"If you were worried about that, and you had immortality available, why didn't you give him your treatment prior to the day on which the first visions showed he might die?"

"Our process arrests biological senescence, but it certainly doesn't make you invincible-although, as you doubtless saw in your vision, subst.i.tute bodies will eventually address that concern. If we were to invest millions in Theo, and he ended up being shot dead, well, that would be a waste of a very limited resource."

Lloyd considered this. "You mentioned that Theo is younger than me; that's true. I'm an old man."

Cheung laughed. "You're a child! I've got more than thirty years on you."

"I mean," said Lloyd, "if I'd been offered this when I was younger, healthier-"

"Dr. Simcoe, granted you are sixty-six-but you have spent that entire span under the care of increasingly sophisticated modern medicine. I've seen your health records-"

"You've what?"

"Please-I'm dispensing eternal life here; do you seriously think that a few privacy safeguards are a barrier to a person in my position? As I was saying, I have seen your health records: your heart is in excellent shape, your blood pressure is fine, your cholesterol levels are under control. Seriously, Dr. Simcoe, you are in better health now than any twenty-five-year-old born more than a hundred years ago would have been."

"I'm a married man. What about my wife?"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Simcoe. My offer is to you alone."

"But Doreen-"

"Doreen will live out the remainder of a natural life-another twenty-odd years, I imagine. She is being denied nothing; you will be able to spend every year of that with her. At some point, she will pa.s.s on. I'm a Christian, Dr. Simcoe-I believe better things await us . . . well, most of us. I have been ruthless in life and I expect to be judged harshly . . . which is why I am in no hurry to receive my reward. But your wife-I know much about her, and I suspect her place in heaven is secure."

"I'm not sure I'd want to go on without her."

"She, doubtless, would wish that you would go on, even if she herself could not. And, forgive my bluntness, but she is not your first wife, nor you her first husband. I do not denigrate the love you feel, but you are, quite literally, simply phases in each other's lives."

"And if I choose not to partic.i.p.ate?"

"My expertise is in pharmaceuticals, Dr. Simcoe. If you choose not to partic.i.p.ate, or if you feign acceptance, but give us reason to doubt your sincerity, you will be injected with mnemonase; it will break down all of your short-term memory. You will forget this entire encounter. If you really do not desire immortality, please take that option-it is painless and has no lasting side effects. And now, Dr. Simcoe, I really must have your answer. What do you choose?"

Doreen picked Lloyd up at the airport in Montpelier. "Thank G.o.d you're home!" she said, as soon as Lloyd got out of baggage claim. "What happened? Why did you miss the earlier flight?"

Lloyd hugged his wife; G.o.d, how he loved her-and how he hated being away from her. But then he shook his head. "It was the d.a.m.nedest thing. I completely forgot that the return flight was at four o'clock." He shrugged a bit, and managed a small smile. "I guess I'm getting old."

33.

Theo sat in his office. It had once, of course, been Gaston Beranger's office, but his five-year term had long ago ended, and these days CERN wasn't big enough to require a Director-General. So Theo, as director of the TTC, had made it his own. Old Gaston was still around; he was professor emeritus in physics at the University of Paris at Orsay. He and Marie-Claire were still happily married, and they had a terrific, honor-student son, and a daughter, as well.

Theo found himself staring out the window. It had been a month since the great blackout-the Flashforward in which everyone lost consciousness for an hour. But they'd done Klaatu proud: not a single fatality had been reported worldwide.

Theo was still alive; he'd avoided his own murder. He was going to live-well, who knew how long? Decades more, certainly. A new lease on life.

And, he realized with a start, he didn't know what he was going to do with all that time.

It was autumn; too late to literally smell the roses. But figuratively?

He got up, let the inner office door slide aside, let the outer office door do the same, made his way to the elevator, rode down to the ground floor, walked along a corridor, pa.s.sed through the lobby, and exited the building.

The sky was cloudy; still, he put on his sungla.s.ses.

When he'd been a teenager, he'd run from Marathon to Athens. When he was done, he'd thought his heart would never stop pounding, thought he'd never stop gasping for breath. He remembered that moment vividly-crossing the finish line, completing the historic run.

