When Lida got up from the bar and saw him approach, she’d freeze and scrunch up her face.

 

“I’m sorry, Jerry,” she would say. “My ride’s here. I have to go, or I’ll miss my flight to Europa.”

 

Then she would hesitate. “Unless you want to share the ride to the spaceport? I know it’s out of your way, but we’d have fifteen minutes to catch up.”

 

By the time they got to the spaceport, after she’d found out he had a ticket of his own, they’d be planning excursions in the Jovian system, and she’d be telling him about a research job she thought he’d like at Io-U.

* * *

 

Jerry visualized all of this as clearly as if it had already happened, because in a way, it had: almost a dozen times in Pre-Live.

 

Jerry smoothed his hair in the mirror one last time, put his hand on the door lever, and then walked back to the closet to change his shirt. Stripes. In all the simulations, his shirt had been striped.

 

Four minutes to go. He opened the door to the hallway. He was confronted by two grim-faced agents in navy suits.

 

“FBI,” one of them said, showing a badge. “Can we come in?”

 

Jerry had messed up a lot of things in the decade since college. He might not have been so eager to leave the planet if he hadn’t. But nothing FBI-level messed up. “I’m — it’s — I’m on my way out.”

 

The agents pushed their way in.

 

“I’m actually in a rush.”

 

“You’re Jerry Griffith?” confirmed the agent who had shown the badge. He gave the appearance of an inconvenienced bureaucrat who was annoyed that Jerry had forced him out into the field. His partner, on the other hand, looked at Jerry like she expected him either to lie or to rush out the door. Either way, she was ready for him.

 

Jerry nodded. “Gerald Griffith. Yeah. Yes. Like I said—”

 

“You have a ticket off-world. Layover at the International Space Station, final destination the Jovian system. One-way.”

 

Jerry swallowed. “Is there a problem?”

 

“Mr. Griffith,” said the second agent, the enforcer, “We have to ask you not to use that ticket.”

 

“I don’t follow.”

 

“It’s national security, Mr. Griffith. If you get on that ship, a lot of other things, very bad things, are going to happen. We’re here to prevent them from happening.”

 

“You think I’m going to do something? I’ve never been arrested. I’m not doing anything wrong. You can search—”

 

“It’s not you we’re concerned about, Mr. Griffith,” the bureaucrat assured him. “Your departure would merely be the first step in a larger series of events which it is our responsibility to prevent.”

 

“That’s — you can’t know what would happen.” He realized the irony of this statement as soon as he said it.

 

“We can.”

 

Jerry looked between the two agents. “I quit my job. My entire life savings went to that ticket. If I don’t leave now, I won’t get there in time for the launch.”

 

“Please be assured that we wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t of the utmost importance,” said the bureaucrat.

 

“This isn’t legal.”

 

“You might think that, Mr. Griffith. You are free to think that. We are here in support of an executive order that hasn’t been published. But please be aware that it exists.”

 

Lida was waiting down in the hotel bar, her fellow conference attendees had already left. He was going with her. He was going to get the research job. He was going to leave Earth behind.

 

“I’m going on the flight.”

 

“No, Mr. Griffith,” said the bureaucrat. “You are not.”

 

He took a deep breath and tried to figure what to say next.

 

“You will also break off all contact with Lida Eldis.”

 

“What? How do you know about her?” Jerry realized his hands were bunched into fists, which probably wasn’t great when dealing with federal agents, but he had bigger concerns. “You can’t do that. I’m getting a lawyer. Who are you? What are your names?”

 

“In the coming years, Mr. Griffith, we might come to you again as the need arises. There might be times in the future when we will be required to steer you away from certain other courses of action. Please understand that this does not necessarily make you a suspect in any specific investigations. Our role here is merely preventative.”

 

Over the past few minutes it had gradually dawned on him what had happened. “You ran something on me in Pre-Live, didn’t you? You used the data I fed the system. Well, if you can see the future, so can I. I can go back to Pre-Live and find out how to get around you.”

 

It was a stupid threat. In calmer moments, he wouldn’t have explained his plan to his adversaries. In this case, however, they looked unfazed. “You will find we are not in Pre-Live’s consumer database, Mr. Griffith. Have a good day.”

They left him in his hotel room. Jerry stared after them. Sixteen stories below, Lida was walking out through the lobby, and he would never see her again.

 

Or would he.

 

It wasn’t a question.

 

Pre-Live. He had to get back to Pre-Live. He just needed to feed it more data. It would show him a way.