Atomic Travel “What do they know about transdimensional travel anyways,” he muttered to himself, but a little louder than expected. His normally complacent tabby snapped out of her catnap and quickly surveyed the make-shift laboratory which dominated her once solitary basement domain. “Don’t be alarmed Mishka,” he purred. “I’m not angry at you. It’s those skeptical physicists who think they know the universe as if they created it!” Maybe he was crazy. After all, who discusses with their cat the theory of transdimensional travel? Staring into the dim light cast by the various instrument panels and computer monitors, he thought back to the time when 3D computer modeling was a sophisticated science. What would those artists think of the semi-solid holograms that blight every street corner today? “I’m a scientist, not a loonatic!” he bellowed. This time Mishka ran out of the room. Perhaps she was afraid that she would be shoved back into that platinum tube and turned into a smoldering fur ball again. Well, he had to admit that he had not accounted for the extra charge density that would build up on her fur. But aside from the singed fur, she did survive the transdimensional passage from one side of the basement to the other with no apparent side-effects. Not that anyone would believe him. Always one to learn from his past mistakes, and there were plenty of them, he made sure that his arms and legs were completely shaved. Now all that was left was his head. Looking into the mirror, he realized how the enormous efforts of the past few years had left their mark. Sleepless nights in the lab, endless meetings with venture capitalists, selling the SUV to pay for equipment…that was a killer. The public transportation system is not the community artery system it claims to be. But then again, isn’t that what transdimensional travel is supposed to cure? As the frizzled locks tumbled into the sink to the hum of the electric shaver, the generator kicked in and caused a brief interruption in power. “That’s all I need now,” he thought. “A glitch in the power and my atoms will be spewed over the lab like the stars in the night sky.” After he inspected his shiny scalp, the hairless pioneer continued with his schedule. Barefooted and nervous, he walked gingerly over to the teepee-shaped transponder he had constructed from platinum coated solar shields. It is a good thing that he was a bit of a pack rat and managed to save the remnants of solar shield that he purchased at auction when NASA was dissolved. He checked the instrumentation one more time, just as he had been doing during the mock trials every day for the past week. Everything was stable. The generator was chugging with a steady rhythm. The power connections were sturdy. He flipped a few switches, crawled into the teepee, and sealed the flap. He was not too old and inflexible to get into the lotus position, and after a few minutes, he had made himself somewhat comfortable. It seemed quieter in here and definitely darker. Even though he had a layer of clothing against his skin, the cold floor seemed to suck the warmth out of his body. Beep. The first countdown signal came so quickly that it startled him. Well, at least the first stage of diagnostic checks passed. He wished he had used that program the first time he tried to send an object, a pencil, transdimensionally. Not knowing what to expect, he had interpreted the lack of computer activity to mean that the program had crashed. What a surprise he had when he reached to open the transponder tube, and an electric arc that almost stopped his heart jumped to grab his outstretched fingers. Beep. Stage two is done. Only a few more minutes and he would be the first human to travel transdimensionally. “Why didn’t I set up a recorder to capture this event?” he wondered to himself. “They would probably think I created the whole thing with the latest animation software,” he sarcastically replied. The palms of his hands were beginning to sweat, and he wiped them on his pants. “I have to control my sweating,” he thought. Who knows what the extra water on the skin would do. Be-eep. What was that? The beep sounded like it had a hic-cup. Was the generator failing? Maybe he should get out and check. He could always restart the sequence. No. It was too late to go back now. He had come too far to be worried about a strange-sounding beep. It was probably just his imagination. Then he heard another strange sound. It was a soft scratching noise, like the sharp blade of an ice skate gliding across a frozen pond. Other than the generator, there was no moving machinery in the vicinity. What could it be? Then he heard, “Meow.” Mishka! “Get away from here or you’ll be fried you stupid cat!” Suddenly, a faint buzz that started in his right ear turned into a mind-numbing scream as a blitz of chromic light burst before his wide-opened eyes like the climax of a fireworks display. And then it was over. His ears still ringing, he slowly crawled out of the teepee, and he immediately noticed that he was on the other side of the basement in the identical looking receiver unit. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream… so he screamed, “I am a genius!” “Mishka! Come and celebrate with me!” he called as he danced around the room like a child with an overdose of candy. “Mishka!” he called again, hoping that his only friend had not been injured in some way. Then he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror. The unmistakable tabby stripes that covered his face and neck would be the lasting scars of his long quest to achieve what others said could not be done.