#i used a warp speed chart and a calculator

[avsiloeb]

Not me watching Star Trek TNG and calculating the amount of time they're gonna take to get somewhere based on the distance and warp factor mentioned

[mathlann]

Warp Travel in Rogue Trader

So, of course the main rule of Warp Travel is that it moves at the speed of the plot, so all of this goes with a grain of salt. But for anyone like me who likes to get caught up in how "how long is this taking?" the OG Rulebook does have a rough guide for how to calculate travel times.

So, the main thing is that there're two bits to keep track of in Warp Travel: Subjective Time and Realspace Time.

Subjective Time

Subjective time is the part of the journey experienced inside the Warp, and it's some of the reason why it's impossible to keep time in this setting. So the book has this chart to estimate the subjective time of a (straight shot, presumably) journey as would be the equivalent of green or yellow routes in the CRPG:

So, the Koronus Expanse being the Sector, and the very small part of it we get in-game being the sub-sector, roughly, one end of your Protectorate to another should be within 5-10 days of subjective time in the Warp at most.

Now the CRPG also lets you upgrade routes from red to green, which does work mechanically insofar as representing routes getting safer, since players are most likely to green their most traveled spots and be stingy on NP for one-off systems. This is also how it would work in-setting, but I'd add the routes that would "stay" green would be the ones you travel the most. So routes between settled worlds and Footfall might be subjectively "shorter" than similar routes to outlying systems because of the volume of trade and travel along those places.

This is what the second chart measures:

Thus, Cassia being more experienced can speed up or slow down the time it takes to get somewhere. So realistically, your first trip from Footfall to Janus, at best is maybe going to be within a few days, maybe more because Cassia has to chart course anew. But subsequent trips can be much faster because the route is short and she knows where she's going. Whereas those orange to red routes or systems that you only visit once or twice, are maybe going to take the week if not longer without some help. Pirates and other criminals are good to know here because they're more likely to settle in places off the Warp Highway and thus have better mapping of those areas, but not always, etc etc. but that's the kind of outside resources you might use to increase success on that chart.

Realspace Time

Realspace time is going to be a little bit more consistent on the start and stop of a journey, but total realspace time is largely going to depend on your Warp Route. So, building off of the previous point, the ratio of Subjective to Realspace time is variable along similar lines. Well traveled routes are going to have a shorter time dilation between points than longer or more dangerous routes.

The book gives a rough estimate of One Day in the Warp = Twelve Days in Realspace. Which, I will note that the Expanse is much more populated in the CRPG than it is in the TTRPG and the latter is dealing with a much larger area so that ratio is probably too big. I'd personally say 1:8 for orange routes at most. But in general, the book recommends that a stable route is shorter than that, and can go as far down as a 1:1 ratio while turbulent areas can go worse. But unless you want to write a story dealing with that, Argenta-style "hundred years past our arrival date" trips are extremely rare, as are "we arrived technically before we left" trips.

So the last and most consistent part of Realspace time is honestly not super necessary but that would be dealing with Mandeville Points, which are where ships enter and exit the Warp from Realspace, to then travel to the relevant planet. You rarely if ever enter a system near a planet or moon unless you like having your shit wrecked but even then, the book recommends that Rogue Trader vessels and other fancier ships are going to take anywhere between a few days up to two weeks depending on their destination within a system.

Longer and more turbulent routes would also recommend that you stop every few bits and re-enter Realspace to reorient and lessen your chances of being knocked off course. Also to get any Astropath Mail you may have missed. So while if you needed a direct route from Dargonus to Kiava Gamma it is feasible, you'd maybe want to stop half way, refuel, etc etc anyways if things aren't urgent.

So, roughly

An uncomplicated journey within your Protectorate is maybe taking over a week, more or less depending on distance and how many stops you make along the way.

Act 2 is probably longer than Act 4 time-wise because you're exploring and mapping out your Protectorate mostly "from scratch."

Not even counting Webway travel because that is a whole 'nother can of worms, but the time between Marazhai challenging you on Grantis to getting an invasion together for Dargonus is probably more time than you think considering he has you out in the boonies where your Warp to Realspace ratio is probably a bit bigger, ie, what was maybe a six day round trip for you from Dargonus was probably over a week or two for him.

