enough, it was Minkowskiless throughout.
"Now, let's go back to 1864."
The map obliged, with Minkowski's light glowing brightly at the latitude and
longitude of Kaunas.
"In 1878," said Lloyd, "Minkowski moved to Berlin to go to university."
The 1864 map fell away as if it were one leaf on a calendar pad; the map beneath
was labeled 1865. In rapid succession, other maps dropped off, labeled 1866
through 1877, each with the Minkowski light at or near Kaunas, but when the 1878
one appeared, the light had moved 400 kilometers west to Berlin.
"Minkowski didn't stay in Berlin," said Lloyd. "In 1881, he transferred to
K.nigsberg, near the modern Polish border."
Three more maps fell away, and when the one labeled 1881 was exposed, the
Minkowski light had relocated again.
"For the next nineteen years, our Hermann bopped about from university to
university, coming back to K.nigsberg in 1894, then going to Zurich here in
Switzerland in 1896, and at last to the University of G.ttingen, in central Germany,
in 1902."
The changing maps reflected his movements.
"And he stayed in G.ttingen until his death on January 12, 1909."
More maps fell away, but the light remained stationary.
"And, of course, after 1909, he was no more."
Maps labeled "1910," "1911" and "1912" fell away, but none of them had lights.
"Now," said Lloyd, "what happens if we take our maps and stack them back up in
chronological order, and tip them a bit, so that we view them obliquely?"
The computer-generated graphics on the screen behind him obligingly did just
that.
"As you can see, the light made by Minkowski's movements forms a trail through
time. He starts down here near the bottom in Lithuania, moves about Germany and
Switzerland, and finally dies up here in G.ttingen."
The maps were stacked one atop another, forming a cube, and the path of
Minkowski's life, weaving through the cube, was visible through it, like a glowing
gopher's burrow climbing up toward the top.
"This kind of cube, which shows someone's life path through spacetime, is called a
Minkowski cube: good old Hermann himself was the first to draw such a thing. Of
course, you can draw one for anybody. Here's one for me."
The map changed to show the entire world.
"I was born in Nova Scotia, Canada, in 1964, moved to Toronto then Harvard for
university, worked for years at Fermilab in Illinois, and then ended up here, on the
Swiss/French border, at CERN."
The maps stacked up, forming a cube with a weaving light-path within.
"And, of course, you can map other people's path onto the same cube."
Five other light paths, each one a different color, wended their ways up the cube.
Some started earlier than Lloyd's, and some ended before the top was reached.
"The top of the cube, here," said Lloyd, "represents today, April 25, 2009. And, of
course, we all agree that today is today. That is, we all remember yesterday, but
acknowledge that it has passed; and we all are ignorant of tomorrow. We're all
collectively looking at this particular slice through the cube." The cube's top face lit
up.
"You can imagine the collective mind's eye of humanity regarding that slice." A
drawing of a human eye, complete with lashes, floated outside the cube, parallel to
its top. "But what happened during the Flashforward was this: the mind's eye moved
up the cube into the future, and instead of regarding the slice representing 2009, it
found itself looking at 2030."
The cube extended upward into a block, and most of the color-coded life paths
continued on up farther into it. The floating eye jumped up, and the highlighted
plane was now very near the top of the elongated block. "For two minutes, we were
looking in on another point along our life paths."
Bernard Shaw shifted in his chair. "So you're saying spacetime is like a bunch of
motion-picture frames stacked up, and 'now' is the currently illuminated frame?"
"That's a good analogy," said Lloyd. "In fact, it helps me make my next point,
which is this: Say you're watching Casablanca, which happens to be my favorite
movie. And say this particular moment is what's on screen right now."
Behind Lloyd, Humphrey Bogart was saying, "You played it for her, you can play it
for me. If she can stand it, I can stand it."
Dooley Wilson didn't meet Bogey's eyes. "I don't remember the words."
Bogart, through clenched teeth: "Play it!"
Wilson turned his gaze up at the ceiling and began to sing "As Time Goes By"
while his fingers danced on the piano keys.
"Now," said Lloyd, sitting in front of the screen, "just because this frame is the
one you're currently looking at" --as he said "this," the image froze on Dooley
Wilson --"it doesn't mean that this other part is any less fixed or real."
Suddenly the image changed. A plane was disappearing into the fog. A dapper
Claude Rains looked at Bogart. "It might be a good idea for you to disappear from
Casablanca for a while," he said. "There's a Free French garrison over at Brazzaville.
I could be induced to arrange a passage."
Bogey smiled a bit. "My letter of transit? I could use a trip. But it doesn't make
any difference about our bet. You still owe me ten thousand francs."
Rains raised his eyebrows. "And that ten thousand francs should pay our
expenses."
"Our expenses?" said Bogart, surprised.
Rains nodded. "Uh-huh."
Lloyd watched their backs as they walked off together into the night. "Louis," says
Bogart --in a voiceover Lloyd knew had been recorded in post-production --"this
could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
"You see?" said Lloyd, turning back to look at the camera, at Shaw. "You might
have been watching Sam play 'As Time Goes By' for Rick, but the ending is already
fixed. The first time you see Casablanca, you're on the edge of your seat wondering
if Ilsa is going to go with Victor Laszlo or stay with Rick Blaine. But the answer
always was, and always will be, the same: the problems of two little people really
don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world."
"You're saying the future is as immutable as the past?" said Shaw, looking more
dubious than he usually did.
"Precisely."
"But, Dr. Simcoe, with all due respect, that doesn't seem to make sense. I mean,
what about free will?"
Lloyd folded his arms in front of his chest. "There's no such thing as free will."
"Of course there is," said Shaw.