There were other moments he remembered vividly, of course. His first kiss; his first s.e.xual encounter; specific images-postcards in his mind-from that trip to Hong Kong; graduating from university; the day he met Lloyd; breaking his arm once playing lacrosse. And, of running their first LHC experiment, the jump cut- But- But those sharp moments, those crisp memories, why, they were all from two decades or more in the past.

What had happened lately? What peak experiences, what exquisite sorrows, what giddy heights?

Theo walked along; the air was cool, bracing. It gave everything an edge, definition, form, a clarity that had been missing ever since- Ever since he'd started investigating his own death.

Twenty-one years, obsessed by one thing.

Did Ahab have sharp memories? Oh, yes-losing his leg, no doubt. But after that-after he'd begun his quest? Or was it all a blur, month after month, year after year, everything and everyone subsumed?

But no-no. Theo was no Ahab; he wasn't h.e.l.l-bent. He had found time for many things between 2009 and today, here, in 2030.

And yet- And yet he'd never allowed himself to make plans for the future. Oh, he'd continued to work at his job, and had been promoted several times, but . . .

He'd once read a book about a man who learned at age nineteen that he was at risk for Huntington's disease, a hereditary disorder that would rob him of his faculties by the time he reached middle age. That man had bent himself to the task of making a mark before his allotted span was up. But Theo hadn't done that. Oh, he'd made some good progress in his physics work, and, of course, he did have his n.o.bel. But even that moment-receiving the medallion-was out of focus.

Twenty-one years, overshadowed. Even knowing that the future was mutable, even promising himself he wouldn't let his search for his potential killer take over his life, two decades had slipped by, mostly lost-if not actually skipped over, certainly dulled, reduced, lessened.

No fatal flaw? It is to laugh.

Theo continued walking. A chorus of birds chirped in the background.

No fatal flaw? That That had been the most arrogant thought of all. Of course he had a fatal flaw; of course he had a had been the most arrogant thought of all. Of course he had a fatal flaw; of course he had a hamartia. hamartia. But it was the mirror image of Oedipus's; Oedipus had thought he But it was the mirror image of Oedipus's; Oedipus had thought he could could escape his fate. Theo, knowing the future was changeable, had still been dogged by the fear that he couldn't outwit destiny. escape his fate. Theo, knowing the future was changeable, had still been dogged by the fear that he couldn't outwit destiny.

And so- And so he hadn't married, hadn't had children; in that, he was even less than Ahab.

Nor had he read War and Peace. War and Peace. Or the Bible. Indeed, Theo hadn't read a novel for-what?-maybe ten years. Or the Bible. Indeed, Theo hadn't read a novel for-what?-maybe ten years.

He hadn't traveled the world, except for where his old quest for clues had taken him.

He hadn't learned gourmet cooking.

Hadn't taken bridge lessons.

Hadn't climbed Mont Blanc, even part way.

And now, incredibly, he suddenly had-well, if not all the time in the world, at least a lot more time.

He had free will; he had a future to make.

It was a heady thought. What do you want to be when you grow up? What do you want to be when you grow up? The cartoon-character clothing was indeed gone. As was his youth; he was forty-eight. For a physicist, that was ancient. He was too old, in all likelihood, to make another major breakthrough. The cartoon-character clothing was indeed gone. As was his youth; he was forty-eight. For a physicist, that was ancient. He was too old, in all likelihood, to make another major breakthrough.

A future to make. But how would he define it?

As laser-bright moments; diamond-hard memories; crisp and clear. A future lived, lived, a future savored, a future of moments so sharp and pointed that they would sometimes cut and sometimes glint so brightly it would hurt to contemplate them, but sometimes, too, would be joyous, an absolute, pure, unalloyed joy, the kind of joy he hadn't felt much if at all lo these twenty-one years. a future savored, a future of moments so sharp and pointed that they would sometimes cut and sometimes glint so brightly it would hurt to contemplate them, but sometimes, too, would be joyous, an absolute, pure, unalloyed joy, the kind of joy he hadn't felt much if at all lo these twenty-one years.