Furthermore, any Drukhari safely tucked away in the Lower Decks is only going to need a day or two of people in his hold per trip, on average.

[sciencestyled]

The Alchemical Marriage of Pi and DNA: A Hilariously Twisted Saga of Mathematics in Science Education

Ladies, gentlemen, and distinguished nerds of the jury, strap yourselves in and adjust your monocles; we're about to embark on a wild ride through the whimsically warped world of mathematics in science education. Imagine, if you will, a universe where Pythagoras DJs at the biggest raves, Newton’s apple is a viral meme, and Einstein's hair isn't just a style statement but the ultimate symbol of scientific rebellion. Welcome to the chaos.

Now, let's get down to brass tacks, or should I say, brass abacuses? Science education, that hallowed ground where the brave dare to tread, has long been the breeding ground for future world leaders, Nobel laureates, and that person who finally figures out how to get printers to work on the first try. But at the heart of this intellectual jungle gym is the unsung hero, the silent beatboxer to science's rap battle: mathematics.

Ah, mathematics, the language of the universe, or as I like to call it, the universal gossip column spilling the tea on everything from the atoms twerking in your coffee cup to the swagger of galaxies on the cosmic runway. It's the tool that transforms the abstract into the "Oh, snap, I get it now!" moments in various science disciplines. Whether it's statistical analysis, modeling, or computational methods, math is the secret sauce that makes the science burger taste so darn good.

Picture this: you're chilling in biology class, right? Suddenly, the teacher drops the bomb that DNA replication is basically just a very meticulous braid of nucleotides, kind of like your cousin trying to explain the plot of "Inception" – it's all about patterns, baby! And who's there, with a smug smile and a calculator? Math, ready to explain the party tricks of enzymes and the RSVP list of amino acids.

Or how about when you're knee-deep in environmental science, crying into your recycled notebook about deforestation, and boom! Math swoops in, cape billowing, with statistical models that predict the effects of human folly on Mother Nature's mood swings. It's like having a crystal ball, but instead of vague warnings about tall, dark strangers, you get graphs and charts showing precisely how screwed we might be if we don’t change our ways.

And let’s not forget the rock stars of the scientific world: physics and chemistry, where math plays the lead guitar and occasionally smashes it on stage. Want to know why atoms don't just decide to break up the band and go solo? Quantum mechanics, with its mathematical autographs, has the answers. Curious about the cosmic mosh pit that is the universe? General relativity throws down the equations to keep the party going at the speed of light.

But, dear audience, it's not all just numbers and equations, oh no. Mathematics in science education is like the ultimate crossover episode where every character from your favorite shows turns up. It's "The Avengers" of academia, where every discipline brings its own superpowers to the table, united by the common goal of understanding this weird, wonderful, and absolutely bonkers reality we call home.

And in this era of technological razzle-dazzle, computational methods stand at the forefront like the cool kids in class, coding their way through problems like hackers in a Hollywood movie, minus the dubious ethics and questionable fashion choices. From mapping the human genome to simulating climate change scenarios, computational science is the VIP lounge of the academic club, and math is the bouncer deciding who gets in.

So, as we stand on the precipice of knowledge, gazing into the abyss of ignorance, let us remember the words of the great sage, Weird Al Yankovic, "I was valedictorian, I got a full ride to MIT, and I was on a very strict diet of milk, fish, and honey - until I started to break out in Pi." Mathematics in science education isn't just a subject; it's a lifestyle, a state of mind, and the ultimate cosmic joke that we're all in on.

In conclusion, as we navigate the labyrinthine corridors of science education, let us clutch our graphing calculators like the swords of yore, ready to duel with ignorance and emerge victorious. For in the alchemical marriage of pi and DNA, we find not just answers, but the right questions, the kind that lead us to the edge of the universe and ask, "So, got any snacks?"

And remember, in the grand scheme of things, whether you're splitting atoms or merely splitting hairs over the Oxford comma, mathematics is there, the faithful steed upon which we ride into the sunset of understanding, leaving bewilderment in our wake. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go help Schrödinger's cat out of the box. It's been meowing for quantum assistance, and frankly, the suspense is killing me – or not.

