by Kōji Suzuki
Hashiba felt faint. His legs felt weak, unable to support his body weight; even the floor beneath him had begun to feel uncertain, fragile. He was finally coming to understand the scale of the catastrophe that loomed before them. The reality of the situation was hitting him hard.
Everyone in the room wore similar expressions. Hosokawa slid down the wall he had been leaning against until he sat on the floor. Kato sat listlessly on the bed. Only Kagayama, who had sat hunched forward on one of the chairs, began to shout in Isogai’s direction.
“Come on, don’t mess around, hmm? There must be something we can do! The American President’s got a team to deal with this, right?” His tone was pleading.
“Of course. But I can guarantee you that right now they’re as aware of their inability to change the situation as we are. The old way is about to die out and give way to the creation of something new. What can we humans do to stop the regeneration of the universe? Absolutely nothing. Zero.”
“Well, why the hell have they been called to Washington? They’re all geniuses, right?” The fight was draining from Kagayama. His voice faltered, growing almost inaudible.
“All they can do now is strive to learn more about the situation. They’re probably attempting to work out exactly how much time is left. I bet that’s why NASA commandeered the James Webb Space Telescope. If they observe the disappearance of a number of stars they can easily estimate the speed at which the front line of the phase transition is heading towards us. All they need is the stars’ distance from earth and the time lag between disappearances. The phase transition is a form of information, and following the basic precepts of the General Theory of Relativity, the wave shouldn’t be able to travel faster than the speed of light. That’s why we’re still here even though stars out there are being extinguished. That being said, information travels at a speed close to that of light—maybe just a fraction slower in relative terms.”
“So when is it going to hit us?” Kagayama asked the question. They all wanted to know exactly how long they had left.
Isogai’s mouth curled up to one side, and he threw up both hands in submission. “All I know is that it’s not long now.” He turned to Chris, voice a whisper. “If you can hack into the amateur astronomy networks we may be able to find out the speed of this thing. They’re pretty good, so I’m pretty sure they’ve picked up on the stars disappearing. If some of them have guessed that it’s a phase transition, that some unknown form of information is making its way towards us, maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ve already calculated its speed.”
Chris seemed to have lost all of his former energy. He sat slumped in his chair in front of the computer, managing only a mumbled response, but pulled himself up and started to type away at the keyboard, trying to access the networks as Isogai suggested.
Hashiba watched passively as Chris performed this new task, then turned to Isogai and asked the next question on his mind. “It’s just hard to take it all in. I think I need a bit of time to get my head around it. I mean, why would something like this happen? What’s the cause?”
“We don’t yet understand what kind of mechanism can cause a phase transition like this. It happened once before, of course, during the creation of the universe. The universe as we know it was formed from nothing. Directly after its formation a phase transition occurred, the event we now know as the Big Bang. It’s conceivable that yet another phase transition followed later, ripping through the original symmetry, creating our universe and the molecular structures that allowed us to flourish. The odds of a further occurrence of phase transition at some point in the future were considered pretty high. Even so, the idea isn’t widely known.
“Well, it appears that Jeffrey Adams, at least, was trying to warn us. The summary in Physical Review Letters clearly states as much. He was certain of a reoccurrence of phase transition in the near future. With regards to the causes, there are a number of theories. The fusion of two separate black holes. A high-speed collision of cosmic radiation. Some have argued that the experiments at CERN would be enough. Jeffrey argues that a number of phase transitions have taken place already, not including the original transitions that caused the formation of our universe. We just haven’t noticed the signs.
“Anyway, we’re certainly not going to be able to work out the causes here tonight. Causes aside, we know that the wave itself is a form of information, and as such, according to the principles of General Relativity, it would be impossible for the wave to travel faster than the speed of light. Unfortunately, this clearly highlights something of a paradox for us. Can you see what it is?” Isogai stared directly at Hashiba, sure that if any of the laymen could work it out, it would be Hashiba.
