The Three-Body Problem (10 page)

1186:34:13, 1186:34:02, 1186:33:46, 1186:33:35
 …

Wang rushed out of the darkroom and continued through the door of the apartment. He knocked loudly on the door of his neighbor, retired Professor Zhang.

“Professor Zhang, do you have a camera? Not a digital one, but one that takes film!”

“A professional photographer like you wants to borrow my camera? What happened to your expensive one? I have only digital point-and-shoots. Are you okay? Your face looks so pale.”

“Please, let me borrow it.”

Zhang returned with a common Kodak digital camera. “Here you go. You can just delete the few pictures already on there.”

“Thank you!” Wang seized the camera and rushed back home. He actually had three more film cameras and a digital one, but Wang thought it better to borrow a camera from someone else. He looked at his own camera lying on the sofa and the few rolls of film, paused in thought, and decided to reload the Leica with new film. He handed the borrowed digital camera to his wife, who was setting out dinner.

“Quick! Shoot another few pictures, like before.”

“What are you doing? Look at your face! What’s happening?”

“Don’t worry about it. Shoot!”

She put down the dishes and came over to him, her eyes filled with both worry and fright.

Wang stuffed the Kodak into the hands of his six-year-old son, who was about to start eating dinner. “Dou Dou, come help Daddy. Push this button. Right, like that. That’s one shot. Push it again. That’s another shot. Keep on shooting like that. You can take pictures of anything you want.”

The boy learned quickly. He was very interested and made rapid shots. Wang turned around and picked up the Leica from the couch, and began to shoot as well. The father and son kept on pressing the shutters as though they were mad. His wife, not knowing what to do as the flashes went off around her, began to cry.

“Wang Miao, I know that you’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, but please, I hope you haven’t…?”

Wang finished the roll in the Leica and grabbed the digital from his son. He thought for a moment, and then, in order to avoid his wife, went into the bedroom and took a few more shots with the digital. He used the optical finder instead of the LCD because he was afraid to see the results, though he was going to have to face them soon enough.

Wang took out the film from the Leica and went back into the darkroom. He shut the door and worked. After the film was developed, he examined the images carefully. Because his hands were shaking, he had to hold the magnifying glass with both hands. On the negatives, the countdown continued.

Wang rushed out of the darkroom and began to look through the digital images on the Kodak. On the LCD, he saw that the pictures his son had taken did not have the numbers, but in the pictures that he took, the countdown showed clearly and was synchronized with the numbers on the film.

By using different cameras, Wang was trying to eliminate problems with the camera or the film as possible explanations. But by allowing his son and his wife to take some pictures, he discovered an even stranger result: The countdown only appeared on the pictures he took!

Desperate, Wang picked up the pile of film rolls, like a tangled nest of snakes, like a bunch of ropes tied into an impossible knot.

He knew that he could not solve the mystery on his own. Who could he turn to? His old classmates from college and his colleagues at the Research Center were hopeless. Like him, they were all people with technical minds. Intuitively, he knew that this went beyond a technical problem. He thought of Ding Yi, but that man was now in a spiritual crisis of his own. Finally, he thought of the Frontiers of Science. These were deep thinkers who remained open-minded. So he dialed Shen Yufei’s number.

“Dr. Shen, I have a problem. I must see you.”

“Come over,” Shen said, and hung up.

Wang was surprised. Shen was a woman of few words. Some in the Frontiers of Science jokingly called her the Female Hemingway. But the fact that she didn’t even ask him what was wrong made Wang uncertain whether he should be comforted or even more anxious.

He stuffed the mess of film into a bag, and, taking the digital camera, rushed out of the apartment as his wife watched him anxiously. He could have driven, but even with the city being full of lights, he wanted to be with people. He called for a cab.

*   *   *

Shen lived in a luxury housing development reachable by one of the newer commuter rails. Here, the lights were much dimmer. The houses were set around a small artificial lake stocked with fish for the residents, and at night the place felt like a village.

