“Well, they’re really getting down to it, aren’t they?” said Nakata, laughing as he read a transcript of the secretary general’s press conference at the end of September, in which he urged the nation to look outward.
“Is that your doing, too, sir?” asked the young Yasugawa.
“No, no. It’s the brainchild of some politicians and bureaucrats acquainted with the situation. They seem, however, to have made use of some suggestions of mine—bringing up that slogan from the old days: ‘A Bold Leap into the World.’ “
“But they’d better be careful,” said Kunieda, pointing to a section of the paper. “There might be somebody out there who can put two and two together.”
He had indicated a humorous item enclosed in a box. It was a parody of an old song popular at the beginning of the Showa Era, when immigration to Manchuria was at its peak:
✦ ✦ ✦
If you go, I go too.
Who wants to stay behind
In shaky old Japan?
Nakata laughed when he read it: “So you think there might be some people keen enough to tie this up with the earth quakes, eh? The Japanese people, it’s true, are great for intuition.”
The door opened with a frightful bang, and Tadokoro surged into the room, his shoulders squared.
“What’s the news on the Kermadic? Is it here yet or what?” he demanded fiercely, a question he had asked countless times before. “What’s causing all this delay? Has it sunk on the way?”
“Everything’s all right. It’s already passed Okinawa, and to morrow it’s going to dock at Moji,” answered Nakata.
“Moji?” Tadokoro’s face turned scarlet and his eyes bulged. “What’s the idea, sending it there? What we want to investigate is the Japan Trench. We’ll lose two days in extra sailing time.”
“The idea is to keep it out of the public eye, Professor,” said Nakata with great care. “If it was a matter of Yokohama or Kobe, the reporters would be on our necks. When it clears the port, they’ll load it on a naval vessel there, the Takatsuki, which will then sail directly for Ise Bay. The diving tests will be in Toba Bay and the Kumano Sea.”
“I’m going to Ise, then,” said Tadokoro. “The main thing is that we’ve got to move. Look at this. One section of the Rikuchu coast is now sinking at the rate of .5 centimeters a day. At the bottom of the sea off Sanriku, shallow earthquakes of small to medium intensity are occurring at the rate of several per day. When will the survey equipment arrive?”
“Part of it has already been sent to Moji and Toba. But by the time all of it is put in order and installed, it will be another week or ten days, no matter how much hurrying is done.”
“Ten days!” Tadokoro groaned like an animal. “Dammit to hell! With speed so vital! And while we’re standing here, down below in the Japan Archipelago, here, there, everywhere, changes are taking place from minute to minute. We’ve got to get a line on things at the earliest possible moment. What will happen if we’re late, I ask you?”
“We share your fears,” said Kunieda distractedly. “But about the time factor there’s nothing we can do.”
All eyes turned to the situation chart on the wall. It was a board lit by electronic luminescence on which light lines indicated the progress of every task that had been programmed into the LSI computer. The board was still filled with categories altogether unlit. In the date-designation portion, marked by vertical red lines, however, several had already reached the point indicating their starting date.
“Don’t you people see?” demanded Tadokoro, striking the hand in which he held his papers with the back of the other. “In essence, our work is a fight against time.”
A buzzer rang. Yasugawa went to the phone and picked it up. His voice indicated surprise.
“It’s from the Christina.”
“We’re using a foreign ship?” asked Tadokoro sourly.
“Dutch. It won’t be noticed as much as a Japanese ship,” answered Nakata as he took the phone. “It’s Onodera,” he told them. Then he spoke into the phone:
“I see. . . . Well, right now we’re sending Kataoka from Defense Research to meet you at Moji. There’s nothing to worry about. I don’t think you know him at all. He’s one of those who just joined our group, and when it comes to machinery, he’s a genius.”
Nakata hung up and turned to Yamazaki. “Call Kataoka. He’s at the arsenal in Yokosuka. Arrange for him to fly to Moji. He’s to wait for the Takatsuki, which we’re sending to meet the sub. The Christina will arrive tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”
“Why is that fellow going?” asked Tadokoro, not at all happy.
“There’s some sort of problem with the engines on the Kermadic. Onodera can’t fix it, he says,” Nakata answered. “But this Kataoka is a wizard.”
“Professor Tadokoro . . .” Yukinaga stood up from the desk, holding a sheet of paper upon which he had just done some calculating. “The total quantity of energy in earthquakes and in the movement of the earth’s crust this past year in the Japan Archipelago surpassed—though just by a little—the theoretical limit.”
“Well, I wonder where the excess energy came from,” said Tadokoro, taking the sheet and staring hard at it. “Where from, eh? What caused it, do you think?”
Yukinaga gazed down at the relief map of Japan on top of the desk. It was made of clear plastic of varying tints, which showed the mantle beneath the surface.
“Well, this may be rash, but,” he said at last, “it seems to me that the only way that we can track this thing down is to set up a simulation model involving the entire globe, focusing upon the crust and mantle of the East Asian land mass, especially the movement of the Japan Archipelago.”
“What we lack is data,” said Tadokoro, rapping the computer with his fingers. “That’s of first importance.” Suddenly he glanced at his watch. “Nakata, I’m going to Moji, too. Okay?”
“Well, Professor . . .” Nakata’s eyes widened. “If you’d like to . . .”
“I’d like to check the situation again in the West,” Tadokoro said, putting on his coat. He had all at once become like a boy. “I was thinking that maybe in the West. . . Well, I’m somewhat concerned about the Aso and the Kirishima volcanic belt.”
“It’s the only thing to do, I guess,” said Nakata, clucking his tongue. “Yasugawa, call Yokosuka. Tell Kataoka that Professor Tadokoro will be going with him.”
“Will it be a commercial flight?” asked Tadokoro.
“A navy courier plane. Needless to say, you’d like to fly over Aso for a look, wouldn’t you?”
Tadokoro snorted, but a happy expression stole over his face.
✦ ✦ ✦
As autumn advanced, the weather grew cooler, though, as happened every year, summer made torrid gestures of farewell even into October. Finally, these, too, came to an end, and as the blue of the sky deepened with each passing day and the lights each evening showed the ground more wet with dew, the memories of the turbulent and disastrous summer grew less vivid, and people began to regain their composure. Japan settled into the fall season in a manner scarcely different from that of other years. The streets, the people, the weather, nature itself . . . Yes, nature itself, or so it seemed.