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 hit.
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 asserting 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 10h00, he couldn't take it anymore. Theo left the LHC control
center, putting on a forward-swept beige cap and mirrored sunglasses 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, 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 spaces 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
damned 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. "Je peux vous aider?"
"Oui," said Theo. "Détective Helmut Drescher, s'il vous pla.t." 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."
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 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," 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 Hellenic alphabet and
listing some basic facts about Theo. The attribution tags for the "Non," 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, God! 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. "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.
"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 embarrassed. "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 here. You shouldn't be anywhere in Europe, for God'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 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 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
