clifford_a-_pickover_surfing_through_hyperspacebookfi-org

mirror worlds
FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C., 9:00 P.M.
You look out the window. The rain has stopped. "Let's continue our discussion
in the fresh air," you say to Sally. "I'm in the mood for river
sights." You carry a bag with props that will be useful later in your
lessons.
Third Street winds downhill—past Leo's Pizza and Pasta, past life-size
holograms of Clinton, Reagan, and Carter—following the kinks and
bends of the Potomac River. The buildings are set well back from the
streets and it isn't until you get nearer to the water that you see a considerable
number of people. Hundreds. The nearby avenues are themselves
very busy with endless streams of noisy taxis. A few joggers pass—no
matter how swiftly they run, they are constrained to the asphalt and concrete
and probably always would be. Would they want to experience, as
you do, a jog into the fourth dimension?
You gaze into a clothing shop and stare at a large mirror. "Sally, I just
love mirrors. Do you?"
Sally stares at you in the mirror. "Can't say that I thought much about
it."
"Did you know that present-day mirrors are made by spraying a thin
layer of molten aluminum or silver onto glass in a vacuum?"
"That's very interesting, I'm sure."
You duck into an alleyway and withdraw a small object from your bag.
"Look at this Sally! I have a rotation machine."
Sally spins round and round, like a top. "Anyone can rotate."
"No, this device will let us rotate in the fourth dimension so that we
are transformed into our mirror image!"
Sally smiles. "You've got to be kidding!"
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