Theo exhaled noisily. It was staggering enough to think that one person would someday want him dead — but to hear now that multiple parties would wish him that way was shocking.

Perhaps the old man was crazy — although he didn't seem that way. Still, twenty-one years hence he would be… would be… well, exactly how old? "Forgive my impertinence," said Theo, "but may I ask when you were born?"

"Certainly: February 29, 1932. That makes me all of nineteen years old."

Theo felt his eyes go wide. He was dealing with a loon…

But Cheung smiled. "Because I was born February 29, you see — which comes but once every four years. Seriously, I am seventy-seven years old."

Which made him a good deal older than Theo had guessed, and — my God! — would mean he'd be ninety-eight in the year 2030.

A thought occurred to Theo: he had talked to enough people who were dreaming in 2030; it was usually not hard to distinguish a dream from reality. But if Cheung was ninety-eight, could he perhaps have Alzheimer's in the future? What would the thoughts of such a brain be like?

"I'll save you from asking," said Cheung. "I do not have the gene for Alzheimer's. I'm as surprised as you are to think that I will be alive twenty-one years hence, and as shocked as you are that I, already having lived a full life, will apparently outlive a young man such as yourself."

"Were you really born February 29?" asked Theo.

"Yes. It's hardly a unique attribute; there are about five million people alive who have that birthday."

Theo considered this, then: "So this man said to you, 'He beat us to him.' What did you say after that?"

"I said, and, again, I ask you to forgive my words, 'It's just as well.' "

Theo frowned.

"And then," continued Cheung, "I added, 'Who's next?' To which my associate replied, 'Korolov.' Korolov — which I guess would be K-O-R-O-L-O-V. A Russian name, no? Does it mean anything to you?"

Theo shook his head. "No." A pause. "So you were — are — going to eliminate this Korolov, too?"

"That's an obvious interpretation, yes. But I have no idea who he or she might be."

"He."

"I thought you said you didn't know this person?"

"I don't — but Korolov is a male last name. Female Russian last names end in —ova; male ones in —ov."

"Ah," said Cheung. "In any event, after the man I was speaking to said 'Korolov,' I replied, 'Well, I can't imagine anyone else is after him.' And my associate replied, 'No need to be apprehensive, Ubu — ' Ubu being a nickname I allow only close friends to use, although, as I said, I have, as of yet, not met this man. 'No need to be apprehensive, Ubu,' he said. 'The guy who got Procopides can't have any possible interest in Korolov.' And then I said, 'Very well. See to it, Darryl' — which, I presume was the name of the man I was speaking to. He opened his mouth to speak again, but then I was suddenly back here, in 2009."

"And so that's all you know? That you and a man named Darryl will be out to get several people, including myself and someone named Korolov, but that someone else, a man, who will have no designs against this Korolov, will kill me first?"

Cheung shrugged apologetically, but whether with regret over the frustrating holes in the information or over the fact that he would one day apparently want to see Theo dead, Theo couldn't say. "That's it."

"This Darryl — did he look like a boxer? You know, a prizefighter?"

"No. I would say he was too paunchy to be any sort of athlete."

Theo leaned back in the couch, dumbfounded. "Thank you for letting me know," he said at last.

"It was the least I could do," said Cheung. He paused, as if assessing the prudence of saying more, then: "Souls are about life immortal, Dr. Procopides, and religion is about just rewards. I rather suspect that great things await you, and that you will appropriately be rewarded — but only, of course, if you manage to stay alive long enough. Do yourself a favor — do us both a favor — and do not give up your quest."

Theo returned to New York, telling Lloyd all about his encounter with Cheung. Lloyd was as perplexed as Theo was about what the old man had said. Theo and Lloyd stayed in New York for another eight days, while the United Nations continued to heatedly debate their proposal.

China spoke in favor of the motion to authorize replication of the experiments. Even though it was now clear that the future was not fixed, the fact that during the first set of visions China's totalitarian government still clearly reigned with an iron hand had done an enormous amount to quell dissidents in that country. For China, that was the key issue. There were only two possible versions of the future: either Communist dictatorship continued, or it did not. The first visions had shown that it had indeed continued. If the second visions showed the same thing — that, even with foreknowledge of a malleable future, Communism would not be brought down — then the dissident spirit would be crushed: a perfect example of what, in an English pun in questionable taste, The New York Times had called "taking a Dim view of the future," in honor of Dimitrios Procopides, who, having had his spirit broken by what he saw of tomorrow, gave up on ever being able to change it.

And what if the second visions showed Communism having fallen? Then China would be no worse off than it was before the first Flashforward, with its future in question. It was a worthwhile gamble, in the view of Beijing government.

The European Union ambassadors also were clearly going to vote as a block in favor of replication, for two reasons. If replication failed, then the unending stream of lawsuits being filed against CERN and its member countries would possibly be stemmed. And if replication succeeded, well, this second glimpse of the future would be free, but subsequent glimpses could be sold to humanity for billions of euros apiece. True, other nations might try to build atom smashers capable of producing the same sorts of energies unleashed by the LHC, but the first set of visions had shown a world of plentiful Tachyon-Tardyon Colliders, and still, it seemed, visions couldn't be invoked easily. If CERN was responsible, it was apparently uniquely responsible — some specific combination of parameters, unlikely to be reproduced at another accelerator, had made the Flashforward possible.

Objection to replication was most vehement in the western hemisphere — those countries in which people had mostly been awake when consciousness departed for A.D. 2030 and, therefore, in which large numbers of people had been injured or killed. The objections were based mostly on outrage over the damage done the last time, and fears that similar carnage and destruction would accompany a second set of visions.

In the eastern hemisphere, comparatively little damage had been done; in many nations, more than ninety percent of the population had been asleep — or at least safely recumbent in bed — when the Flashforward had occurred; very few casualties had occurred, and only negligible property damage had been sustained. Clearly, they argued, an organized, announced-in-advance replication wouldn't put many people at risk. They denounced the arguments against replication as more emotional than rational. Indeed, surveys worldwide showed that those who had visions were overwhelmingly pleased that they had had them, even though they had now been shown to not reveal a fixed future. Indeed, now that the world was sure the future could be changed, those who had seen what they regarded as a negative personal future were on average even more pleased to have had the insight than those who saw what they described as a positive future.

Although he had no formal voice in the UN debate, Pope Benedict XVI weighed into the fray, announcing that the visions were fully consistent with Catholic doctrine. That attendance at masses had swollen enormously since the Flashforward was doubtless a factor in the pontiff's stance.