EDGE (41 page)

Saeko thought that Hashiba’s tone sounded distant, dreamy; it was as though he was describing some feverish dream. “We’ll be right there. But I won’t be able to stay long,” she told him.

“How come?”

“I’m going to go back to the Fujimura house in Takato.”

“Takato? What for?”

“It’s where you found my father’s notebook. I’m sure there’s something we overlooked. Do you remember exactly where you found it?”

“On the first floor, in front of the altar in the main bedroom.”

Just as she suspected. When she’d stopped off at Kitazawa’s office on the way, he’d shared his theory that her father had met—and traveled with—Haruko Fujimura during his visit to Peru and Bolivia. He must have given her the notebook himself.

But this was Saeko’s private business. It had nothing to do with the program, so she decided there was no need to explain it to Hashiba. Even if she’d wanted to, it would’ve taken too long.

“Well, make sure you come and see this first.”

“Of course. I’ve got to bring Dr. Isogai to you, after all.”

Hashiba laughed, “I guess so. Is the professor with you now?”

“He ran off to the toilet as soon as we arrived.”

“What’s he like?”

“I think I’ll leave that for you to decide …”

“Sure. Come as fast as you can.”

Hashiba hung up the phone and looked at the time, trying to work out the route to Takato. Saeko would have to take the bullet train to Tokyo and change to the Chuo Line, or she could change to the Minobu Line from Fuji. Whichever route she took, it would be dark before she arrived. Hashiba couldn’t fathom what could have caused her to suddenly decide to go back there, especially alone, at night. That place had felt strange even in the middle of the day, even with the crew; he remembered feeling cold the whole time. Was it just his imagination—knowing, as he did, that it was the scene of a whole family’s sudden disappearance—or was there
genuinely something creepy about the place? He didn’t know.

A series of images from the house flickered through his mind: the empty beer glass, contents evaporated; the toothbrushes he couldn’t bring himself to touch directly; the wart-like flecks of toothpaste on the sink; the matted hair in the drain. He remembered the remodeled floor of the bathroom, covered in mold. Bits of dead skin turned to dust. His mind’s eye traced through the corridors of the house like a camera, reaching and entering the main bedroom, stopping before the photograph adorning the Buddhist altar. The photograph of the family’s deceased grandfather, with his bald pate and watermelon face. His skin was wrinkled but had a shiny, reptilian luster. The face bore a stunning resemblance to that of Seiji Fujimura.

Hashiba shook his head. No, he couldn’t understand why Saeko would want to go back to such a place, especially alone. He wondered if perhaps she was too strong-willed for him after all. Her behavior amazed him. At the same time, there was something about her strength of spirit that he found difficult to resist.

5
Saeko and Isogai emerged from the restaurant at the base of the gardens and began to climb one of the paths towards the Soga Shrine where Hashiba and Kagayama were waiting for them.

Isogai was in good shape, taking easy, measured strides up the path. His movements were fluid and athletic. Saeko followed a daily exercise regimen and was confident of her physical fitness, but there was no way she could keep up with his pace. Predictably, he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the fact that she was falling behind. He just raced up the hill, muttering under his breath to himself all the while.

Although Saeko knew that it was impossible to try to understand the character of someone she’d just met, she did her best to make sense of Isogai’s. It already seemed clear to her that he had two distinct sides: one where he seemed completely indifferent to those around him, and one where he assumed an unnerving familiarity. Right now he appeared to have forgotten that Saeko was with him. Not purposely, she suspected—he simply didn’t notice.

She decided to test her theory and came to a full stop halfway up a set of log steps. She looked up, watching and waiting. The area was completely silent, and there was no wind in the still branches. The moment she stopped walking she realized she was already sweating, and she felt
uncomfortably hot. Despite the fact that it was already getting late in the day the air didn’t feel the slightest bit cold.

Isogai didn’t seem to have noticed her stopping. He continued up the steps and the distance between them quickly grew. Saeko bent forward, placing her hands on her knees. She took a few deep breaths of the fresh park air.

