clifford_a-_pickover_surfing_through_hyperspacebookfi-org
clifford_a-_pickover_surfing_through_hyperspacebookfi-org
clifford_a-_pickover_surfing_through_hyperspacebookfi-org
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SATAN AND PERPENDICULAR WORLDS 67<br />
Exotic matter has special properties that will enlarge and hold open a<br />
wormhole. Maybe some advanced extraterrestrial civilization has such a<br />
device, but we don't know."<br />
You motion to all the police cars with flashing lights. "Let's find out<br />
what's happening here." You get out of the car and walk over the manicured<br />
grounds toward the White House entrance.<br />
A large man wearing a Secret Service—style radio earpiece and dressed<br />
in a black suit with a hundred-dollar haircut is standing dead center in<br />
front of the entrance with his finger pointing at you. The man is at least<br />
six feet five, 250 pounds, with a neck twice the thickness of yours, and a<br />
nose that has been broken more times than you care to imagine. He<br />
seems one part football player and one part weight lifter. "No one enters<br />
the White House," he says.<br />
You flash your FBI badge.<br />
The man shakes his head. "No one enters the White House."<br />
You sigh. This conversation wasn't going to be productive. "Whose<br />
house is this?" you ask.<br />
The man looks confused by that one.<br />
You point to yourself. "My good man, the answer to that question is<br />
simple—the house is mine. I'm a taxpayer. I'm also from the FBI. Moreover,<br />
I'm here to protect the president from the Omegamorphs." You feign<br />
left, cut right, and step into the White House with Sally close behind.<br />
The man puts his huge ham hand on your shoulder. This is not a wise<br />
choice—even for someone so much larger than you. You have the odd<br />
but compelling idea that your FBI badge entitles you to investigate<br />
crimes.<br />
You countergrab the man's hand. The palm of your right hand lifts the<br />
man's arm at his elbow joint, causing the arm to hyperextend, and then<br />
you form a chicken-beak shape with your right hand as you swipe the<br />
man's arm away.<br />
Suddenly there is a scream from within the White House. You race<br />
<strong>through</strong> the East Room and then <strong>through</strong> the Red Room. You dash past<br />
paintings of Abraham Lincoln, Zachary Taylor, and John F. Kennedy.<br />
Finally, arriving at the State Dining Room, you find the president. He is<br />
surrounded by blobs, obviously one or more creatures from the fourth<br />
dimension.<br />
The president's Secret Service surround him, pointing their weapons<br />
at the fleshy blobs, but it's hard to get a clean shot at shapes constantly<br />
changing size and disappearing and reappearing.