But from now on- From now on, he would live. live.

But what to do first?

The name rose again, from his past, from his subconscious.

Michiko.

She was in Tokyo, of course. He'd gotten an E-card from her at Christmas, and another on his birthday.

She'd divorced Lloyd-her second husband. But she'd never married again after that.

You know, he could go to Tokyo, look her up. That That would be a wonderful moment. would be a wonderful moment.

But, G.o.d, it had been so many years. So much water under the bridge.

Still . . .

Still, he had always been very fond of her. So intelligent-yes, that's what he thought of first; that wonderful mind, that sharp wit. But he couldn't deny that she was pretty, too. Maybe even more than pretty; certainly graceful and poised, and always immaculately dressed in the currently fashionable style.

But . . .

But twenty-one years had pa.s.sed. There had to be someone new after all that time, no?

No. There wasn't; he'd have heard gossip. Of course, he was younger than her, but that didn't really matter, did it? She would be-what?-fifty-six now.

He couldn't just pick himself up and go to Tokyo.

Or could he?

A life to be lived . . .

What did he have to lose?

Not a blessed thing, he decided. Not a blessed thing.

He headed back into the building, taking the stairs rather than the elevator, two steps at a time disappearing beneath his long strides, shoes slapping loudly and crisply.

Of course he'd call her first. What time was it in Tokyo? He spoke the question into the air. "What time is it in Tokyo?"

"Twenty hours, eighteen minutes," replied one of the countless computerized devices scattered around his office.

"Dial Michiko Komura in Tokyo," he said.

Electronic rings emanated from the speaker. His heart began to pound. A monitor plate popped up from his desktop, showing the Nippon Telecom logo.

And then- There she was. Michiko.

She was still lovely, and she had aged gracefully; she could have pa.s.sed for a dozen years younger than her real age. And, of course, she was stylishly attired-Theo hadn't seen this particular look yet in Europe, but he was sure it must be cutting-edge in Nippon. Michiko was wearing a short blazer that had rainbow patterns of color rippling across it.

"Why, Theo, is that you?" she said, in English.

The E-cards had been text-and-graphics only; it had been years since Theo had heard that beautiful, high voice, like water splashing. He felt his features stretching into a grin. "h.e.l.lo, Michiko."

"I'd been thinking about you," she said, "as the date the visions showed got closer. But I was afraid to call. Afraid you might think I was calling to say goodbye."

He would have loved to have heard her voice earlier. He smiled. "Actually, the man who killed me in the visions is in custody now. He tried to blow up the LHC."

Michiko nodded. "I read that on the Web."

"I guess no one's vision came true."

Michiko lifted her shoulders. "Well, maybe not precisely. But my beautiful little daughter is just as I saw her. And, you know, I've met Lloyd's new wife, and he says she's just as he'd envisioned her. And the world today is a lot like what the Mosaic Project said it was going to be."

"I guess. I'm just glad that the part involving me didn't come true."

Michiko smiled. "Me, too."

There was silence between them; one of the joys of video phones was that silence was okay. You could just look at each other, bask in each other, without words.

She was was beautiful . . . beautiful . . .

"Michiko," he said softly.

"Hmm?"

"I, ah, I've been thinking a lot about you."

She smiled.

He swallowed, trying to work up the courage. "And I was wondering, well, what you'd think if I came out to Nippon for a bit." He raised his hand, as if feeling a need to provide them both with an out if she wanted to deliberately misread him, letting him down gently. "There's a TTC at the University of Tokyo; they've been asking me to come and give a talk about the development of the technology."

But she wasn't looking for an out. "I'd love to see you again, Theo."

Of course, there was no way to tell whether anything would happen between them. She might just be looking for a bit of nostalgia, remembering things past, the times they'd had at CERN all those years ago.

But maybe, just maybe, they were were on the same wavelength. Maybe things would work out between them. Maybe, after all these years, it was going to happen. on the same wavelength. Maybe things would work out between them. Maybe, after all these years, it was going to happen.