clifford_a-_pickover_surfing_through_hyperspacebookfi-org

156 surfing through hyperspace
sometimes single or naught or three.
Let then your imagination wander
to the land where I grew this flower
and your heart yearn for new places,
and you will see me and love me in my many faces,
and know wonders your kind calls magical power,
and know riddles that even your Sphinx could not ponder.
Although touched by the being's show of emotion, Sally declined his
romantic advances and eventually married Narcinko. A year later, you
discovered that the man in the Santa Glaus outfit was working for the
Omegamorphs, helping people lift off into the fourth dimension and
providing neural implants so explorers could see more clearly while taking
transuniversal journeys.
A day ago you received your implants and decided to make a trip.
Tanya, a woman who had already made several journeys into the fourth
dimension, is by your side, functioning as a tour guide. After several
months of intensive training with Tanya, studying ordinary shapes in
your own world, you feel you are ready for the ultimate trip.
Occasionally Tanya disappears, wreathed in fog. It often seems that
you are going in different directions. As you fly, you recall Sally's admonition
not to worry about the phantom Santa Glaus. At the time, it seemed
there was no real need to find him. But perhaps Sally had, all along, been
trying to tell you not to feel guilty about your dreams of flight. She knew
it was important always to reach out, break the barriers, leave personal
demons behind—to escape from your cages.
Tanya seems to lose altitude for a second, but it is probably only your
imagination. For a dizzying minute you feel as if you are about to fall.
Oh no! Down you plunge. A windy sound fills your ears. Below, you
think you see the Washington Monument, ominous, powerful, looming
up like a bleached bone. But no. It is only your difficulty of adjusting to
the new way of perceiving.
Space rushes by. Maybe stars and galaxies. And then there is the flashing
of small creatures, many with tiny, symmetrical tiles on their surfaces
(Fig. 6.4).
The sounds grow quieter, except . . . every now and then you think
you hear a faint sigh, barely audible. At first you think it is Tanya, but
you hear the sound repeatedly and finally realize it is coming from some-