by Kōji Suzuki
“The collapse of the Riemann hypothesis, the appearance of zeros outside the boundary of 1/2 + ti … It’s possible that this is a precursor of a coming change in the number of dimensions in the real world. Just a possibility, that is. The world we know could cease to exist—all it would take is a slight warping of the numbers.
“If, for example, the strong nuclear force were strengthened in relation to the other natural forces—if the balance were to change even slightly—that alone would be enough to cause our sun to begin to expand and go supernova. Conversely, if it were to weaken—again, even slightly—then that would be enough to cause the sun to die out. The link is clear. A pattern has appeared in the value of Pi. Something has altered the base of our mathematical theory. There are bound to be repercussions for us. What I’m trying to say is that these changes will translate into physical changes in our world.”
As Isogai spoke, Hashiba watched Kagayama’s expression flit from open disbelief to frustration to something approaching fear. He was twitching slightly. Whether or not the implications of Isogai’s discourse had been grasped by the laymen in the room, the mood in it was significantly darker.
“Fucking nonsense.”
Kagayama finally seemed to lose his temper. He reached for the saucer at the edge of the table but Hashiba moved it out of his reach. Kagayama stood and marched to the window in a sulk.
Isogai frowned at the hysterics and waited for the moment to pass. After a moment, he continued, “I assure you, this problem is real. The President of the United States has already begun to gather a group of elite scientific advisors.”
Isogai looked over for Chris to back him up. Chris’ mouth quivered, and he looked like he might burst into tears at any moment. He nodded.
“One of the President’s scientific advisors, David Fontana, used to teach one of Chris’ good friends,” Isogai continued. “Just two days ago, Chris received an email from that friend claiming that the President was rounding up advisors from a number of fields. The list started with David himself and included other luminaries in elementary particle physics and quantum gravity theory. People like Dine Parker-Holmes and Landau are all being taken to Washington. The Director General of NASA is already there; I guess it was NASA that initially apprised the President of the situation. NASA must have come across some incredible information, that much is clear.
“As you know, I’ve worked with the U.S. government, and I know how the flow of information works. There’s a gag order in place, and no one’s allowed to talk about whatever is going on. They’re extremely thorough in this kind of situation. Communications with the outside world are under a blanket ban, and no one can use phones or email to discuss the situation.
“It’s pretty clear what’s going on. NASA must have advised the President of a potential security threat. Given this information, the President would have decided that he needed further input from his advisors and other top minds in physics. He would have called an emergency meeting of the National Security Council. It’s terrifying to even consider what they must have discovered to merit an operation of this scale; this is a crisis-level response. The fact that there’s a gag order in place says it all. It’s in place because any leaked information has the potential to cause widespread panic.”
Even knowing Isogai could only speculate as to what the problem was, Hashiba couldn’t help but ask, “What is it that they’ve discovered? I don’t care if it’s just a guess, what do you think? That’s what you’re here for.”
Ignoring Hashiba’s question, Isogai exchanged a few words with Chris in English that sounded like an intimate exchange of endearments between lovers.
“Okay. We’ll need a little time,” Isogai finally answered. “We’ll try our best to get some information together.”
“Of course,” Hashiba nodded in agreement. He understood that they would have to search for more information in order to even come close to a possible answer.
Hashiba could see that reports that changes had occurred in mathematical theory were cropping up worldwide. Even so, it was still not clear to Hashiba why that should bring about such an extreme reaction. It was frustrating being unable to comprehend the full implications of the information.
Isogai had begun to sweat copiously, his jaw line distorted by the tension in his face. He looked as though he was trying his best to disguise his fear so as not to frighten Chris further. It wasn’t working. Hashiba just wanted to know what it actually meant. What happened to the world if a transcendental number revealed a pattern and the so-called Riemann hypothesis broke down?
Hashiba had studied some basic math in order to pass his university entrance exams, but his heart had never been in it. He was pursuing a degree in sociology, after all, and what good would differentials and the like serve him in the real world? For that reason, he’d covered just the minimum material necessary, never applying himself to a deeper pursuit of the subject beyond the equations he’d memorized for the exams. Tonight was the first time Hashiba had ever considered that mathematics could have dangerous real-life implications.
He understood the idea that Pi had changed, that a pattern had emerged, but the talk about Riemann’s hypothesis had gone completely over his head. According to Isogai, research on the patterned occurrence of prime numbers had shown a link between those properties and the physical world at a quantum level. Did that mean that the world of ideas, of numbers, was connected to the physical world by some sort of invisible thread? Isogai had explicitly stated that prime numbers could be equated to elements of our physical world. If that was the case, a change in the patterns of prime numbers was akin to the periodic table collapsing, and Hashiba had to admit that there could be repercussions in the physical universe.
He would just have to wait and see what information Chris and Isogai dug up. The two of them had stayed in Isogai’s room to continue their work while the others had dispersed. It was already clear that NASA had gotten wind of something important and that top scientific minds were being assembled in Washington. But the question remained as to exactly what the crisis was about.
