Flashforward. Part 24

As before, CERN was the key to unlocking tomorrow. But Lloyd Simcoe, now sixty-six, would not be part of the replication attempt. He had retired two years ago, and had declined to come back to CERN. Still, Lloyd and Theo had indeed shared a n.o.bel prize. It had been awarded in 2024, not, as it turned out, in honor of anything related to the time-displacement effect, or the Higg's boson, but rather due to their joint invention of the Tachyon-Tardyon Collider, the tabletop device that had put giant particle accelerators at places ranging from TRIUMF to Fermilab to CERN out of business. Most of CERN was abandoned now, although the original Tachyon-Tardyon Collider was housed on the CERN campus.

Maybe it was because Lloyd's marriage to Michiko had crumbled after ten years that Lloyd didn't want to be involved with this attempt to replicate the original experiment. Yes, Lloyd and Michiko had had a daughter together, but always, down deep, not even acknowledged by her at first, there was a feeling on Michiko's part that Lloyd had had somehow been responsible for her first daughter's death. She'd surprised herself, no doubt, the first time that charge had come out during an argument between her and Lloyd. But there it was. somehow been responsible for her first daughter's death. She'd surprised herself, no doubt, the first time that charge had come out during an argument between her and Lloyd. But there it was.

That Lloyd and Michiko loved each other there was no doubt, but they ultimately decided that they simply couldn't go on living together, not with that hanging, however diffusely, over everything. At least it hadn't been a painful divorce, like that of Lloyd's parents. Michiko moved back to Nippon, taking their daughter Joan with her; Lloyd got to visit with her only once a year, at Christmas.

Lloyd wasn't crucial to the replication of the original experiment, although his help would have been a real a.s.set. But he was now happily remarried-and, yes, it was to Doreen, the woman he'd seen in his vision, and, yes, they did now own a cottage in Vermont.

Still, Jake Horowitz, who had long since left CERN to work at TRIUMF with his wife Carly Tompkins, did agree to come back for three months. Carly came as well, and she and Jake endured the gentle kidding of people asking them which labs at CERN they were going to baptize. They had been married for eighteen years now, and had three wonderful kids.

Theodosios Procopides and about three hundred other people still worked at CERN, running the TTC there. Theo, Jake, Carly, and a skeleton crew raced against time to get the Large Hadron Collider ready to run again, after five years of disuse, before the Sanduleak neutrinos. .h.i.t.

29.

Theo, now forty-eight, was personally delighted that the reality of 2030 had turned out to be different from what had been portrayed in the visions of 2009. For his own part, he'd grown a fine, full beard, covering his jutting jaw (and saving him from looking like he needed another shave by mid-afternoon). Young Helmut Drescher had said he could see Theo's chin in his vision; the beard was one of Theo's little ways of a.s.serting his free will.

Still, as the replication date approached, Theo found himself growing more and more apprehensive. He tried to convince himself that it was nervousness about letting the whole world down again if something went wrong, but the LHC seemed to be operating perfectly, and so he had to admit that that wasn't really it.

No, what he was nervous about was the fact that the day on which the 2009 visions said he was going to die was rapidly approaching.

Theo found that he couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. If he had ever determined who it was who had originally wanted him dead, that would have perhaps made it easier-all he would have to do is avoid that person. But he had no idea who had/ would/might pull the trigger.

Finally, inevitably, it was Monday, October 21, 2030: the date that, in at least one version of reality, was laser-carved into Theo's tombstone. Theo woke that morning in a cold sweat.

There was still oodles of work to be done at CERN-it was only two days until the Sanduleak neutrinos would hit. He tried to put it all out of his mind, but even after he got to the office, he found himself unable to concentrate.

And, by a little after l0h00, he couldn't take it anymore. Theo left the LHC control center, putting on a forward-swept beige cap and mirrored sungla.s.ses as he did so. It wasn't all that bright out; the temperature was cool, and about half the sky was covered by clouds. But no one went outside without head and eye protection anymore. Although the depleting of the ozone layer had finally been halted, nothing effective had been done yet about building it back up.

Sun glinted off the rocky pinnacles of the Jura mountains. There was a Globus Gateway bus in the parking lot; mostly deserted CERN wasn't a starred attraction in the Guide Michelin, Guide Michelin, of course, and, with the hubbub surrounding the replication attempt, no tourists were allowed on site, anyway. This bus had been chartered to bring a crowd of journalists from the airport; they had flown in to cover the work leading up to the replication. of course, and, with the hubbub surrounding the replication attempt, no tourists were allowed on site, anyway. This bus had been chartered to bring a crowd of journalists from the airport; they had flown in to cover the work leading up to the replication.