When the distance between them had grown to around twenty meters, Isogai came to a sudden stop, finally seeming to have sensed that no one was following behind. He turned straight around and, seeing that he had left Saeko alone, started to hurry back down the steps, moving at almost a full sprint. His slim black trousers and leather jacket gave Saeko the impression of a bat flying down out of the sky. The smooth rhythm of his steps suggested a history as an athlete, although Saeko couldn’t remember anything of the sort in the file. He stopped beside her, putting a hand around her waist.

“Are you all right?” Something about his look was so intense that Saeko found herself pulling away again. It seemed that he had the habit of coming closer than was comfortable.

“I’m fine, just a little tired.”

“I did it again, didn’t I?” He looked up at the sky in an exaggerated swing. “I’m sorry, really. Sometimes I just get lost in my thoughts. It’s this habit I have; I just forget that there are people around me. I don’t notice until someone points it out to me. I try to watch out but … Let’s just say it’s a steep learning curve.”

His tone was deeply friendly and earnest. Saeko was glad to see that her analysis had been correct, and she decided to be more tolerant of him in the future. “That’s how it should be, your job is to think after all,” she assured him. After all, she had a strong innate respect for people that took thinking seriously.

Isogai blinked, wide-eyed, then laughed, rubbing his head and propping up the collar of his jacket. He looked quite pleased with himself. “Do you want to rest and chat for a while?”

Saeko knew that Hashiba was still waiting for them at the shrine. “We’d probably better hurry, the others are waiting for us. Maybe we can talk while we walk?”

With that, she started back up the steps. Isogai tried to match his pace to hers but the effect was rather awkward. He started to joke about the time he’d spent working for the military facility. He seemed like a different person, as though he’d reassigned himself as her entertainer.

“You know the Pentagon is already using technology they developed based on analysis of captured UFOs. The stealth bomber, for one. Optical communications, another. We even have aliens held captive underground. They work as advisors for the government.

“Another fact: the aliens are DNA-based life forms, like us. Think about it. That means that, given the right circumstances, the creation of life is almost inevitable. They’re about a meter high with big heads, no hair whatsoever—just like me. You know the facility introduced Steven Spielberg to one of the aliens to help him put together a movie. You might have heard the rumor before. Do you know the film?”

Isogai asked this with such a good poker face that Saeko couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“So have you seen these aliens?” she asked back.

Isogai laughed and waved his hand back and forth. “No, no, these are all just urban myths—no such things as aliens. At least, I’ve never met one.”

He was attempting to lighten the atmosphere by telling tall tales that normal people could enjoy, but Saeko couldn’t help wondering what it was that had got him so caught up in his thoughts earlier.

“So, what’s got you so preoccupied anyway?” Presumably it was something fascinating enough to make him completely forget himself.

Isogai’s expression changed immediately. Saeko got the impression that whatever it was, it was pretty important. “Actually I find it a little hard to believe. Apparently, the value of Pi has changed.”

Pi. Saeko knew the basics; it was a number that continued randomly and infinitely beyond the decimal point, never revealing a pattern.

3.1415926535897932384626433832795028…

Had he meant that some new discovery had been made about the number?

“A colleague of mine called Cyril Burt—good friend, actually—was given a report by another mutual friend I used to work with at the facility, Gary. He researches number theory at Stanford.

“Just three or four days ago he was running some generic tests on some new computers they were having installed. One of the tests was to have the computer calculate the value of Pi to 500 billion digits. It’s a relatively standard computing test to check for errors in logic. We already know the value of Pi to a trillion digits, so it’s easy to tell if the calculation goes wrong on the way.

“Now, the value of Pi is such that no matter how long we were to
run a computer, we would never be able to finish the calculation. Pi is an irrational number and can’t be represented as a fraction. Each number below the decimal point will be a number from 0 to 9, and at no point will anything resembling a numeric pattern appear. This has already been proven using mathematic theory.