Hashiba suspected that Isogai could already put together a pretty good guess, but he let the two men go ahead and gather as much intel as possible. Right now they were busy contacting acquaintances across the world, using their connections and networks to try and get access to some inside information. If they were able to gather enough snippets of information, then perhaps they could start to piece together the jigsaw. Together, they had the tools to find out exactly what it was that NASA was looking into. Hashiba was pleased with how hard the two men were working. It wasn’t like he was paying them that much; they were working purely out of scientific curiosity, throwing down the gauntlet at the boundaries of knowledge.
Hashiba thought about the scoop they would have on their hands if Isogai and Chris managed to work out what NASA was hiding. It was the biggest opportunity that had ever come his way, and it was hard to contain his excitement. All his hopes were riding on the work of the two scientists now. He just had to make sure the rest of the staff were willing to steer the program in that direction.
As Hashiba busied himself thinking about the program, images of Saeko continued to come and go in his mind. The more time passed, the closer she would be to the Fujimura house in Takato, and he felt his concern for her well-being looming ever larger in his mind. Deciding to call her, he pulled out his phone and flicked open the display. Immediately he saw that someone had tried to call him and that he must have missed the call in all the chaos.
0265-98-97xx
The call was from a landline; one glance told him that it hadn’t been Saeko’s cell. Whoever had called had left no message. Hashiba hadn’t been expecting any calls in particular, and the number was unfamiliar. He didn’t even know the area code 0265.
“Anyone know this number?” He read out the number on the phone’s display.
Kagayama was the first to answer. “That’s the area code for Ina.”
�
��Ina …” The exact place where Saeko was headed. There was only one place in Ina that had any possible relationship with them, and it popped into his mind the moment Kagayama mentioned the name: the Fujimura residence. “Kagayama, do you have the number for the Fujimuras?”
Kagayama shrugged his shoulders. “Why?”
“I just got a call from Ina.”
“Seriously?” Kagayama didn’t want to come to terms with what this could mean.
“Anyway, could you just look it up?” Hashiba persisted.
“You saw the place yourself and know nobody’s there. How could you get a call from there?”
“Maybe someone from the family returned?” Hosokawa offered, but no one reacted. It was obvious that that was impossible at this stage.
Hashiba stared at Kagayama until he gave up resisting and pulled out a notebook from his bag. He’d been the one originally assigned to set up the shoot at the house, so he still had all the notes. It looked like he indeed had the Fujimuras’ address in his notebook.
“I’ve got the address here … Not the phone number, though. There was no point, after all.”
That much made sense. There was little meaning in taking down the phone number of a house where all the inhabitants had disappeared.
“Well, take a look and see if the number’s listed—you can reference it with the address, right?” Hashiba requested.
Kagayama grumbled but made the call to information, punching the number and reading the address. As soon as he finished reading out the address, he tossed the phone to Hashiba as if it were diseased. Hashiba caught it and heard a female voice:
The number for that address is 0265-98-97xx. The number for that address is …
Hashiba hung up and tossed the phone back to Kagayama. He repeated the number out loud, letting Kagayama know that it was without doubt the number of the Fujimura residence. Hashiba could picture exactly where the phone was in the house. When Shigeo Torii had been inspecting the items they had laid out on the dining table, he had seen the gray telephone sitting on the middle of some shelves built into the wall, just above an empty vase. It had worn a light veil of dust, and there had been a small red light, blinking on and off. The phone line was still connected thanks to the automatic payments deducted from the family’s bank account.
Who would call from that number?
Hashiba had no idea, let alone for what reason. He saw an image of fingers pushing the buttons on the dusty phone but couldn’t focus on the rest of the details. The person’s body and facial details seemed to blend into the darkness of the room, ghostly and vague.
He reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out again, hitting the quick dial for Saeko’s number. He realized he no longer cared if the staff found out about the two of them. The line went straight to her voice mail.
“Saeko, don’t go near the Fujimura house, there’s someone—something, there. I’m one hundred percent serious. Call me as soon as you get this message. Please, Saeko.”
In the heat of the moment he’d called her by her first name in front of the others.
7Isogai and Chris were still in their room. The rest of the film crew waited around, increasingly frustrated and on edge, like patients waiting for the results of a cancer biopsy. On top of all of that, Hashiba had another problem to think about. No matter how many times he tried calling, Saeko wasn’t picking up her phone; she’d probably turned it off for the drive up in her rental car. Hashiba sat feeling helpless as the ringtone clicked to voice mail for the umpteenth time. Just as he was about to give up, someone knocked at the door. Hosokawa leapt up and opened the door to find Isogai standing there. All eyes turned towards him, eager to hear his news.
“Did you find anything out?” Hashiba asked.
Isogai shook his head and pulled a strange expression. “Not yet, but I thought I’d give you a report on how it’s going.”
“Oh. Sure, go ahead.”
“We’re making progress, getting information. Chris is working his way through his contacts, picking up on leads. I’m pretty confident we’ll get somewhere very soon. I want to show you what we’ve got so far. Could you come back to my room?”