Theo walked over to his car, a red Ford Octavia-good, serviceable transportation. He'd spent his youth playing with billion-dollar particle accelerators; he hardly needed a fancy car to establish his worth.

The car recognized him as he approached, and he nodded at it to indicate he really did want to enter. The driver-side door slid up into the roof. You could still buy cars with doors that hinged out to the side, but with parking s.p.a.ces so tight in most urban centers doors that required no special clearance were more convenient.

Theo entered the car and told it where he wanted to go. "At this time of day," said the car in a pleasant male voice, "it'll be fastest to take Rue Meynard."

"Fine," said Theo. "You drive."

The car began to do just that, lifting off the ground and starting on its way. "Music or news?" said the car.

"Music," said Theo.

The car filled with one of Theo's favorite bands, a popular Korean jag group. But the music did little to calm him. Dammit all, he knew he shouldn't even be here in Switzerland, but the Large Hadron Collider was still the biggest instrument of its type in the world; periodic attempts prior to the invention of the TTC to revive the Superconducting Supercollider project, killed by the U.S. Congress in 1993, had all failed. And running and repairing particle accelerators was a dying art. Most of those who had built the original LEP accelerator-the first one mounted in CERN's giant subterranean tunnel-were either dead or retired, and only a few of those involved with the LHC, which first went into service a quarter of a century ago, were still in that line of work. So: Theo's expertise was needed in Switzerland. But he was d.a.m.ned if he was going to be a sitting duck.

The car stopped outside the destination Theo had requested: Police Headquarters in Geneva. It was an old building-more than a century old, in fact, and although internal-combustion motors were illegal on any car manufactured after 2021, the building still showed the grime of decades of automobile exhausts; it would have to be sandblasted at some point.

"Open," said Theo. The door disappeared into the ceiling.

"There are no vacant parking spots within a five-hundred-meter radius," said the car.

"Keep driving around the block, then," said Theo. "I'll call you when I'm ready to be picked up."

The car chirped acknowledgment. Theo put on his cap and shades and stepped outside. He crossed the sidewalk, made his way up the steps, and entered the building.

"Bonjour," said a large blond man sitting behind a desk. said a large blond man sitting behind a desk. "Je peux vous aider?" "Je peux vous aider?"

"Oui," said Theo. said Theo. "Detective Helmut Drescher, s'il vous plait." "Detective Helmut Drescher, s'il vous plait." Young Helmut Drescher was indeed a detective now; Theo, with then-idle curiosity, had checked on that several months before. Young Helmut Drescher was indeed a detective now; Theo, with then-idle curiosity, had checked on that several months before.

"Moot's not in," said the man, still speaking in French. "Can somebody else help you?"

Theo felt his heart sink. Drescher, at least, might understand, but to try to explain it to a complete stranger . . . "I was really hoping to see Detective Drescher," said Theo. "Do you expect him back soon?"

"I really don't-oh, say, this must be your lucky day. There's Moot now."

Theo turned around. Two men both about the right age were entering the building; Theo had no idea which one might be Drescher. "Detective Drescher?" he said tentatively.

"That's me," said the one on the right. Helmut had grown up to be a fine-looking man, with light brown hair, a strong, square jaw, and bright blue eyes.

"Like I said," said the desk officer from behind Theo. "Your lucky day."

Only if I live through it, thought Theo. "Detective Drescher," said Theo, "I need to talk to you." thought Theo. "Detective Drescher," said Theo, "I need to talk to you."

Drescher turned to the other man he'd come in with. "I'll catch up with you later, Fritz," he said. Fritz nodded and headed deeper into the building.

Drescher showed no sign of recognizing Theo. Of course, it had been twenty-one years since they'd last seen each other, and, although there had been a lot of media coverage of the upcoming attempt to replicate the time displacement, Theo had been way too busy to be interviewed much on TV lately; he'd been leaving that mostly to Jake Horowitz.

Drescher led Theo toward the inner doors; he was dressed in plain clothes, but Theo couldn't help noticing that he had very very nice shoes. Drescher laid his hand on a palmprint reader and the paired doors swung inward, letting them into the squad room. Flatsies-paper-thin computers-were piled high on some desks and spread out in overlapping patterns on others. One entire wall was a map showing Geneva's computer-controlled traffic, with every vehicle tracked by an individual transponder. Theo looked to see if he could spot his own car orbiting the building; it seemed his wasn't the only one doing that just now. nice shoes. Drescher laid his hand on a palmprint reader and the paired doors swung inward, letting them into the squad room. Flatsies-paper-thin computers-were piled high on some desks and spread out in overlapping patterns on others. One entire wall was a map showing Geneva's computer-controlled traffic, with every vehicle tracked by an individual transponder. Theo looked to see if he could spot his own car orbiting the building; it seemed his wasn't the only one doing that just now.