“Anyway, Gary had set up the computer to sound an alarm if the calculation didn’t produce the expected numbers. As I said, a simple test to check the computer’s processing ability.” Isogai paused for a moment, eyes unfocused as though he were lost in thought.

“So the alarm sounded?” Saeko prompted.

“Exactly.”

“Meaning, a pattern emerged?”

Isogai shook his head, looking genuinely disturbed. “As I said, I find it hard to believe, but after a certain point, the numbers stopped. The computer just produced a succession of zeros.”

Saeko recalled part of her father’s writing—he had also written about Pi:

“That must have been pretty terrifying for Gary.”

“Terrifying, yes … That’s exactly what it was. He wasn’t afraid at first because he didn’t believe the results for a moment. I guess he swore at the computer for coming up with an error and set about reinitializing the test.

“But he couldn’t find any errors in the program. He called on some friends to help. Pretty standard researcher thing, always trying to remain objective. He wanted a second opinion, probably thought he was just missing something obvious.”

“But they didn’t find anything either, right?”

Isogai smiled a little, looking pleasantly surprised that Saeko was following the conversation. “Do you want to see it? I’ve got the data from the test in my laptop.”

Isogai stopped suddenly and pulled his laptop out from his shoulder bag. He sat on the edge of one of the steps and booted up the computer. Saeko sat next to him and watched as a succession of numbers appeared
on the computer’s display. The stream of numbers quickly filled the screen. At a certain point, the numbers became a succession of zeros.

 … 053944282039301274816381585303964399254702016727593285743666441109625663373000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 …

Beyond the decimal point, some numbers reached a point where they became periodic, endlessly repeating a given digit or set of digits. For example, 17 divided by 7 yielded 2.428571428571428571 … The 428571 pattern repeated endlessly. Numbers that terminated in a repeating decimal pattern were classified as rational. By contrast, numbers such as Pi or the root of 2 were defined as irrational since their decimal representation went on forever without ever terminating in a pattern. Yet, the number on the screen devolved into a clear pattern, a never-ending line of zeros.

Saeko scanned through the numbers on the screen. As she did so, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the dividing zone between the random numbers and the succession of zeros represented an abyss, something beyond the realm of her comprehension. It seemed like a dividing line between life and death. The random numbers were life, dynamic and vibrant. In contrast, the procession of zeros brought to mind a frozen world where all forms of life were precluded by a boundless emptiness. The random numbers were full of color and variety, the zeros monotone and dull.

Is it an omen?

She felt awe, sensing a will that pervaded the universe. If it was the will of a god, though, what was this saying? Was it a positive message? Or a warning? Saeko couldn’t believe that it was the former. She felt morbidly certain that this was not a good sign for the universe.

“Is it possible that the random numbers return later?” Perhaps it was just some astounding coincidence. Perhaps things just returned to normal.

“They thought of that and pushed the computer to continue the calculation. The zeros just went on and on, and the random strings of numbers never recurred. That was when they started to really worry.

“It wasn’t a problem with the machine. They had professionals check it and nothing was found. When the results of the objectivity tests came back, confirming that the pattern of zeros was real, Cyril said he started to shake.

“It’s happened everywhere, this is universal. Computers all over the planet are coming up with the same result once they hit 500 billion digits. The same pattern of zeros.”

So computers throughout the world were coming up with the result after exactly the same number of decimal points. Saeko tried to gauge the implications, yet each time found herself returning to the same basic question. Wasn’t Pi just a value? Did the change have any impact for the everyday world?

But she knew better than to ask. From all that her father had taught her about math and physics, she already knew the answer. Pi was fundamental in a number of equations used to describe various phenomena of the universe. If the value changed, then it necessarily followed that there would be real-world impact. When numbers went awry, when mathematic theorems failed, it was nothing less than a sign of a collapse in the laws of physics. But even with that understanding, it didn’t quite feel real. She had no yardstick; there were no precedents to help her contextualize it.