Tech Giants: Starting from Bankrupt Companies

383: Chapter 383 Lunar Outpost ActivationIn March, the kapok flowers in Shenzhen bloomed. The entire city was ignited by the fiery red blossoms, like a silent feast. In the plaza in front of Xingchen Headquarters, two rows of kapok trees stood flanking the path, their petals falling onto the steps, the surface of the fountain’s water, and the shoulders of hurried passersby. Inside the building, the global press hall was ready—a 360-degree circular screen, holographic projection equipment, and a massive map of the moon occupied the entire background wall.

Su Chen stood in the center of the stage in a dark gray suit and a white shirt, no tie. At thirty-one, his face was a bit thinner than last year, but his gaze was steadier. Below the stage, over a thousand seats were filled with journalists, aerospace experts, and investors from around the world. In the back rows were dozens of young people who looked like students; they were aerospace majors from several universities in Shenzhen who had queued overnight for tickets after hearing that Xingchen was announcing its lunar plan.

“Today,” Su Chen began, his voice as calm as if he were stating something obvious, “Xingchen announces that the ‘Lunar Outpost’ project is officially launched.”

The large screen behind him lit up, and a holographic projection of the moon rose from the map, becoming a three-dimensional sphere suspended in the air. The grayish-white lunar surface was densely packed with impact craters and dark lunar maria. Then, several spots of light lit up on the sphere’s surface—Oceanus Procellarum, Mare Tranquillitatis, and Tycho Crater. Below the light spots, labels read ’Candidate Base Sites.’

Lunar Outpost Project

2021: Launch of the first batch of base modules—Habitation Module, Energy Module, and Laboratory Module—to be launched all at once by the tianlong-heavy rocket.

2022: Robot construction phase, utilizing lunar regolith 3D printing to expand the base structure.

2022: First permanent crew of 4 astronauts to conduct scientific experiments and technical verification.

2023: Base expansion to accommodate 12 people, establishing a closed-loop life support system.

2023: Lunar resource extraction—Helium-3 fusion fuel, rare earth elements, and water ice.

Su Chen pressed the remote, and the next page of technical parameters lit up:

Core Technologies

3D Printed Base Modules: Utilizing lunar regolith as raw material, robots print the architectural structures layer by layer, eliminating the need to transport building materials from Earth.

In-Situ Resource Utilization (ISRU): Extracting oxygen, hydrogen, and drinking water from lunar water ice, and extracting metal materials from lunar regolith.

Nuclear Power Supply: Small nuclear reactors with 1 megawatt of power, capable of continuous operation for 10 years without refueling.

Xingchen AI ’Zhulong-Lunar Edition’: Autonomous management of all base systems, remote maintenance, and fault prediction.

The sound of camera shutters below the stage was as dense as a rainstorm. A reporter from The New York Times raised a hand: “President Su, why build a lunar base first? Why not go directly to Mars?”

Su Chen smiled slightly: “Because the moon is the threshold to Earth. Verifying technology on the moon is a thousand times cheaper than trial and error on Mars. If we can’t handle in-situ resource utilization, 3D printed construction, and long-term human residency on the moon, then Mars is out of the question.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room: “The moon is not the destination. It is the springboard to Mars.”

Thunderous applause followed.

The representative from the Russian Space Agency sitting in the third row lowered his head to write something in a notebook, then looked up at the ESA official beside him. The two made eye contact and nodded slightly.

The next day, Moscow.

The press conference at the Roscosmos headquarters began half an hour later than scheduled. It wasn’t a technical issue; Rogozin was still revising his speech. This sixty-year-old aerospace chief was known for being tough and rarely changed his wording. But today, he changed it three times.

Finally, he stood at the podium with the Russian flag and the space agency’s logo behind him. There weren’t many reporters present—most were still in Shenzhen—but Rogozin knew the whole world was watching at this moment.

“Russia has decided,” his voice was loud and firm, “to officially apply to join Xingchen’s ‘Lunar Outpost’ project.”

He opened the document on the table: “We will provide improved technology for the ‘Soyuz’ lunar spacecraft, twenty years of operational experience from the International Space Station, and Russian cosmonauts. Russia’s history of deep space exploration, from the first satellite in 1957 to Gagarin in 1961, to the International Space Station in 1998—will now be written on the moon together with Xingchen.”

An American reporter raised a hand, their tone somewhat sharp: “Director Rogozin, isn’t Russia cooperating with the United States on the Artemis Program? Why turn to Xingchen now?”

Rogozin laughed, a laugh that carried the characteristic Russian grit and bluntness: “The Artemis Program? Can they land in 2024? Has the SLS Rocket made its maiden flight? Where is the lunar Lander? Where are the spacesuits? We don’t want to wait. Russians never wait for anyone.”

He paused and added: “Furthermore, Xingchen’s plan is to launch base modules in 2024 and have human residents by 2026. This isn’t a PowerPoint presentation; these are things already being built.”

