Pi Page #6

SOL:

Max?

MAX:

What's going on, Sol!?

SOL:

Relax, it's early.

INT. SOL'S KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER

Max sits at the kitchen table while Sol heats up a pot of tea.

Max is shaking.

SOL:

Now, what's up?

MAX:

What's the two hundred

and sixteen number, Sol?

SOL:

Excuse me?

MAX:

You asked me if I had

seen a two hundred and

sixteen digit number, right?

SOL:

Oh, you mean the bug. I

found it working on Pi.

MAX:

What do you mean by "found it"?

SOL:

What's this all about,

Max?

MAX:

Well, there's these

religious Jews who have...

SOL:

Religious Jews?

MAX:

Well, you know,

Hassidim. I met one in the

coffee shop. The guy's a

number theorist. The Torah is

their data set. The thing is,

they're searching for a two

hundred and sixteen digit

number in the Torah.

SOL:

Really? What's it mean to

them?

MAX:

They say they don't

know, but that's crazy. I

mean what are the odds...

SOL:

It's just a coincidence.

MAX:

But hold on, there's

something else. You remember

those strange picks I got.

SOL:

Yesterday's stock picks?

MAX:

Right. Well, it turns out

that they were correct. I hit

two picks on the nose. Smack

on the nose.

SOL:

(Surprised)

Hmmm.

MAX:

Something's going on, and

it has to do with that

number. The answer is there.

SOL:

Max, it's a bug.

MAX:

No. it's a pattern. A

pattern is in that number

SOL:

Come with me.

INT. SOL'S STUDY - MOMENTS LATER

Sol and Max sit on either side of a half-played Go board.

SOL:

Listen to me. The Ancient

Japanese considered the Go

board to be a microcosm of

the universe. Although when

it is empty it appears to be

simple and ordered, in fact,

the possibilities of game play

are endless. They say that no

two Go games have ever been

alike. Just like snowflakes.

So, the Go board actually

represents an extremely complex

and chaotic universe. That is

the truth of our world, Max.

It can't be easily summed up

with math. There is no simple

pattern.

MAX:

But as a Go game

progresses, the possibilities

become smaller and smaller.

The board does take on order.

Soon, all moves are

predictable.

SOL:

So?

MAX:

So, maybe, even though we're not

sophisticated enough to be aware

of it, there is an underlying

order...a pattern, beneath every

Go game. Maybe that pattern is

like the pattern in the market,

in the Torah. The two sixteen

number.

SOL:

That is insanity, Max.

MAX:

Or maybe it's genius. I

have to get that number.

SOL:

Hold on, you have to slow

down. You're losing it, you

have to take a breath. Listen

to yourself. You're connecting

a computer bug I had, a

computer bug you might have

had, and some religious

hogwash. If you want to find

the number two sixteen in the

world, you'll be able to pull

it out of anywhere. Two

hundred and sixteen steps

from your street comer to

your front door. Two hundred

and sixteen seconds you spend

riding on the elevator. When

your mind becomes obsessed

with anything, it will filter

everything else out and find

examples of that thing

everywhere. Three hundred and

twenty, four hundred and

fifty, twenty-three.

Whatever! You've chosen two

sixteen and you'll find it

everywhere in nature. But

Max, as soon as you discard

scientific rigor, you are no

longer a mathematician. You

become a numerologist. What

you need to do is take a

break from your research. You

need it. You deserve it

Here's a hundred dollars, I

want you to take it. If ,you

won't take it, borrow it.

Either way, take a break.

Spend it however you like as

long as it falls in the

category of vacation. Real

world stuff, okay. No math.

Max looks at his bands.

SOL:

Just try it. In a week

you'll laugh about this.

C'mon, Max. Think about it!

Max gives a half nod.

EXT. SOL'S APARTMENT - MORNING

Max rushes to the subway when a honking horn stops him. A limo

pulls up next to him. Marcy Dawson jumps out of the car

MARCY DAWSON:

Mr. Cohen? Mr.

Cohen? Please stop for a

second Mr. Cohen?

Max stops and faces Marcy.

MAX:

Damn it already! Stop

following me. I'm not

interested in your money. I'm

searching for a way to

understand our world. I'm

searching for perfection. I

don't deal with mediocre

materialistic people like

you!

MARCY DAWSON:

I'm sorry. I'm very sorry.

I admit I've been a bit too

aggressive. But all I ask is

for five minutes of your time.

Here...

Marcy hands Max a metal stopwatch.

MARCY DAWSON:

...a stopwatch.

Already ticking. Allow me the

four and a half minutes left

Let me tell you what I want.

Let me tell you what I can

offer you. Afterwards, if you

don't want to talk to me, then

fine, we part as friends and

I promise that you will never

see me again. That's fair,

isn't it?

MAX:

(After a moment, he looks at the stopwatch)

Go.

MARCY DAWSON:

Good. It's funny,

even though we have different

aims and different goals

we're actually incredibly

alike. We both seek the same

thing—perfection. I know...

clearly we're seeking

different types of

perfection, but that is what

makes us perfect candidates

for a fruitful partnership.

If you let me, I can be your

greatest ally. Take the

acacia tree...in East

Africa. It is the most

prevalent plant in all of

Kenya because it has managed

to secure its niche by

defeating its major predator,

the giraffe. To accomplish

this, the tree has made a contract

with a highly specialized red ant.

The tree has evolved giant spores which

act as housing for the ants

In return for shelter, the

ants supply defense. When a

giraffe starts to eat the

tree's leaves, the shaking

branch acts like an alarm. The

ants charge out and secrete an

acid onto the giraffe's

tongue. The giraffe learns its

lesson and never returns.

Without each other, the tree

would be picked dry and the

ants would have no shade from

the brutal African sun Both

would die. But with each

other, they succeed, they survive,

they surpass. They have

different aims, different

goals but they work together.

Max, we would like to establish

a mutually benefiting alliance

with you.

MAX:

(handing back the stopwatch)

I'm not interested.

MARCY DAWSON:

Allow me to dose.

The chauffeur pulls a black suitcase out of the limo and

brings it over.

MARCY DAWSON:

As a sign of good faith we

wish to offer you this.

MAX:

I told you I don't want money.

MARCY DAWSON:

The suitcase isn't filled with

fifties or gold or diamonds. Just

silicon. A Ming Mecca chip.

MAX:

(Yeah right!)

Ming Mecca. They're not declassified.

Max starts to move away.

MARCY DAWSON:

You're right. They're not. But

Lancet-Percy has many friends.

Come here, take a look.

MAX:

(Stuttering)

What do...do...

But then, Max notices that his thumb is twitching.

MARCY DAWSON:

Beautiful, isn't it? You know

how rare...are you okay?

MAX:

Yeah, I got to go.

MARCY DAWSON:

But what about...

MAX:

Let me think about it...

Max trots off.

MARCY DAWSON:

What? Mr. Cohen!?

INT. SUBWAY STATION - PUBLIC BENCH - NIGHT

The station is strangely silent. It is also extremely rundown.

The tracks are rusted and f***ed up. All we hear is the sound

of DRIPPING WATER. The sound is warped and grows and morphs

until it's downright scary.

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