themselves. If in your vision you saw a piece of furniture you currently own, destroy
--or sell --that piece. If you could see your own hand in your vision, get a tattoo on
your hand. If others saw you, and you had a beard, get facial electrolysis so that
you'll never be able to grow one.
"Facial electrolysis!" said the interviewer. "That seems an extreme length to go
to."
"If your vision disturbed you, and you want to be reassured that it never will come
true, that would be one way to do it. Of course the most effective way to disprove
the visions on a large scale would be to find some landmark that thousands of people
had seen --the Statue of Liberty, say --and tear it down. But I don't suppose the
National Park Service is going to let us do that."
Lloyd leaned back into his couch. Such bullshit. None of the things Alexander had
suggested were real proof --and all of them were subjective; they depended on
people's own recountings of their visions. And, well, what a great way to get on TV -not
just for Alexander, but for anyone who wanted to be interviewed. Just claim that
you've disproved the immutability of the future.
Lloyd looked at the clock sitting on one of the shelves mounted against the dark
red walls of his apartment. It was 21h30 --meaning it'd only be 1:30 in the
afternoon at the Colorado/Utah border, where Dinosaur National Monument was
located; Lloyd had been there himself once. He thought for a few minutes more, then
picked up the phone, spoke to a directory-assistance operator, and finally to a
woman who worked in the gift shop at Dinosaur Monument.
"Hello," he said. "I'm looking for a particular item --a paperweight made out of
malachite."
"Malachite?"
"It's a green mineral --you know, an ornamental stone."
"Oh, yes, sure. The ones we've got have little dinos on them. We've got one with
a T. rex, one with a Stegosaurus, and one with a Triceratops."
"How much is the Triceratops?"
"Fourteen ninety-five."
"Do you do mail order?"
"Sure."
"I'd like to buy one of those and send it to ... " He stopped to think; where the
heck was Duke? "To North Carolina."
"Okay. What's the full address?"
"I'm not sure. Just put 'Professor Raymond Alexander, Duke University, Durham,
North Carolina.' I'm sure it'll get there."
"UPS?"
"That would be fine."
Keyclicks. "The shipping is eight-fifty. How'd you like to pay for it?"
"On my Visa."
"Number, please?"
He pulled out his wallet, and read the string of digits to her; he also gave her the
expiration date and his name. And then he hung up the phone, settled back into the
couch, and folded his arms across his chest, feeling quite satisfied.
Dear Dr. Simcoe:
Forgive me for bothering you with an unsolicited email; I hope this makes it
through your spam filter. I know you must be inundated with letters ever since you
went on TV, but I just had to write and let you know the impact my vision had on
me.
I'm eighteen years old, and I'm pregnant. I'm not very far along --only about two
months. I hadn't told my boyfriend yet, or my parents. I thought getting pregnant
was the worst thing that could have possibly happened: I'm still in high school, and
my boyfriend will start university in the fall. We both still live with our parents, and
we have no money. There was no way, I thought, that we could bring a child into the
world ... and so I was going to have an abortion. I'd already made the appointment.
And then I had my vision --and it was incredible! It was me, and Brad (that's my
boyfriend) and our daughter, and we were all together, living in a nice house,
twenty-one years down the road. My daughter was all grown up --even a little older
than I am now --and she was so beautiful and she was telling us about how she was
seeing this guy at school, and could she bring him over for dinner one night, and she
knew we'd just love him, and of course we said yes, because she was our daughter
and it was important to her, and ...
Well, I'm babbling. The point is that my vision let me see that things were going
to work out. I canceled the abortion, and Brad and I are looking for a small place to
live together, and, to my surprise, my parents didn't freak and they're even going to
help us a bit with expenses.
I know a lot of people will be telling you how their visions ruined their lives. I just
wanted you to know that it improved mine enormously, and that it actually saved the
life of the little girl I'm carrying inside me now.
Thank you ... for everything.
Jean Alcott
Dr. Simcoe,
You hear on the news about people who had fascinating visions. Not me. My vision
had myself in the exact same house I live in today. I was all alone, which isn't
unusual --my kids are grown and my wife is often busy with her work. Indeed,
although a few things looked different --furniture slightly rearranged, a new painting
on one wall --there was nothing to give any real indication that this was the future.
And you know what? I like that. I'm a happy man; I've got a good life. That I'm
going to have another couple of decades of precisely the same life is a very soothing
thought. This whole vision thing has turned a lot of people's lives upside down,
apparently --but not mine. I just wanted you to know that.
Best wishes,
Tony DiCiccio
POSTINGS TO THE
MOSAIC PROJECT WEB SITE
Brooklyn, New York: Okay, there was this American flag in my dream,
right? And it had, I think, 52 stars: a row of 7, then a row of 6, then 7,
then 6, like that, for a total of 52. Now, I'm figuring that the 51st star,
that must be Puerto Rico, right? But it's driving me crazy trying to guess
what the 52nd might be. If you know, please e-mail ...
Edmonton, Alberta: I am not smart. I have Down's Syndrome, but I
am a good person. In my vision, I was talking and using big words, so I
must have been smart. I want to be smart again.
Indianapolis, Indiana: Please stop sending me email saying that I will
be the President of the United States in 2030; it's flooding my mailbox. I
know I'll be President --and when I come to power, I will have the IRS
audit anyone who tells me again ...
Islamabad, Pakistan (autotranslated from the original Arabic): In my
vision, I have two arms --but today, I have only one (I am a veteran of
the India-Pakistan ground war). It didn't feel like a prosthesis in the
vision. I'd be interested in hearing from anyone who has any information
on artificial limbs or possibly even limb regeneration twenty-one years
hence.
