasn’t until he came to Kunlun that he realized space could also be comfortable, spacious, and even somewhat luxurious.

”Sergei, what are you looking at?” Wang Yaping’s voice comes through the headset.

”Looking at the International Space Station.” he says.

Wang Yaping is silent for a moment: ”It will be retired. In 2024.”

Sergei nods, though Wang Yaping cannot see him: ”But we will be here.”

In the hall of the NASA control center, the atmosphere is as gloomy as a funeral.

On the massive screen wall, real-time footage of the International Space Station is playing: old cabin sections, mottled solar panels, and astronauts occasionally floating by.

This space fortress, which has been in service for twenty-three years, looks like an elderly person in their twilight years.

Jim Bridenstine stands at the podium; the sixty-year-old NASA Administrator has gray hair and a haggard expression.

More than a hundred reporters are in front of him, camera red lights blinking, but no one speaks.

”The International Space Station will officially retire in 2024.” His voice is hoarse and low, ”The wreckage will crash into Point Nemo in the South Pacific—the spacecraft cemetery.”

There is a long silence in the audience.

A reporter raises their hand: ”Administrator, what about the Russian segment?”

Bridenstine closes his eyes and opens them again: ”Russia has decided to detach it and dock it with the Kunlun Space Station.”

Another reporter asks: ”What does this mean?”

Bridenstine is silent for three seconds, then says: ”It means that the era of the International Space Station has ended.”

On the same day, in Moscow.

At the headquarters of the Roscosmos State Corporation, Rogozin stands at a similar podium, with the Russian flag and the agency’s logo behind him.

His voice is much louder than Bridenstine’s, even carrying a hint of excitement:

”The Russian segment will detach from the International Space Station in 2024 and dock with the Kunlun Space Station. Our astronauts will continue to work in space. Russia will not be absent from the next era of space exploration.”

A reporter asks: ”Does this mean Russia acknowledges that the Kunlun Space Station has replaced the International Space Station?”

Rogozin does not dodge the question: ”The International Space Station was a miracle of the 20th century; the Kunlun Space Station is of the 21st. Times are changing, and Russia is changing too.”

The Director General of the ESA, Josef Aschbacher, announces at the press conference: ”European scientists will be stationed at the Kunlun Space Station. We have signed a cooperation agreement with Xingchen, and European experimental equipment will be launched in 2023 to dock with Kunlun’s laboratory modules.”

He pauses, his tone carrying a hint of regret, yet also a hint of anticipation: ”The International Space Station gave European scientists twenty years of space experiment opportunities. Kunlun will give us the next twenty years.”

Su Chen sits in his office, watching the footage of the three press conferences playing simultaneously on the screen.

Lin Wan stands to the side, watching as well.

”The International Space Station retires in 2024,” Lin Wan says, ”Kunlun will become the only space station in space.”

Su Chen shakes his head: ”The only one? No. It will be the first, but not the only one. The United States will surely build a new one, and Russia will want to build its own. But at least we have a five-year window. Five years is enough time for us to do a lot of things.”

He turns off the screen and looks out the window.

In the night sky over Shenzhen Bay, one star is exceptionally bright—that is the Kunlun Space Station, flying around the Earth at an altitude of four hundred kilometers at a speed of 7.8 kilometers per second.

”Five years from now, Kunlun will be even larger.” He says softly, ”By then, the Russian segment of the International Space Station will have docked, European laboratory modules will have arrived, as will those from Japan, Canada, and even the United States. Humanity’s home in space will grow larger and larger.”

Lin Wan asks: ”And what about NASA? Will they come?”

Su Chen smiles: ”They will. Sooner or later. The wolf amendment can block intergovernmental cooperation, but it cannot block the desires of scientists. When your peers are all conducting experiments and publishing papers on Kunlun, will you just stand by and watch?”

Outside the window, that star moves slowly and disappears behind the clouds.