To everyone’s surprise, it was Kagayama that answered. “If information can’t travel faster than the speed of light, then there wouldn’t be any warning.”
Isogai regarded Kagayama with a look of surprise. He held up a finger. “Exactly right. It’s therefore theoretically impossible for us to observe a phase transition happening before it actually hits us. Nonetheless, we seem to have had some warning.”
“So it must be something else then,” Hosokawa whispered, a flicker of hope crossing his face.
“There are known gaps in space-time. I think it’s more likely that some of the information from the phase transition managed to slip through one of these. Let’s say, for example, that we are going to boil some water. As the water nears boiling point, bubbles begin to rise to the surface. These bubbles are a sign of the water’s upcoming phase transition. In water, the bubbles rise directly upwards. But if you put anything in the way, they zigzag around it and continue to make their way up through the water. The same applies to the transmission of information in space; it doesn’t necessarily follow a straight path. The supposition that all space is uniform has already been disproven. You may have heard of the idea of a ‘wormhole’: a point that theoretically connects two disparate areas of space. The areas can be as far as thousands of millions of light-years apart. In other words, the universe is potentially full of shortcuts that we can’t see. If so, it’s equally possible that pockets of information from the phase transition traveled through these shortcuts, causing the disappearances of people and matter that we’ve been seeing. That fits with what we know so far.” Isogai turned to Hashiba. “The file you put together shows links between where people went missing and the presence of tectonic fault lines and localized geomagnetic disturbances. You also highlighted the link between the time of the events and increased sunspot activity. It could be that the combination of such factors, maybe overlapped with other physical factors we haven’t noticed, created the conditions necessary to allow an alternate path for the ‘bubbles’ of information coming our way.”
So the disappearances had been warnings of what was to come. Bubbles of information had somehow found their way to Earth through distortions in space-time, dissolving whatever happened to be in the way, as signs of the looming catastrophe. Isogai’s explanation was a logical summation of Hashiba’s gut feeling.
Hashiba thought back to the phenomena they’d witnessed. First, the human disappearances. Then, sometime later, huge swaths of land had just vanished. The same could happen over the Itoikawa-Shizuoka Line, and it could happen at any time. What would happen if that chasm in California were reproduced down the middle of Japan? Honshu would be ripped effectively in two, causing mass flooding and the formation of two separate islands.
Despite all that was going on, Hashiba still found that the journalist in him was thinking of the potential scoop he had on his hands. If they were the only group in the world that actually understood what was happening, it was the chance of a lifetime. The issue, of course, was how long they had left. If there were even just a few months until the catastrophe hit, then there would be time enough to enjoy the fruits of success. If it was just a few days, well, there was hardly time to announce the revelation, let alone gain any recognition for it.
“Does it look like any of the
news agencies have worked this out?” Hashiba asked Isogai for his opinion.
“I’m not sure about the mass media. Maybe some other researchers or scientists have got this far. The researchers at CERN, almost certainly. Some of the observatories are probably getting close too. So, yes, it’s probably just a matter of time until this gets to the mass media. It’s a kind of irony, you know, but this could be a once-in-a-lifetime scoop for you.”
Hashiba looked away, annoyed that Isogai had read his thoughts. “That comes down to how much time we still have.” The first of the disappearances they knew of had taken place just over a year ago. Even if the phase transition’s arrival was now inevitable, Hashiba couldn’t help hoping that they still had time left.
Isogai continued, “Do you know of the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein? One of his well-known lines reads, ‘It is an hypothesis that the sun will rise tomorrow: and this means that we do not know whether it will rise.’ Unfortunately, I get the feeling that the time has come for that to be tested.” It was as though he wanted to deny Hashiba his one hope.
Isogai turned his attention back to the laptop screen and scanned the contents of the pages Chris had pulled up, eyes darting back and forth, digesting the data with computer-like speed. “Do you agree with this? It’s speeding up?”
