In a split-second the collection of globes shrank into a mobile, then to a pinpoint. It withdrew, withdrew, withdrew into a galactic arm that spun faster and faster. The camera retreats, takes its place in a shower of spinning galaxies that spin faster and faster and disappear into a black vortex. Awaking, he tried to net the full vision within those blue covers.
Later, like a modern Scrooge (one difference was that Scott’s three spirits were of his own invention, not delivered from without) he plunged into a second slumber. He found himself jogging. The sun traced an arc from east to west; the moon, ditto, half a lap behind, like at that star-show. When the two slid into alignment, he felt himself arise and hang suspended above the world’s blue surface, weaving like some Maypole dancer i