Hashiba nodded and the group followed him back. Chris was working at the computer, engrossed in the screen, typing away furiously. He didn’t even seem to notice their arrival. Hashiba saw a couple of open duralumin suitcases scattered on the floor at his feet. On the desk were a couple of empty coffee cans. The desk had a mirror set into it, and depending on the angle it gave the impression that two versions of Chris were staring at a computer. Eventually, the American broke off his typing and looked up.
Isogai waved a hand. “Probably best to keep going, Chris. Thanks.” Turning to Hashiba, he said, “First, I want you to take a look at this.” He picked up his own laptop and turned it so the display was facing the group. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “As we know, a pattern has emerged in Pi and the Riemann hypothesis no longer works. Based on what we know, we started to field questions to various colleagues—physicists, mathematicians. At the same time we asked whether or not they knew of anything else happening, any other irregularities.
“Then something came our way, information on an accident concerning the James Webb Space Telescope. You’ve heard of that thing, right? The JWST is a giant telescope that was set up in orbit around the earth earlier this year. It’s a cutting-edge device designed to photograph objects in space from high up in orbit, reducing atmospheric pollution to a minimum. A research theme has been chosen for each year for the astronomers using the telescope. Every stage is carefully planned and monitored, and any usage outside of this mandate, any change of plan at all, would have to be for something very big indeed. This month, the telescope was scheduled to photograph a series of deep-space shots off the Big Dipper. But that wasn’t what happened.
“On the 13th of this month NASA suddenly announced that the telescope had begun to malfunction. They told the scientists working with the JWST that they would have to perform essential maintenance to fix the issue. Furthermore, all pictures taken by the JWST are publicly available on its website. Yet, all links to the public website have been down since NASA announced that the telescope was malfunctioning. I don’t know about you, but I can’t help but get the feeling that this is all a bit fishy.”
“So you’re saying there’s a chance that the telescope captured something that the government or NASA doesn’t want the public to see?”
Isogai looked thoughtful. “That would be the result, perhaps. I think it’s more likely that NASA identified an emergency and commandeered the telescope to carry out their own observations. They made up the story of it malfunctioning and proceeded to override the planned agenda.”
“An emergency …” Kagayama stepped forward, butting into the conversation. “That’s what I’ve been talking about all this time!”
“Kagayama, shut up, all right?” Hashiba knew what Kagayama was going to say. He put a hand against the man’s chest and pushed him backwards. “Isogai, can you guess at the nature of the emergency?”
“Of course. The JWST isn’t the only telescope set up to photograph space. The National Observatory of Japan has a Subaru telescope set up at Mauna Kea in Hawaii. The Subaru telescope has a direct fiber-optic connection with Mitaka here in Japan and sends its photographs directly to the national observatory. A friend of mine called Urushihara works there, so I asked him whether he had noticed anything out of the ordinary over the last few weeks. He came straight back to me asking me how I knew, what my source was! I evaded the question, but, well, take a look at this. The link to the Subaru telescope is still up and running.”
Isogai tapped a key and a beautiful image of a starry sky filled the screen. As far as Hashiba could tell, it looked normal.
“What you’re seeing is an image focused on the center of the Milky Way, looking out towards Sagittarius.”
The mention of the Milky Way always reminded Hashiba of the summer and the festival of Tanabata, whe
n Hikoboshi and Orihime were said to be reunited among the stars. The Milky Way was a stage for romanticism and dreams, a celestial corridor of light.
At the same time, our solar system was just a tiny portion of the Milky Way galaxy, which consisted of over 200 billion stars and was shaped like a saucer with a swelled center. The radius spanned 100,000 light-years, and the center was 15,000 light-years thick. At the edges, where the solar system was located, the galaxy was 5,000 light-years thick. A photograph of the center of the Milky Way from earth revealed the central bulge of the galaxy from a flat perspective, overlaying innumerable numbers of stars atop one another. It was because of this dense overlap that the galaxy was named the Milky Way—a veritable river of stars.
Isogai enlarged part of the image on the screen and played through a series, explaining that they had been taken over one-hour intervals. He played through fourteen images and then stopped.
“So, what do you think?”
The first to answer was Hosokawa. “It grows darker over time?” Hashiba sat back, impressed by his cameraman’s ability to pick up on detail. The pictures did seem to darken somehow. It was as though each successive image revealed a gradual fading of the light of the Milky Way.
Isogai nodded silently. He proceeded to enlarge the image even further and replayed the fourteen slides. This time, it was clear what he wanted them to see.
“The stars are disappearing,” Kato whispered in a flat tone.
One star had gone blank, then another, and a third. The phenomenon was plainly visible. That was why the images seemed to grow darker over time. Isogai closed the window and continued to explain.
“As you saw, stars have begun to disappear around the area at the center of the Milky Way known as the bulge, an area around 50,000 light-years away. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about that alone, stars are born and stars die. We’ve already observed and recorded the deaths of many stars as they burn out their own supplies of fuel. Our sun is a star, and in 5 billion years it too will burn out. The important difference here is the manner in which the stars are disappearing.
