The world is not just stuff.

Minus 111.9.

The widely publicized mystery of the flying saucers may soon be solved.

The wall stared back at the man in a taunting beige. It was littered with the pictures and awards of an illustrious military career,

but none of those things mattered.

The wall was not conquered.

It still held its power over the man. His name was Albert Stubblebine. He was a major

general in the U.S. Army overseeing some 16,000 troops as the chief of that branch's intelligence

program. The year was 1983. His reasons for staring back at the wall were not founded on any

actual ill will he felt for the wall.

He just wanted to know it completely.

He wanted to master it.

How could he not master something as simple as a couple layers of sheet rock and a few pine studs?

But after so much time spent without success, his feelings toward the wall started to become personal.

So he sat at his desk and studied it, looking past the awards and into the wall's essence.

He muttered strange things under his breath.

It's just made up of atoms. Atoms are mostly empty space. So am I. Why shouldn't I be able to do it?

He was lucky to be alone in his office. Doubtless, he looked somewhat like a maniac speaking and

staring this way. Stubblebine stood up, never taking his eyes off the wall. He side shuffled around

his mahogany desk and stood tall at its side. He visualized it over and over

again in his head. He reminded himself once more that the wall was there for him, not he for it. Without a blink of

further hesitation, he leaned forward, eyes still piercing the wall, and ran as fast as he could across the wide office. He jumped

...