“It’s conclusive,” Chris replied. “If it continues at this pace, then it won’t be long until the wave reaches the speed of light. It might even overtake it. The inflation directly after the Big Bang spread much faster than the speed of light, so it’s definitely possible. It just means that Einstein’s General Relativity is going to be the next model to collapse.”
Even without reading the screen it was obvious that events had taken an unsettling turn. Hashiba’s mind raced, his thoughts accelerated by the adrenalin running through his system. “If the wave overtakes the speed of light, what happens then?”
“Then it’s Wittgenstein’s time. We won’t live to see New Year’s, maybe not even sunrise.”
Hashiba’s throat had gone dry. He stood up and started pacing the room. Kato wore an odd smile; he sat scratching his head. Hosokawa was looking frantically around the room. Kagayama ran for the bathroom and threw up.
Isogai went on, paying no attention to the reactions. “If the phase transition breaches the speed of light, then it would become impossible to estimate the time of its arrival. The end would come suddenly, even while the light from the stars in the Milky Way shines in the sky. Complete meltdown with no warning.” He took a deep breath and looked around the room as though urging everyone to prepare themselves for the inevitable. “In other words, the world could end before I finish this sentence.” Isogai stopped short, looking both defiant and resigned.
The room was quiet as everyone almost forgot to breathe.
Hashiba could feel his heart thumping in his chest. It echoed in his head like the tolling of a bell, a countdown until … Hashiba shuddered at the thought. The world really could end at any moment. The entire planet and all life on it could just cease to be.
Isogai’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy. “Sorry, I don’t mean to frighten anyone …”
Hashiba tried to relax the tension in his body, reminding himself of his responsibilities as a member of the press. He could clearly guess the public reaction; it was clear just by the reactions of everyone in the room. If the mass media began a countdown to doomsday, there would be a descent into mass panic. Hashiba decided that if the end was coming, he wanted to face it quietly. The last thing he wanted was an unsightly, panicked end.
“So, it looks like we don’t have much time left. I suggest you should all deal with any business you have.” Isogai paused, looking around the blank faces in the room. No one reacted. He continued, his tone urging. “If you leave now you can probably make it home. It might be your last chance to see your families. For better or for worse I don’t have any family to go to. My only true friend is right here with me.”
Everyone was too caught up in their own thoughts to understand what Isogai was asking them. Finally exasperated by the fact that no one was moving, he clapped his hands and threw them up into the air.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to spend some time with Chris. Alone.”
Hashiba got up, dipping his head apologetically. He said to Hosokawa and Kato, “You guys go back to our room, I’ll bring Kagayama.” He was still in the bathroom with the door closed with no sign of coming out anytime soon.
“We’ll help with him,” Hosokawa offered his assistance.
“Thanks, but we’ll be fine. It’d be a great help if you both go back and start to pack up the equipment.”
The two of them nodded and shuffled out of the room. It was Hashiba’s responsibility to make the decision to give up on the filming. Other than that, he’d let the others decide what they wanted to do by themselves. They had two cars at their disposal, and if they rode them back towards Tokyo together, they might still be able to spend their last moments with their families.
Hashiba opened the door to the bathroom. An acrid smell of vomit wafted out of the room. Kagayama sat on the floor, hands over the open toilet. His shoulders rocked up and down as he sobbed. Hashiba put one hand over his nose and patted Kagayama’s back with the other. He turned the bathroom light on, but the extractor fan seemed to be broken. The sour smell hung, stagnant in the air.
“Come on, man, let’s get out of here.”
As he stood rubbing Kagayama’s back, Hashiba became aware of a sound that rang above Kagayama’s sobbing. The fan in the wall would be connected to the outside by some form of ducting. The pipes seemed to be picking up sounds from the parking lot outside, relaying them into the bathroom. An endless succession of horns mixed in cacophonous harmony with an a capella rendition of “Jingle Bells.” Hashiba could hear the voices of a couple talking happily. Mostly the words themselves blended into the background noise of engine sounds and Christmas songs, but a single sentence rose above the noise; a bright, female voice:
“Let’s kiss, here in front of everyone—it’s been a special day, after all …”
The girl’s voice seemed to be whispering directly into Hashiba’s ear, playful and sweet. As though urged on by the voice, he immediately thought of Saeko, and he pulled his phone out from his pocket and pushed her speed dial. The call went straight to her voice mail again.