"Have a seat," said Drescher, indicating the chair that faced his desk. He took a flatsie from a pile and placed it between him and Theo. "You don't mind if I record this?" he said. The words-French-instantly appeared as text on the flatsie, with an attribution tag saying, "H. Drescher."

Theo shook his head. Drescher gestured at the flatsie. Theo realized he wanted a spoken reply. "Non," "Non," he said. The flatsie duly recorded it, but simply put a glowing question mark where the speaker's name should be. he said. The flatsie duly recorded it, but simply put a glowing question mark where the speaker's name should be.

"And you are?"

"Theodosios Procopides," said Theo, expecting the name to ring a bell for Drescher.

The flatsie, at least, got it in one-indeed, Theo saw a little window appear on the sheet, showing the correct spelling of his name using the h.e.l.lenic alphabet and listing some basic facts about Theo. The attribution tags for the "Non," "Non," and the stating of his name immediately changed to "T. Procopides." and the stating of his name immediately changed to "T. Procopides."

"And what can I do for you?" asked Drescher, still oblivious.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" said Theo.

Drescher shook his head.

"The, ah, last time we saw each other, I didn't have the beard."

The detective peered at Theo's face. "Well, I-oh! Oh, G.o.d! Oh, it's you!"

Theo glanced down. The flatsie had done a commendable job of punctuating the detective's outburst. When he looked back up, he saw that all the color had drained from Drescher's face.

"Oui," said Theo. said Theo. "C'est moi." "C'est moi."

"Mon Dieu," said Drescher. "How that's haunted me over the years." He shook his head. "You know, I've seen a lot of autopsies since, and a lot of dead bodies. But yours-to see something like that when you're just a kid." He shuddered. said Drescher. "How that's haunted me over the years." He shook his head. "You know, I've seen a lot of autopsies since, and a lot of dead bodies. But yours-to see something like that when you're just a kid." He shuddered.

"I'm sorry," said Theo. He paused for a moment, then: "Do you remember me coming to visit you, shortly after you had that vision? Out at your parents' house-the one with that great staircase?"

Drescher nodded. "I remember. Scared the life out of me."

Theo lifted his shoulders slightly. "I'm sorry about that, too."

"I've tried to keep that vision out of my mind," said Drescher. "All these years, I've tried not to think about it. But it still comes back, you know. Even after all I've seen, that image still haunts me."

Theo smiled apologetically.

"Not your fault," said Drescher, gesturing dismissively with his hand. "What was your vision of?"

Theo was surprised by the question; Drescher was still having trouble connecting his own vision of that dead body with the reality of the human being sitting in front of him. "Nothing," said Theo.

"Oh, yeah, right," said Drescher, slightly embarra.s.sed. "Sorry."

There was awkward silence between them for a few moments, then Drescher spoke again. "You know, it wasn't all bad-that vision, I mean. It got me interested in police work. I don't know that I would have signed up for the academy if I hadn't had that vision."

"How long have you been a cop?" asked Theo.

"Seven years-the last two as detective."

Theo had no idea if that was rapid advancement or not, but he found himself doing the math related to Drescher's age. He couldn't have a university degree. Theo spent far too much time with academics and scientists; he was always afraid he'd accidentally say something patronizing to those who hadn't gone any further than high school. "That's good," he offered.

Drescher shrugged, but then he frowned and shook his head. "You shouldn't be anywhere near near here. You shouldn't be anywhere in Europe, for G.o.d's sake. You must have been killed in or near Geneva, or I wouldn't be the cop investigating it. If I'd had a vision that I was going to be killed here on this day, you can bet I'd be in Zhongua or Hawaii instead." here. You shouldn't be anywhere in Europe, for G.o.d's sake. You must have been killed in or near Geneva, or I wouldn't be the cop investigating it. If I'd had a vision that I was going to be killed here on this day, you can bet I'd be in Zhongua or Hawaii instead."

Theo's turn to shrug. "I didn't want to be here, but I have no choice. I told you, I'm with CERN. I was part of the team that led the Large Hadron Collider experiment twenty-one years ago. They need me to duplicate that the day after tomorrow. Believe me, if I had any choice in the matter, I would would be somewhere else." be somewhere else."

"You haven't taken up boxing, have you?"

"No."

"Because in my vision-"

"I know, I know. You said I was killed at a boxing match."

"My dad, he used to watch boxing all the time on TV," said Helmut. "Funny sport for a shoe salesman, I guess, but he liked it. I used to watch it with him, even when I was a little kid."

