His intent listeners swallowed hard as they heard Tadokoro’s explanation. The Archipelago on which they lived was like a line of clouds that had taken form along the leading edge of a moving mass of warm air. Outside, the wind seemed to have risen and the sea grown rougher. The Yoshino began to pitch and roll, though gently at first. Since Tadokoro had paused once more, they could clearly hear the echo of creaking throughout the ship, the moaning of the wind, and the breaking of the waves. A gloomy mood took hold of them.
Kataoka broke the silence: “But, Professor, hasn’t all this been going on for millions of years?”
“Yes, it has. And you’re thinking that it will go on for still more millions in just this way?”
“Well, yes.”
“If so, we of course have nothing to worry about. But my research, my intuition also, if you will, leads me to think that we are on the verge of a sudden, a violent alteration of that pattern. I readily grant that a change of this nature would be something unheard of, but please remember this: since man as we know him now appeared on the earth, some hundreds of thousands of years have passed—no more. What incredible events may have happened before he appeared we have no idea. And even after he appeared, even in historical times, much has occurred that we know next to nothing about simply because our scientific scrutiny of the earth has barely gotten under way. For example, the fact that the earth’s axis has moved, the fact that terrestrial magnetism is lessening and will be gone in another two thousand years, the fact that creatures upon the earth will be subject to cosmic rays—these and many other things we’ve learned in just this past decade, and we’ve no more than scratched the surface. So we must be very slow to say that such-and-such a thing cannot happen.”
The cabin lurched to one side. There came the noise of doors crashing shut.
“There’s always a reason, though. There has to be a reason.” Tadokoro turned to Yukinaga. “Yukinaga, do you remember how, when Runcorn resurrected Wegener’s Continental Drift theory, he explained how the process began—the break-up of the single land mass and the westward movement of the Americas?”
“I remember,” answered Yukinaga, feeling his throat dry. “He proposed Chandrasekhar’s calculations, the great Indian astrophysicist working in America.”
Tadokoro nodded and then pointed to the diagram of the earth that he had drawn earlier.
“Take another look at this cross-section, gentlemen. At present the diameter of the core is more than half that of the earth, having a diameter of about four thousand miles. It seems, how ever, that in the beginning the core was smaller. The earth as a whole has been contracting, by force of its own gravity, while the core, its heat and pressure growing more intense, has been expanding. And this has had its effect upon the mantle sur rounding it. In the beginning the mantle convection pattern was like a single whirlpool, but as the core expanded, it altered. Nor was this alteration a gradual process. Rather, once the core reached a certain size, the whirlpool suddenly was torn asunder and a multitude of small whirlpools took form, a theory verified by Chandrasekhar’s calculations. And so, after having remained a single mass for so many millions of years, the continents suddenly began the movement that would give them their present form. But you see what I’m driving at, Yukinaga?”
“I think so. The still-expanding core has brought about an other sudden alteration of the mantle convection pattern,” Yukinaga answered. “Still smaller whirlpools are taking form. And somewhere near the Japan Archipelago, the mantle mass has developed a fine split or is on the verge of so doing.”
“Basically, that’s it. Why things should be moving so fast, I don’t know. But, in any case, the mantle mass on the Pacific side of the Japan Archipelago is rapidly shrinking.” He tapped the block screen on which was projected a three-dimensional map of Japan. “This may be the harbinger of a crust change of un precedented kind extending over the whole earth. Or perhaps it will affect only this area.”
Tadokoro’s tone was much softer than it had been, his voice lower. The room was hushed. There was not a murmur. Holding their breath, the group sat with their eyes fixed upon Tadokoro. Behind his back the computer lights flashed on and off incessantly. Outside, the whine of the wind and the crash of the waves seemed to be growing louder.
Onodera noticed that his hands, clenched into fists, had become sweaty. He wiped his brow instinctively, to find it, too, slippery with sweat.
“And what would its effect be, Professor?” Onodera found himself asking.
“If the present speed and direction are maintained, there’s reason enough to believe that once the shift in matter reaches a certain point, the present dynamic balance existing between the mantle and the crust structure will collapse at a stroke. Up to now, you see, the pressure from the Pacific side has held the Archipelago relatively firm against the pressure coming from the continental side. And so, should the convection pattern on the Pacific side suddenly change, the result would be a crushing blow to Japan.”
A single image took hold of Onodera’s mind: the bar holding the Japan Archipelago in place suddenly falling away. . . .
“If the worst were to happen,” Tadokoro went on, swallowing noisily, “the usual way of thinking of greater or lesser quake damage would have no place. For if the worst were to happen, the greater part of the Japan Archipelago would sink beneath the sea. We have to think in terms of annihilation.”
A chill silence fell over the room. No one dared release his breath. The whine of the wind, the creaking of the ship, the sound of waves beginning to break over the decks—all these seemed but to intensify the silence that held them in its grip.
Out of the corner of his eye, Onodera noticed that the red lights of the computers and the communication gear had begun to flash steadily. Because no one was taking the messages, the equipment was starting to do its own recording. The telex was chattering. The facsimile machine began to crackle. But still no one moved.
All at once there was the sound of hurrying feet in the corridor. When they reached the cabin door, there was a loud knock. Someone in the room answered, but Onodera had no idea who. The door opened and a sunburned young officer came in. He made a polite bow. His face was tense, and the paper he held in his hand shook slightly.
“Just now a message came from Fleet Command in Yokosuka,” said the officer, looking at the paper, his voice unsteady. “A large-scale quake has occurred in the Kanto Region. The epicenter is twenty miles out to sea off Tokyo Bay. Its magnitude is 8.5. Tidal waves have struck the entire shoreline of Tokyo Bay and Sagami Bay. In Tokyo the force of from 6 to 7, together with the suddenness with which it hit, appears to have caused extensive damage. This vessel, on orders from the Sea Defense Force Headquarters, is changing its course and is proceeding to Tokyo Bay for rescue operations. . . .”