Lloyd smiled. "I knew you were going to say that. Or, more precisely, anyone
looking at our Minkowski cubes from outside knew you were going to say that -because
it was already written in stone."
"But how can that be? We make a million decisions a day; each of them shapes
our future."
"You made a million decisions yesterday, but they are immutable --there's no
way to change them, no matter how much we might regret some of them. And you'll
make a million decisions tomorrow. There's no difference. You think you have free
will, but you don't."
"So, let me see if I understand you, Dr. Simcoe. You're contending that the
visions aren't of just one possible future. Rather, they are of the future --the only
one that exists."
"Absolutely. We really do live in a Minkowski block universe, and the concept of
'now' really is an illusion. The future, the present, and the past are each just as real
and just as immutable."
13
"Dr. Simcoe?"
It was early evening; Lloyd had finally finished his last interview for the day, and
although he had a stack of reports to read before going to bed, he was now walking
down one of the drab streets of St. Genis. He headed over to a bakery and a cheese
store to get some bread and a hunk of Appenzeller for tomorrow's breakfast.
A compact man of about thirty-five approached him. He was wearing glasses -reasonably
unusual in the developed world now that laser keratotomy had been
perfected --and a dark-blue sweatshirt. His hair, like Lloyd's own, was cropped
fashionably short.
Lloyd felt a twinge of panic. He was probably crazy to be out alone in public after
half the world had seen his face on TV. He looked left and right, sizing up his escape
routes. There were none. "Yes?" he said, tentatively.
"Dr. Lloyd Simcoe?" He was speaking English, but with a French accent.
Lloyd swallowed "That's me." Tomorrow, he'd talk to Béranger about arranging a
security escort.
Suddenly the man's hand found Simcoe's own and began pumping it furiously.
"Dr. Simcoe, I want to thank you!" The man held up his left hand, as if to forestall an
objection. "Yes, yes, I know you didn't intend what happened, and I guess some
people were hurt by it. But I've got to tell you, that vision was the best thing that
ever happened to me. It turned my life around."
"Ah," said Lloyd, retrieving his hand. "That's nice."
"Yes, sir, before that vision I was a different man. I never believed in God --not
ever, not even as a little kid. But my vision --my vision showed me in a church,
praying with a whole congregation of people."
"Praying on a Wednesday evening?"
"That's just what I said, Dr. Simcoe! I mean, not at the time I was having the
vision, but later, after they announced on the news what time the visions were of.
Praying on a Wednesday evening! Me! Me, of all people. Well, I couldn't deny that it
was happening, that sometime between now and then I will find my way. And so I
picked up a Bible --went to a bookstore and bought one. I never knew there were so
many different kinds! So many different translations! Anyway, I got myself one of
the ones that's got Jesus' actual words printed in red, and I began reading it. I
figured, okay, sooner or later I was going to come to this, I might as well find out
what it's all about. And I just kept reading --I even read all those begats, those
wonderful names, like music: Obadiah, Jebediah --what great names! Oh, sure, Dr.
Simcoe, if I hadn't had the vision, twenty-one years down the road I would have
found all this anyway, but you got me going on it now, in 2009. I've never felt more
at peace, more loved. You really did me a great favor."
Lloyd didn't know what to say. "Thank you."
"No, sir --thank you!" And he pumped Lloyd's hand again, then dashed upon his
way.
Lloyd got home around 21h00. He missed Michiko a lot, and thought about calling
her, but it was just 05h00 in Tokyo --too early to phone. He put his cheese and
bread away, and sat down to watch some television --unwind for a few moments
before he tackled the latest stack of reports.
He flipped channels until something on a Swiss news program caught his eye: a
discussion of the Flashforward. A female journalist was doing a satellite hookup with
the United States. Lloyd recognized the man being interviewed by his great mane of
reddish-brown hair: the Astounding Alexander, master illusionist and debunker of
supposed psychic powers. Lloyd had seen the guy on TV often over the years,
including on The Tonight Show. His full name was Raymond Alexander, and he was a
professor at Duke.
The interview had obviously had some post-production done on it: the journalist
was speaking in French, but Alexander was answering in English, and an interpreter's
voice was speaking over his own, giving a French version of what the American was
saying. Alexander's actual words were barely audible in the background.
"You've no doubt heard," said the interviewer, "that man from CERN claiming that
the visions showed the one and only real future."
Lloyd sat up.
"Oui," said the translator's voice. "But that's patently absurd. You can easily
demonstrate that the future is malleable." Alexander shifted in his chair. "In my own
vision, I was at my apartment. And on my desk, then as now, was this." There was a
table in front of him in the studio. He reached forward and picked up a paperweight.
The camera zoomed in: it was a malachite block with a small gold Triceratops on it.
"Now, it may be chintzy," said Alexander, "but I'm actually rather fond of this little
item; it's a souvenir of a trip I quite enjoyed to Dinosaur National Monument. But I'm
not as fond of it as I am of rationality."
He reached below the table, and pulled out a piece of burlap. He set it down, then
placed the paperweight on top of it. Next, he pulled a hammer from under the table,
and, as the camera watched, he proceeded to smash the souvenir to bits, the
malachite fracturing and crumbling, and the small dinosaur --which couldn't have
been solid metal --crushing into an unrecognizable lump.
Alexander smiled triumphantly at the camera: reason once more held sway. "That
paperweight was in my vision; that paperweight no longer exists. Therefore,
whatever it was that the visions showed was in no way a view of an immutable
future."
"We have, of course," said the interviewer, "only your word that the paperweight
was in your vision."
Alexander looked annoyed, irritated that his integrity was being questioned. But
then he nodded. "You're right to be skeptical --the world would be a better place if
we were all a little less credulous. The fact is that anyone can do this experiment
