[FONT="]For your story, you may want to look for some reason for the mirror-image that does not involve molecules becoming mirror images. [/FONT]
Yes, that's what I think I'll do. Maybe I'll say that the reversal only happens down to the range of a millimeter. I don't need this effect at all, but it seems like it would be a fun thing.
And as I learned from REWahoo, I can do anything I want because it's Science
Fiction.
Here's a first draft of the very beginning of the book:
The naked woman materialized behind the umpire during the first game of the playoffs.
I squinted at the TV. It looked real. Not a special effect. I moved the live video stream back one minute and paused it. “Hey, guys? You’ll want to see this.”
“Double play?” Stan wandered in from the kitchen, digging into a jar of peanut butter with a spoon.
“Not exactly.” I said.
“How old are these olives?” Craig’s voice sounded like his head was in the fridge. My condo is small. I could hear him fine.
“Get in here, Craig.”
I waited until Stan had flopped down on the couch and Craig stood behind it with his arms crossed. The smell of the pizza we’d demolished still hung in the air. I pressed play.
Her body appeared all at once. One second: normal baseball game. Roar of the crowd, droning announcers, runner at second, fast-ball pitch. Next second: blip, a floating body. It looked as if she were lying face up on a high table. But there was no table. She was stretched out in the air at head level. In fact, one of her hands was touching the ump’s head.
Craig gave a little yip, and Stan stopped chewing. Then started again.
Her body dropped to the ground. No table, remember? The hand must have been caught in the umpire’s mask or hat, because she pulled him down with her. He was a big man, and his butt landed on her face.
“That’s gotta hurt.” Stanislaw Stanislowski guided the spoon back into the peanut butter. Nothing fazes him. Thirty-five years as a cop will do that. He put another oily gob of my all-natural crunchy into his mouth, getting some on his mustache.
Craig looked at him. “Really, Stan? The weirdest thing in history happens, and you’re joking around?”
Stan shrugged. He had a wide body and a rough face. His five-o’clock shadow usually arrived around lunchtime, and his eyebrows looked like woolly bear caterpillars heading into a cold winter.
Craig got up close to the screen. “Hold on. Back up to when she appears and zoom in.”
I made the appropriate gestures to the DigiCast, moved the video feed back, paused it, and zoomed in.
“No, not on her boobs, Eric, sheesh. On her hand. Here, let me drive.” He snatched the controller and panned over to the official’s head. My system had resolution up the wazoo, and we could see the ump’s individual hairs.
My first novel should be out in a few weeks, and everyone here gets a free copy!