Paris reacted even faster.

On the third day, ESA Director General Josef Aschbacher held a press conference in Paris. This sixty-year-old German was known for being cautious and never made promises lightly. But today, his wording was more decisive than ever:

“Europe officially applies to join the ‘Lunar Outpost.’ We will provide scientific payloads, laboratory modules, and European astronauts. The European scientific community has waited for this day for far too long.”

A reporter asked: “Isn’t Europe cooperating with the United States? In the Artemis Program, Europe is responsible for the service module of the ‘Orion’ spacecraft.”

Aschbacher pushed up his glasses, his tone calm but sharp: “Europe cooperates with everyone. Our principle is—whoever reaches the moon first, we cooperate with them. This is not betrayal; this is science.”

New Delhi followed suit within a week. The Chairman of the Indian Space Research Organization announced on Twitter: “India applies to join the Lunar Outpost project, providing remote sensing satellite support and lunar surface mapping data.” There was no press conference or formal statement for this tweet, just a simple “#IndiaInMoon.”

But the whole world saw it.

March 16th, White House.

The atmosphere in the Oval Office was more tense than any National Security Council meeting. Biden sat behind the desk, facing NASA Administrator Bridenstine, Secretary of Defense Austin, and Science Advisor Lander. Three documents were spread across the desk—Xingchen’s lunar project timeline, Russia’s application statement, and Europe’s application statement.

Biden’s voice was a bit raspy, but every word carried weight: “Xingchen announced a lunar base launch in 2021 and human residency in 2022. Russia and Europe have both joined. What do we do?”

Bridenstine gave a bitter smile. He had been in this position for three years, enduring countless budget cuts and congressional bickering. NASA’s Artemis Program had been shouting about “returning to the moon by 2024” since the Trump era, but even now, the SLS Rocket was still on the test stand in Mississippi, the lunar Lander was still on the drawing board, and the spacesuits were still in the lab.

“Mr. President, our SLS Rocket hasn’t even made its maiden flight. According to current progress, landing on the moon in 2024 is—impossible.”

Biden slapped the table; it wasn’t loud, but it silenced everyone: “Then announce an acceleration. Say it first, then we’ll see.”

Bridenstine opened his mouth to say something but swallowed it back.

The next day, NASA Headquarters. Bridenstine stood at the podium with the NASA logo and a massive American flag behind him. His voice sounded exhausted:

“The United States announces that the Artemis Program will be moved forward to 2024, and we will return to the moon.”

The reporters below looked at each other. A reporter from The New York Times raised a hand: “Administrator, what about the rocket?”

Bridenstine: “It’s being built.”

Another reporter: “The lunar Lander?”

Bridenstine: “Also being built.”

Yet another reporter: “The astronauts?”

Bridenstine fell silent.

Someone in the audience laughed; the sound was small, but it was exceptionally piercing in the quiet hall.

March 20th, Capitol Hill. In the meeting room for the emergency appropriations meeting, lawmakers were in an uproar. Republican lawmakers said it was too much money, Democrats said it wasn’t enough, Texas lawmakers demanded the contracts go to the Johnson Space Center, and Florida lawmakers demanded the launch missions stay at the Kennedy Space Center.

After three hours of arguing, an emergency supplemental appropriation was finally passed—twenty billion dollars.

But NASA experts said privately: “Twenty billion? Even with another twenty billion, we won’t make it by 2024. What we lack isn’t money; it’s time.”

Su Chen sat in his office, the screen in front of him simultaneously playing recordings of the four press conferences—Moscow, Paris, New Delhi, and Washington. After watching the last clip, he turned off the screen and took a sip from his teacup.

Lin Wan, standing by his side, couldn’t help but smile: “The U.S. announced a 2024 moon landing. Rogozin said ‘we don’t want to wait.’ Europe said ‘whoever gets there first, we cooperate with them.’ The world has changed.”

Su Chen shook his head: “It’s not that the world has changed. It’s that the threshold for the moon has been lowered. Before, only nations could land on the moon; now, a single company can. The U.S. didn’t lose to Xingchen; they lost to their own arrogance. They thought the moon would always be their backyard, and they only woke up to find the backyard gate had already been opened by someone else.”

He stood up and walked to the window. The night over Shenzhen Bay was deep, and the Hong Kong skyline in the distance was brilliantly lit. The moon hung right above the sea, large and round like a silver mirror.

“In 2026,” he said softly, “when the first group of people moves into the lunar base, I want to go see it.”

Lin Wan stood beside him: “I’ll accompany you.”

Su Chen turned to look at her and smiled: “There are no five-star hotels on the moon.”

Lin Wan smiled as well: “Anywhere you are is five-star.”

Outside the window, the moonlight was like water. That gray planet was calling for humanity’s next footprint.