Other

Isosceles and Asymptote stared at the pyramid in the middle of the sorting floor. It was a jumble of the week’s discarded numbers, waiting to be categorised. Each day, the numbers rejected by the calculators would be collected by the model function, Ellipsoid, and added to the pyramidic pile. Then two members of the operations team would sort them from the pyramid into giant cubes. 

Sighing, Isosceles walked around the pyramid, counting the number of sides.

“Ellipsoid’s been taking the piss lately. An icosagonal pyramid? Really?”

“You know it’s because she’s angry that the higher-ups won’t let her collect the numbers in cones,” replied Asymptote. “It’s a form of protest.”

“What’s their problem with circles anyway?” asked Isosceles. “Is the rumour true, that they’re scared of them?”

“Shhhh!” Asymptote hissed. Ignoring the ‘No Spheres Allowed’ sign at the door, he glanced around the room to make sure no-one had heard. 

“It looks like she used the 20,21,29 Pythag combo,” said Isosceles as his gaze sought the tip of the pyramid, which almost touched the ceiling. “Nice work.”

Asymptote opened the log book to sign in and check for notes. An official letter from the higher-ups was taped to the front page:

“Please note that with immediate effect, whole numbers, rational numbers, imaginary numbers and complex numbers will go into a single category and as such will be sorted into one cube.”

“Again? You see, I told you they have a problem with circles. I’m sure they keep swapping out the whole numbers because their series starts with zero,” said Isosceles. He read the rest of the note. “And we have to come up with a name for them. Great.”

“I’ll re-organise and name the new cube,” Asymptote said quickly, to avoid giving comment on the latest reshuffle.  

Isosceles, careful not to be stabbed by negative numbers or the pointy parts of roots, clambered two thirds to the top of the pyramid and settled down to start sorting. 

Below, Asymptote had removed three of the nine category cubes, and was trying to decide what to label the one that would now house the new group.

“Rational, imaginary, complex, whole,” he wrote down on a sheet of paper. What could he do to create a new word for them?  

“Maybe we should call them Ricow numbers. Or Wimcor. What do you think?” he shouted up to Isosceles, who didn’t hear the anguish in his colleague’s voice. He was struggling to untangle a pi from a square root.

“Crioms, carroms, pants. What does it matter?” he replied.

“Cowhrim numbers? No. Ricowhi. That could work.” Poor Asymptote. He was pacing, nervous that he’d volunteered for this task. There’d be trouble if the higher-ups were not happy with his choice of wording. 

“Isosceles, stop being obtuse and tell me what to call them! None of the names I’m coming up with sound right, and they don’t have any meaning. I need more time!”

Isosceles looked down at Asymptote and realised his distress. 

“There is no category. You can name all the different permutations you want, and you’ll come close, but you’ll never reach the curve. They know what they want, but they’re not allowed to say it. So, we have to.”

“What?” Asymptote looked confused.

“We have to name them Other.”