[holding-hands-and-hearts]

Proof of Life

He had never quite gotten used to the blinding, brilliant hallways, how even the passages seemed like laboratories. They were white and sterile, absent of life. The longnecks never even dropped anything, never trailed rain on the floors, didn’t leave footprints or marks on the walls. Kamino had never seemed lived-in. It felt like a simulation, a time warp, where the rest of the galaxy ceased to exist. He could slip in and out as he pleased, and he was okay with that.

Usually, he made his footsteps as silent as the city’s inhabitants. He walked with purpose, and watched as they looked at him like a specimen on a dissection table - some element of physiology they could not understand. The Kaminoans were not like Mandalore. They spoke palely, circumvented the point and trusted you to guess at their meaning and blame someone else at the same time. Mandalorians got straight to the point. Kaminoans moved like observers, their eyes unblinking, a neutrality that was so wholly scientific it did not seem real. He had learned to read the bias under their eyes, their silent judgement when something was not quite the same.

Mandalorians walked like they owned the place. Mandalorians could be whatever fit best, changing strategies and language and personality like changes of clothes.

So he did.

Today, his footsteps echoed in the blank hallways. Today, when he passed a longneck, their heads turned and their eyes widened, just the tiniest bit. Today, he was blunt, and he did not care. Today he had somewhere to be.

“Master Fett.” Nala Se’s words were deliberate, painfully slow. She blinked her wide gray eyes at half speed, hands floating over the console she was working at. Holograms flashed around her, graphs and charts of data he didn’t care to understand. “Clone Alpha has been successfully decanted.”

“I would like to see him.” Jango stared her down. His words scraped across the room, a rough balance of control and force.

“Of course.” Nala Se touched her fingers to the screen of the console. Her hand drifted to an unmarked door. “This way, please.”

At least she moved quicker than she spoke, her tall frame lending length to her steps. The door swirled open out of their way.

“Clone Alpha is healthy,” the scientist intoned. “He has been released to your custody.”

Jango did not thank her.

Throughout his life, he had never been speechless. Nonplussed. Roused. Interested. Distant. Jango was taught to be calculated, never to reveal his hand, never to betray himself - not his emotions, not his thoughts. Weak points led to opportunity led to death, and there was no in between.

But this took his breath away.

This tiny creature took his breath away.

He did not remember returning to his apartment, the blinding hallways and lack of something indescribable.

He only remembered the baby, how he watched the world with shadowed eyes, how his tiny nostrils flared, how his features were untouched by blaster fire and cruelty. He waved his fists lazily, his fingers so small they tickled, and Jango could not find the ridges of bone beneath the surface of his skin.

Boba grew so fast that Jango suspected, initially, that the Kaminoans had not honored their word. How could a child that could grow a millimeter overnight, that inhaled food as frequently as oxygen, whose eyes sharpened with each passing day, not be modified for growth acceleration?

But no, this was normal.

Days blurred. Jango remembered it in images, tiny moments that he tucked into the back of his mind for safekeeping.

Boba’s face twisted when he first tried solid food. He giggled whenever Jango placed him on his stomach, as if the floor were something funny, and the way his features lit up, there had never been anything brighter. He crawled at lightspeed, leaving a trail of wreckage in his wake, and mouthed Jango’s gauntlets when he began teething. He was so determined to learn how to walk that he spent hours at a time learning to stand, falling over, making faces, rinse and repeat. When it stormed, he watched the lightning like it held the galaxy’s secrets. He loved bone broth, but treated jogans like the plague incarnate.

Boba was two when he got his hands on a set of finger paints. Jango had met up with Cad Bane for a job, and the dry-humored Duros had passed them along as some kind of joke. But Boba loved them, drowning his hands in the bright colors and squealing his delight to all of Tipoca City.

Taun We knocked on the door and he scampered past her out of the apartment, his little hands coated in layers of paint. And, laughing, he smeared them all over the bright white walls like blank canvases, leaving streaks of vivid color behind him. Intent on making his mark.

Suddenly, the hallways didn’t seem like a lab anymore. They were simply home, filled full with Boba’s glee and smudges of disorderly color that made Taun We gasp in horror.

