Finally, after much acrimony and argument, the UN made its decision: the LHC experiment would indeed be repeated, offset, as many had insisted, by twelve hours from the first occurrence.

The European Union ambassadors all insisted on one proviso, before agreeing to allow CERN to attempt to replicate the experiment: there would be no government-level lawsuits against CERN, the countries that owned it, or any of its staff members. A UN resolution was passed, preventing any such lawsuits from ever being brought at the World Court. Of course, nothing could prevent civil suits, although the Swiss and French governments had both declared that their courts would not hear such cases, and it was difficult to establish that any other courts had jurisdiction.

The Third World represented the biggest logistical problem: undeveloped or underdeveloped regions where news arrived slowly, if at all. It was decided that the experiment wouldn't be replicated for another six weeks: that should be enough time to get the word to everyone who could possibly be reached.

And so, preparations began for humanity to take another peek at tomorrow.

Michiko dubbed it Operation Klaatu. In the movie The Day the Earth Stood Still, Klaatu, an alien, neutralized all electricity worldwide for thirty minutes precisely at noon Washington time, in order to demonstrate the need for world peace, but he did it with remarkable care, so that no one was hurt. Planes stayed aloft, operating theaters still had power. This time, they were going to try to be as careful as Klaatu, even though, as Lloyd pointed out, in the movie Klaatu was shot dead for his efforts. Of course, being an alien, he managed to come back to life…

Lloyd was frustrated. The first time, for whatever reason, the experiment had failed to produce the Higgs boson; he wanted to tweak the parameters slightly, in hopes of producing that elusive particle. But he knew he had to reproduce everything exactly as before. He'd probably never get a chance to refine his technique; never get a chance to generate the Higgs. And that, of course, meant he'd likely never get his Nobel Prize.

Unless—

Unless he could come up with an explanation for the physics of what had happened. But even though it was his experiment that had apparently caused the twenty-one-year jump ahead, and even though he, and everyone at CERN, had been racking their brains trying to determine the cause, he had no special insights into why it had occurred. It was just as likely that someone else — indeed, possibly even someone other than a particle physicist — would figure out exactly what had happened.

D-Day.

Almost everything was the same. Of course, it was now the ungodly hour of five A.M., instead of five P.M., but since there were no windows in the LHC control room, there was no real way to tell. There were also more people present. It was hard to get a decent crowd of journalists for most particle-physics experiments, but for this one, the CERN Media Service actually had to draw lots to determine which dozen reporters could have access. Cameras were broadcasting the scene worldwide.

All over the planet, people were lying down in bed, on couches, on the floor, on the grass, on bare ground. No one was drinking hot beverages. No commercial, military, or private planes were flying. All traffic in all cities had come to a halt — indeed, had been at a halt for hours now, to make sure there would be virtually no need for emergency-room operations or air ambulances during the replication. Thruways and highways were either vacant or giant parking lots.

Two space shuttles — one American, one Japanese — were currently in orbit, but there was no reason to think they were in danger; the astronauts would simply enter their sleeping bags for the duration. The nine people aboard the International Space Station would do the same thing.

No surgery was under way; no pizzas were being tossed in the air; no machinery was being operated. At any given moment, a third of humanity is normally asleep — but right now almost all of Earth's seven billion people were wide awake. Ironically, though, less activity was going on than at any other point in history.

As with the first time, the collision was being controlled by computer. Lloyd really had nothing much to do. The reporters had their cameras on tripods, but they were lying on the floor or on tabletops. Theo was already lying down, too, and so was Michiko — a bit too close to Theo, for Lloyd's taste. There was an area of floor left in front of the main console. Lloyd lay down on it. He could see one of the clocks from there, and he counted down with it: "Forty seconds."

Would he be transported back to New England? Surely the vision wouldn't pick up where it had left off months ago. Surely he wouldn't be back in bed with — God, he didn't even know her name. She hadn't said a word; she could have been American, of course, or from Canada, Australia, the United Kingdom, Scandinavia, France — it was so hard to tell.

"Thirty seconds," Lloyd said.

Where had they met? How long had they been married? Did they have kids?

"Twenty seconds."

Was it a happy marriage? It had certainly seemed to be, during that one brief glimpse. But, then, he'd even seen his own parents be tender toward each other upon occasion.

"Ten seconds."

Maybe the woman wouldn't even be in his next vision.

"Nine seconds."

Indeed, it was likely he'd be sleeping — and not necessarily even dreaming — twenty-one years from now.

"Eight seconds."

The chances were almost zero that he'd see himself again — that he'd be anywhere near a mirror, or be watching himself on closed-circuit TV.

"Seve n."

But surely he'd see something revelatory, something significant.

"Six."

Something that would answer at least a few of his burning questions.

"Five."

Something that would bring closure to what he'd seen before.

"Four."

He did love Michiko, of course.

"Three."

And he and she would be married, regardless of what the first vision, or this one, might portray.

"Two."

But, still, it would be nice to know that other woman's name…

"One."

He closed his eyes, as if that would better summon a vision.

"Zero."

Nothing. Darkness. Dammit, he was asleep in the future! It wasn't fair; it was his experiment after all. If anyone deserved a second vision, it was him, and—

He opened his eyes; he was still flat on his back. Over his head, high above, was the ceiling of the LHC control center.

Oh, Christ — oh, Christ.

Twenty-one years from now he would be sixty-six years old.

And twenty-one years from this vision, a few months later—

He'd be dead.

Just like Theo.

God damn it. God damn it.

He rolled his head to the side, and happened to see the clock.

The blue digits were silently metamorphosing: 22:00:11; 22:00:12, 22:00:13…

He hadn't blacked out—

Nothing had happened.

The attempt at replicating the Flashforward had failed, and—

Green lights.

Green lights on the ALICE console!

Lloyd rose to his feet. Theo was getting up as well.

"What happened?" asked one of the reporters.

"A big fat nothing," said another.

"Please," said Michiko. "Please, everyone stay on the floor — we don't know that it's safe yet."

Theo thumped the flat of his hand against Lloyd's back. Lloyd was grinning from ear to ear. He turned and embraced Theo.

"Guys," said Michiko, propping herself up on her elbow. "Nothing happened."

Lloyd and Theo disengaged, and Lloyd surged across the room. He reached out and took Michiko's hands and pulled her to her feet, then hugged her.

"Honey," said Michiko, "what is it?"