Shen was clearly well off, but Wang could never figure out the source of her wealth. Neither her old research position nor her current job with a private company could earn that much income. But her house didn’t show signs of luxury on the inside. It was used as a gathering place for the Frontiers of Science, and Wang always thought it resembled a small library with a meeting room.

In the living room, Wang saw Wei Cheng, Shen’s husband. Wei was about forty years old and had the look of a staid, honest intellectual. Wang knew little about him other than his name. Shen hadn’t said much when she introduced him. He didn’t seem to have a job, since he stayed home all day. He never showed any interest in the Frontiers of Science discussions, but seemed used to the sight of so many scholars coming to their house.

But he wasn’t idle. He appeared to be conducting some kind of research at home, always deep in thought. Whenever he met any visitor, he would greet them absentmindedly and then return to his room upstairs. Most of his day was spent there. One time, Wang glanced into his room through the half-open door and saw an astonishing sight: a powerful HP workstation. He was sure of what he saw because the workstation was the same model as the one he used at the Research Center: slate-gray chassis, model RX8620, four years old. It seemed very strange to own a machine costing more than a million yuan just for personal use. What was Wei Cheng doing with it all day?

“Yufei is a bit busy right now. Why don’t you wait a while?” Wei Cheng walked upstairs. Wang tried to wait, but he found that he couldn’t be still, so he followed Wei Cheng. Wei was about to enter his room with the workstation when he saw Wang behind him, but he didn’t seem annoyed. He pointed to the room across from his. “She’s in there.”

Wang knocked on the door. It wasn’t locked, and it opened a crack. Shen was seated in front of a computer, playing a game. He was surprised to see that she wore a V-suit.

The V-suit was a very popular piece of equipment among gamers, made up of a panoramic viewing helmet and a haptic feedback suit. The suit allowed the player to experience the sensations of the game: being struck by a fist, being stabbed by a knife, being burned by flames, and so on. It was also capable of generating feelings of extreme heat and cold, even simulating the sensation of being exposed in a snowstorm.

Wang walked behind her. As the game was displayed only on the inside of the panoramic viewing helmet, there were no colorful images on the computer monitor. Wang suddenly remembered Shi Qiang’s comment about memorizing Web and e-mail addresses. He glanced at the monitor. The game site’s URL caught his attention: www.3body.net.

Shen took off the helmet and stripped off the haptic feedback suit. She put on her glasses, which appeared extra large against her thin face. Without any expression, she nodded at Wang and said nothing. Wang took out the mess of film rolls and began to explain his strange experience. Shen paid full attention to his story, picking up the rolls of film and only casually looking at them. This surprised Wang, but further confirmed for him that Shen wasn’t completely ignorant about what he was going through. He almost stopped speaking, but Shen kept on nodding at him, indicating that he should continue.

When he finished, Shen spoke for the first time. “How’s the nanomaterial project you’re leading proceeding?”

This non sequitur disoriented Wang. “The nanomaterial project? What does that have to do with this?” He pointed at the rolls of film.

Shen didn’t answer, but continued to stare at him, waiting for him to answer her question. This was always her style, never wasting a single word.

“Stop your research,” she said.

“What?” Wang wasn’t sure he heard right. “What are you talking about?”

Shen remained silent.

“Stop? That’s a key national project!”

Shen still said nothing, only looking at him calmly.

“You have to give me a reason.”

“Just stop. Try it.”

“What do you know? Tell me!”

“I’ve told you all I can.”

“I can’t stop the project. It’s impossible!”

“Just stop. Try it.”

That was the end of the conversation about the countdown. After that, no matter how hard Wang tried, Shen only repeated, “Just stop. Try it.”

“I understand now,” Wang said. “The Frontiers of Science isn’t just a discussion group about fundamental theory, like you claimed. Its connection to reality is far more complicated than I had imagined.”

“No. It’s the opposite. Your impression is due to the fact that the Frontiers of Science concerns matters far more fundamental than you imagine.”

Desperate, Wang got up to leave without saying good-bye. Mutely, Shen accompanied him to the door and watched as he got into the taxi.

Just then, another car drove up and braked to a hard stop in front of the door. A man got out. By the faint light leaking from the house, Wang recognized him immediately.

