Hylozoic by Rudy Rucker

Chu, emerging from Nektar’s house next door, a tidy white surfboard under his arm. His wetsuit was plain black.
    â€œHere I am, too,” announced Mabel, alighting on the patio, lithe and lovely in the morning sun. “I was trying to borrow aboard and a suit, but nobody trusts me. Just because I’ve never borrowed anything here before.”
    â€œI’ll get it for you,” said Momotaro, and moments later the gear appeared.
    Mabel changed clothes in the house—even though nobody had true privacy anymore, face-to-face nudity was still an issue. And then they were set. The six teleported to a spot on the seaward edge of the Potato Patch break—about a mile out to sea from the straits of the Golden Gate Bridge.
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    â€œCold!” gasped Jayjay, paddling at Thuy’s side. “I have an ice cream headache in my feet!”
    The four others—the youngsters—had already propelled themselves to where the waves were actually breaking. The smart surfboards could pulse ripples along their bottoms to speed you up. But Thuy and Jayjay were in no rush to meet the waves. The Potato Patch breakers were ragged and intimidating.
    â€œI love the ocean’s salty taste,” said Thuy, remembering her high school surf sessions. She squirted a little spout at Jayjay. “It was creepy how bland everything seemed at our house this morning.”
    â€œYou stopped being bland as soon as we got to San Francisco,” said Jayjay with a half smile. “Enter the dragon.”
    â€œDon’t even,” said Thuy, flipping her hair so the drops flew in his face. “I can’t believe you were in the subdimensions last night. And what’s up with that pitchfork? Where did the beanstalk lead to?”
    â€œSupposedly it ran all the way out the lazy eight axis to infinity,” said Jayjay. “The pitchfork and I climbed ten tridecillion steps up.” His symmetrical features were smooth andsincere. “The beanstalk had a name: Art Zed. He taught me about thinking faster. The pitchfork said I’m a zedhead now. And then—I can’t remember exactly. The pitchfork talked a lot. I told you the magic harp was there. She and the pitchfork are married. Lovva and Groovy. And there was . . . a tall bird.” Jayjay fell silent for a moment, worrying. “I think something bad happened then. Oh, never mind. I just want to be here now. With you.”
    â€œWe’ll try for a wave,” said Thuy, glad to change the subject. “See the big water bumps wallowing under us? Wave embryos. They’re coming in from both the north and the south because of the tide pouring into the bay. The intersection of flows is what makes the Potato Patch so gnarly.
Cowabuuuunga
. Did you ever actually hear anyone say that?”
    â€œYou know I’ve never been surfing before, Thuy. If I do catch a wave, I’m totally not standing up.” Jayjay’s suit displayed a cautious turtle-shell pattern.
    â€œFollow me,” said Thuy. “And listen to your surfboard.”
    She paddled ahead. Her surfboard’s name was Everooze. Everooze was eager to help her carve some curl. He was teeping into the environment, watching the ocean’s undulations. And his sensitive skin was in tune with the subtle flows of the water around them. Everooze suggested that if Thuy were to angle off to the right about thirty meters and wait there, she’d be able to catch a gigundo swell that was just now rolling in from the horizon. “Visualize, realize, actualize,” added the surfboard.
    Thuy passed the advice to Jayjay and they lay waiting at the spot that Everooze had picked. She kept her eyes on the ocean, watching for signs of the promised wave, not wanting to rely entirely upon telepathy.
    Off to the left, Mabel had caught a ride. Although she was too self-conscious to whoop, her teep image was a giant grin. Momotaro was surfing at her side. Closer to