"Look," said Theo, "you know in a way that no one else does that I really am am at risk. That's why I've come to see you." He swallowed. "I need your help, Helmut. I need police protection. Between now and when the experiment is replicated in-" He glanced at the wall clock, a flatsie held up with tape, fifteen centimeter digits glowing on its surface "-in fifty-nine hours." at risk. That's why I've come to see you." He swallowed. "I need your help, Helmut. I need police protection. Between now and when the experiment is replicated in-" He glanced at the wall clock, a flatsie held up with tape, fifteen centimeter digits glowing on its surface "-in fifty-nine hours."

Drescher gestured at all the other flatsies strewn across his desk. "I've got a lot of work to do."

"Please. You know what might happen. Most people have this coming Wednesday off work-you know, so they can be safe at home when the time-displacement is replicated. I hate to even ask, but you could use that time to catch up on any work you might miss today and tomorrow."

"I don't have Wednesday off." He gestured at the other people in the squad room. "None of us do-in case something goes wrong." A pause. "You have any idea who might shoot you?"

Theo shook his head, then, glancing at the recording flatsie, said, "No. None. I've wracked my brain for twenty-one years trying to figure it out-trying to determine who I might have p.i.s.sed off so much that they'd want me dead, or who could profit from having me out of the way. But there's no one."

"No one?"

"Well, you know, you go crazy; you get paranoid. Something like this-it makes you suspect everybody. Sure, for a time, I thought maybe my old partner, Lloyd Simcoe, had done it. But I spoke to Lloyd just yesterday; he's in Vermont, and has no plans to come over to Europe anytime in the near future."

"It's only-what?-a three-hour flight, if he takes a supersonic," said Drescher.

"I know, I know-but, really, I'm sure it's not him. But there is is somebody out there, some-what do you guys say? What's the phrase? Some person or persons unknown who may indeed make an attempt on my life today. And I'm asking you-I'm begging you, please-to keep that person or persons from getting at me." somebody out there, some-what do you guys say? What's the phrase? Some person or persons unknown who may indeed make an attempt on my life today. And I'm asking you-I'm begging you, please-to keep that person or persons from getting at me."

"Where do you have to be today?"

"At CERN. Either in my office, in the LHC control center, or down in the tunnel."

"Tunnel?"

"Yeah. You must have heard of it: there's a tunnel at CERN twenty-seven kilometers in circ.u.mference buried a hundred meters down; a giant ring, you know? That's where the LHC is housed."

Drescher chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Let me talk to my captain," he said. He got up, crossed the room, and rapped his knuckles against a door. The door slid aside, and Theo could see a stern, dark-haired woman within. Drescher entered, and the door closed behind him.

It seemed he was gone for an eternity. Theo looked about nervously. On Drescher's desk was a hologram of a young woman who might be his wife or girlfriend, and an older man and woman. Theo recognized the older woman: Frau Drescher. a.s.suming it was a recent shot-and, really, it must be; holocameras had been priced out of reach of an honest cop until a couple of years ago-then the decades had been kind to her. She was still a very attractive woman, content to let her hair show its gray.

Finally, the door at the far end of the room opened again, and Detective Drescher emerged. He crossed the busy squad room and returned to his desk. "I'm sorry," he said, as he sat back down. "If someone had made a threat or something. . ."

"Let me speak to your captain."

Drescher snorted. "She won't see you; half the time she won't even see me." He softened his voice. "I am am sorry, Mr. Procopides. Look-just be careful, that's all." sorry, Mr. Procopides. Look-just be careful, that's all."

"I thought you-you, of all people-would understand."

"I'm just a cop," said Drescher. "I take orders." He paused, and a sly tone slipped into his voice. "Besides, maybe coming here was a big mistake. I mean, what if I'm the guy who shot you the first time out? Didn't Agatha Christie write a story like that once, in which the detective was the killer? It'd be kind of ironic, then, you coming to see me, no?"

Theo lifted his eyebrows. His heart was pounding, and he didn't know what to say. Jesus Christ, he had had been shot with a Glock, a gun favored by police officers all over the world . . . been shot with a Glock, a gun favored by police officers all over the world . . .

"Don't worry," said Drescher, grinning. "I'm just kidding. Figured I deserved to give you a fright after what you did to me all those years ago." But he did reach down and use a couple of swipes of his index finger to erase the last few lines of the transcript from the flatsie.

"Good luck, Mr. Procopides. Like I said, just be careful. For billions of people, the future turned out unlike what their visions portrayed. I shouldn't have to tell you this, you being a scientist and all, but there really is no good reason to think that your vision is going to be the one that actually comes true."