Changzhou, China (autotranslated from the original Mandarin): I am
apparently dead in twenty-one years, which does not surprise me for I
am mightily old now. But I would be interested in any news of the
success of my children, grandchildren, or great grandchildren. Their
names are ...
Buenos Aires, Argentina: Almost everybody I've spoken to is
celebrating a holiday or is off work during the Flashforward. Well, the
third Wednesday in October isn't a holiday anywhere I know of in South
America, so I'm thinking maybe we've gone to a four-day workweek, with
Wednesdays off. Me, I'd prefer a three-day weekend. Anybody know for
sure?
Auckland, New Zealand: I know four of the winning numbers in the
New Zealand Super Eight draw of October 19, 2030 --in my vision, I was
cashing a ticket that earned a $200 prize for matching those four
numbers. If you know other winning numbers in the same lottery, I would
like to pool my information with yours.
Geneva, Switzerland (posted in fourteen languages): Anybody with
information about the murder of Theodosios ("Theo") Procopides, please
contact me at ...
14
Day Six: Sunday, April 26, 2009
Lloyd and Theo were eating lunch together in the large cafeteria at the LHC
control center. Around them, other physicists were arguing theories and
interpretations to account for the Flashforward --a promising lead related to a
supposed failure of one of the quadrapole magnets had been torpedoed in the last
hour. The magnet, it turned out, was operating just fine; it was the testing
equipment that was faulty.
Lloyd was having a salad; Theo a kebab he'd made the night before and had
reheated in the microwave. "People seem to be dealing with things better than I
would have thought," said Lloyd. The windows looked out on the nucleus courtyard,
where the spring flowers were in bloom. "All that death, all the destruction. But
people are dusting themselves off, getting back to work, and getting on with their
lives."
Theo nodded. "I heard a guy on the radio this morning. He was saying that there
had turned out to be far less call for counseling services than people had predicted.
In fact, a lot of people have been apparently canceling their previously scheduled
therapy sessions since the Flashforward."
Lloyd lifted his eyebrows. "Why?"
"He said it's because of the catharsis." Theo smiled. "I tell you, good old Aristotle
knew exactly what he was talking about: you give people a chance to purge their
emotions, and they actually end up more healthy after it. So many people lost
someone they cared about during the Flashforward; the outpouring of grief has been
very good psychologically. The guy on the radio said something similar happened a
dozen years ago when Princess Diana died; there was a huge reduction worldwide in
the use of therapists for months following that. Naturally, the biggest catharsis was
in England, but just after Di was killed, even twenty-seven percent of Americans felt
as though they had lost someone they knew personally." A pause.
"Of course, you don't get over the loss of a spouse or a child easily, but an uncle?
A distant cousin? An actor you liked? One of your coworkers? It's a big release."
"But if everyone's going through it ... "
"That was his whole point," said Theo. "See, normally, if you lose someone in an
accident, you go to pieces, and it goes on for months or years ... with everyone
around you reinforcing your right to be sad. 'Take some time,' they say. Everyone
provides emotional support for you. But if everyone else is dealing with a loss, too,
there isn't that crutch effect; there's no one to say soothing words. You've got no
choice but to get a grip and go back to work. It's like those who live through a war -any
war is much more devastating in gross terms than any isolated personal
tragedy, but after a war is over, most people just go on with their lives. Everybody
suffered the same; you have to just wall it off, forget about it, and go on. That's
what's happening here, apparently."
"I don't think Michiko will ever get over the loss of Tamiko." Michiko would come
home from Japan that evening.
"No, no, of course not. Not in the sense that it'll ever stop hurting. But she is
going on with her life; what else can she do? There really is no other choice."
At that moment, Franco della Robbia, a middle-aged, bearded physicist, appeared
at their table, holding a tray. "Mind if I join you?"
Lloyd looked up. "Hi, Franco. Not at all."
Theo shuffled his chair to the right, and della Robbia sat down.
"You're wrong about Minkowski, you know," said della Robbia, looking at Lloyd.
"The visions can't be of an actual future."
Lloyd took a forkful of salad. "Why not?"
"Well, look: let's take your premise. Twenty-one years from now, I will have a
connection between my future self and my past self. That is, my past self will see
exactly what my future self is doing. Now, my future self may not have any overt
indication that the connection has begun, but that doesn't matter; I'll know to the
second when the connection will start and end. I don't know what your vision
showed, Lloyd, but mine had me in what I think was Sorrento, sitting on a balcony,
overlooking the Bay of Naples. Very nice, very pleasant --but not at all what I'd be
doing on October 23, 2030, if I knew I was in contact with myself in the past.
Rather, I'd be somewhere utterly free of anything that might divert my past self's
attention --an empty room, say, or simply staring at a blank wall. And at precisely
19h21 Greenwich Mean Time that day, I would start reciting out loud facts that I
wanted my past self to know: 'On March eleven, 2012, be careful crossing Via
Colombo, lest you trip and break your leg;' 'In your time, stock in Bertelsmann is
selling for forty-two euros a share, but by 2030, it'll be six hundred and ninety euros
a share, so buy lots now to pay for your retirement;' 'Here are the winners of the
World Cup for every year between your time and mine.' Like that; I would have it all
written out on a piece of paper, and would just recite it, cramming as much useful
information as possible into that one-minute-and-forty-three-second window." The
Italian physicist paused. "The fact that no one has reported a vision of doing
anything like that means that what we saw couldn't be the actual future of the
timeline we're currently in."
Lloyd frowned. "Maybe some people did do that. Really, the public only knows the
content of a tiny percentage of the billions of visions that must have occurred. If I
was going to give myself a stock tip, and I didn't know that the future was
immutable, the first thing I'd say to my past self was, 'Don't share this with anyone.'