She must still have the phone turned off.
Hashiba left a message, attempting to describe what they had found out. He talked for about half a minute before hanging up. He realized that if she left the same message for him, he’d suspect that she had gone crazy.
3The master bedroom was the only Japanese-style room in the house, located directly across the main corridor from the living room. The first time Saeko had visited the house she had only had a brief glance in. At the time, the sun had been shining in through the south-facing veranda windows. Nonetheless she remembered the room looking dark and bland, probably because it was almost devoid of furniture; there were just a couple of closets and a black-lacquer Buddhist altar stuck in the middle. Her first impression of the room had been formed by the dark flash of the altar reflecting the sunlight.
The altar had been adorned with a single photo, an elderly man that Saeko guessed was Haruko’s father-in-law, Kota’s father. Hashiba had said that this was where he found her father’s notebook, directly under the image.
Saeko didn’t know the name of the man. She hadn’t thought to look up his information when researching the disappearance of the family. She didn’t know when he had passed away, and this was the only photo she had ever seen of him. Saeko realized that her knowledge of the family was still limited.
Even so, it was odd that Hashiba had come across her father’s notebook at the altar built to honor Haruko’s father-in-law. Perhaps if it was her father’s altar, that would still make sense. But the idea of depositing the personal item of a man you were having an affair with on the altar to your father-in-law was abnormal. Maybe Saeko had m
isinterpreted their relationship; maybe it wasn’t adulterous. Or … the thought struck her that the notebook could have been placed there by a third, unconnected, person. But if so, by whom, and when? Was it here from before the family went missing or planted here afterwards? Whichever the case, Saeko still couldn’t understand just why someone would place her father’s notebook here, on this altar. At least she had now decided where to start looking around the house—the master bedroom, the room of Haruko and her husband.
Saeko stood, making to leave the living room. As she did so an image on the TV set caught her eye, arresting her in mid-movement. She’d turned down the sound, but an unnatural-looking set of lights glowed on the screen. At first, Saeko thought she was seeing a reflection of the lights from the ceiling of the living room, but when she looked up she saw that there was only a single, rectangular-shaped fluorescent lamp. The light coming from the screen looked more like a number of round bulbs.
The broadcast seemed to have shifted away from the footage of the chasm in California. Had something new happened? A caption on the bottom of the screen said the location was Calcutta, and a digital clock on the screen gave the local time, just after 6 p.m., early evening. The camera panned across huge crowds of people gathered together. A red sun hung in the sky to the west, slowly charting its path through the horizon. But the crowd wasn’t looking at the horizon; they seemed to be staring upwards, somewhere between the darkening sky and the sunset.
The crowd looked awestruck, and many sat in prayer. It was quite a sight, tens of thousands of people all staring up at the sky, praying to something. The cameras panned upwards to show what they were looking at. High in the sky above hung five disks of light, saucers like UFOs arranged in a neat circle. The shapes were unmoving and emitted a uniform, pale light. The captions scrolling along the screen told Saeko that they were located tens of kilometers up in the sky. It was clear that this was not a man-made phenomenon. It looked like a set of five full moons hanging together, or glowing white flowers, rounded in a bunch. The next image that popped into her mind was the light in an operating room, shining down on a patient from all angles, designed to leave no shadows. Saeko had never had an operation, so she wondered why she thought of such an image. Once it had taken hold, she couldn’t shake the impression that the five lights in the sky were a set of halogen bulbs. She could picture them bolted into an invisible ceiling, suspended by a metallic arm stretching out behind.