The man was Pan Han, one of the most prominent members of the Frontiers of Science. A biologist, he had successfully predicted the birth defects associated with long-term consumption of genetically modified foods. He had also predicted the ecological disasters that would come with cultivation of genetically modified crops. Unlike the prophets of doom who regularly warned of catastrophes without any particulars, Pan made predictions that always gave many specific details that later turned out to be correct. His accuracy was such that there were rumors that he came from the future.

The other cause for his fame was that he had created China’s first experimental community. Unlike the “return to nature” utopian groups in the West, his “Pastoral China” wasn’t located in the wilderness, but in the midst of one of its largest cities. The community had no property of its own. Everything needed for daily life, including food, came from urban trash. Contrary to the predictions of many, Pastoral China not only survived, but thrived. Currently, it had more than three thousand permanent members, and countless others had joined for short stints to experience the lifestyle.

Based on these two successes, Pan’s opinions on social issues had grown more and more influential. He believed that technological progress was a disease in human society. The explosive development of technology was analogous to the growth of cancer cells, and the results would be identical: the exhaustion of all sources of nourishment, the destruction of organs, and the final death of the host body. He advocated abolishing crude technologies such as fossil fuels and nuclear energy and keeping gentler technologies such as solar power and small-scale hydroelectric power. He believed in the gradual de-urbanization of modern metropolises by distributing the population more evenly in self-sufficient small towns and villages. Relying on the gentler technologies, he would build a new agricultural society.

“Is he in?” Pan asked Shen, pointing to the house.

Shen didn’t answer, but blocked his progress.

“I have to warn him and also warn you. Do not force our hand.” Pan’s voice was cold.

Shen called to the taxi driver, “You can go now.” After the taxi started, Wang couldn’t hear any more of the conversation between Shen and Pan, but he glanced back and saw that Shen did not let Pan into the house.

*   *   *

By the time Wang arrived home, it was already after midnight. As Wang got out of the taxi, a black Volkswagen Santana braked to a stop next to him. The window rolled down and a cloud of smoke emerged. Shi Qiang’s thick body filled the driver’s seat.

“Professor Wang! Academician Wang!
14
How’ve you been the last couple of days?”

“Are you following me? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Now, don’t misunderstand me. I could have just driven past you, but instead, I chose to be polite and stop to greet you. You’re making being nice a thankless task.” Shi revealed his trademark roguish smirk. “Well? Did you find out any useful information over there?”

“I’ve told you already, I don’t want anything to do with you. Please leave me alone from now on.”

“Fine.” Shi started the car. “It’s not like I’m going to starve without the overtime for doing this. I’d rather not have missed my soccer match.”

*   *   *

Wang entered the apartment. His wife was already asleep. He could hear her tossing and turning in bed, mumbling anxiously. Her husband’s strange behavior during the day was surely giving her bad dreams. Wang swallowed a few sleeping pills, lay down on the bed, and, after a long wait, fell asleep.

His dreams were chaotic, but there was one constant: the ghostly countdown, suspended in midair. Even before he fell asleep, he had known he would dream of it. In his dreams, he attacked the countdown. Crazed, he tore at it, bit it, but every attempt failed to leave a mark. It continued to hang in the middle of his dream, steadily ticking away. Finally, just as the frustration became almost intolerable, he woke up.

Opening his eyes, he saw the ceiling, indistinct above him. The city lights outside the window cast a dim glow against it through the curtains. But one thing did follow him from dream into reality: the countdown. It was still hovering before his eyes. The numbers were thin, but very bright with a burning, white glow.

1180:05:00, 1180:04:59, 1180:04:58, 1180:04:57
 …

Wang looked around, taking in the blurry shadows around the bedroom. He was now certain that he was awake, but the countdown did not disappear. He shut his eyes, and the countdown remained in the darkness of his vision, looking like mercury flowing against a black swan’s feathers. He opened his eyes, rubbed them, and still the countdown did not go away. No matter how he moved his gaze, the numbers stayed at the center of it.