Changing the Texture of Plastics On Demand

"Have you seen one of these?" she asked, as she opened the lid.
Lying in a nest of velvet was something that looked like a large, silver egg, about twice the size of the real eggs that Duncan had encountered in the Centennial Hotel.

"What is it?" he asked. "A piece of sculpture?"

"Pick it up---but be careful not to drop it."

Despite this warning, that was very nearly what he did. The egg was not particularly heavy, but it seemed alive--even squirming in his hand, though it showed no sign of any visible movement. However, when he looked at it more carefully, he could see faint opalescent bands flowing over the surface and momentarily blurring the mirror finish. They looked very much like waves of heat, yet there was no sensation of warmth.

"Cup it in both hands," Calindy instructed him, "and close your eyes."

Duncan obeyed, despite an almost irresistible impulse to see what was really happening to the extraordinary object he held. He felt completely disoriented, because it seemed that the sense of touch--the most reliable of all man's messengers from the external universe-was betraying him. For the very texture of the egg was constantly changing. It no longer felt like metal; unbelievably, it was furry. He might have been fondling some small wooled animal--a kitten, perhaps....

But only for seconds. The egg shivered, became hard and rough--it was made of sandpaper, coarse enough to grate the skin..... the sandpaper became satin, so smooth and silky that he wanted to caress it. There was barely time to obey the impulse when..... the egg was liquefying and becoming gelatinous. It seemed about to ooze through his fingers, and Duncan had to force himself not to drop it in disgust. O.nly the knowledge that this could not really be happening gave him strength to control the reflex...

? . . it was made of wood; there was no doubt of that, for he could even feel the grain...

? . . before it dissolved into myriads of separate bristles, each so sharp and distinct that he could feel them prickling his skin....

And there were sensations that he could not even name, some delightful, most neutral, but some so unpleasant that he could scarcely control his revulsion.
At last, when within his cupped palms Duncan felt the unique, the incomparable touch of human skin, curiosity and amazement got the better of him. He opened his hands; the silver egg was completely unchanged, though now it felt as if it were carved from soap.

"What in heaven's name is it?" he cried.

"It's a tactoid. You haven't heard of them?"

'No."

"Fascinating, isn't it? It does to the sense of touch what a kaleidoscope does to vision. No, don't ask me how it works--something to do with controlled electrical stimulation."

"What's it used for?"

"Must everything have a purpose? It's just a toy--a novelty. Hut I had a very good reason for showing it to you."

"Oh, I know. 'The latest from Earth.'"

Source: http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotScience/~3/hLJUazQopLg/changing-the-texture-of-plastics-on-demand

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