Boba made this feel lived in. Proof of life, in blotches of paint and tiny fingerprints on the walls.

For a moment, it was enough.

*******

Happy Clonetober!! Huge huge thanks to @clonetober for putting together the prompt list. It looks like so much fun. I will be attempting to keep up throughout the month, so we'll see how it goes? Please let me know if you have ideas for daily prompts, I would love to geek out about the best boys with you.

Here's Jango being a Dad™. I really couldn't help imagining him try to deal with baby Boba (the chaos it must have been!), and I love to think of the two of them completely upending the Kaminoans' stiffness for once. I think Lama Su would have an aneurysm if he bore witness to the mess a child can make. He'd totally deserve it, anyway.

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form:

I was thinking about having outer space with a lot of traffic and there could be traffic jams and construction forcing traffic to divert and such. Does that even make sense in the first place? This would most certainly cause the time spaceships take to get to places vary a lot. The problem is with this, is because planets or anything aren't in one place, that means if you are faster or slower, then you be in the wrong place simply due to that. Which means, this is another complication and spaceships will constantly need to calculate new routes on top of this?

Tex: To tackle the least complex of this question first - I’m not sure how much construction would be part of inter- and intra-stellar travel that factors into this. Having an area under perpetual construction for years or decades at a time either indicates an incredibly large-scale project (new spaceport or Death Star levels of big), or a time and resource mis-management that means nothing substantial is getting done in the first place. Those are slightly different issues, though, so would require a separate time to delve into that subject.

Like GPS, I’ve always assumed that navigational technology for space travel would be periodically updated, and include such parameters as celestial body drifting, gravitational flux, and similar concerns.

If FTL travel is used - which I’m presuming would be standard for interstellar travel - then it’s not like you can poke your head out the window to figure out where things are. Because of that, I’m presuming all routes are calculated for each endpoint (current location to end location, up to and including spaceport docking or other landing styles).

In that case, there would be a fair amount of automation, and relaying with docking ports in particular would likely including an air traffic controller that would process incoming traffic to make sure things like traffic jams - and their resulting traffic accidents, where probable - are reduced in order to maintain efficient flow of ship movement.

Logistically speaking, no, this wouldn’t make a lot of sense, unless you’re referring to the relatively blind nature of transit while performing FTL speeds in a spaceship. A lot of this would depend on the FTL engine type the ship has, but I think dropping to sub-light speeds would not necessarily be an issue, mostly because I imagine a society would take this into account and have designated warp-drop areas so accidents don’t happen.

To put another way, I doubt that space ships would be doing the equivalent of parking in the middle of a highway because they’re close to their destination - more likely, they’d do the equivalent of exiting a hyperlane and lower their speed on the new “road” accordingly, much like an off-ramp for a highway.

Utuabzu: I agree mostly with Tex. Space is big. Like, bigger than humans can properly conceive of and almost entirely empty. The only real reason for anything resembling a road would be known, charted and cleared safe routes to use some sort of faster-than-light travel, because above the speed of light it's impossible to see what's ahead of (or behind) you, and hitting even the smallest speck of dust would be catastrophic. Even then, space is really big, so it'd have to be a very important route to get clogged.

A more likely sort of congestion would be in orbit of a planet or moon. Stable orbits are only possible within the Hill Sphere and above the Roche Limit, which gives a limited volume of space. Add in enough satellites, space stations, orbiting vessels, colonies and other assorted infrastructure, and it is quite possible that almost all safe orbits could eventually be occupied.

A related issue could come from space junk rendering large parts of that volume unusable, something that concerns our current space agencies.

[haxorus-imp]

Alien Affections - Villainous/Reader - Chapter 1

The roof of Black Hat manor was alive with moving equipment and a single living being. The stars were vivid in the sky and the twilight had long since darkened into the late night. Yet, the man on the roof was hard at work. Moving around machinery and a large metal crate. Placing said crate next to a glowing green, gun-like mechanism that was aimed toward the vast starry sky. The man grunted as he sat down some pieces of equipment next to the large metal crate. Wiping away the sweat that had gathered on the surface of his bag from the effort, he observed the control station that he had set up. A couple of machines had been placed around the rooftop. Beeping and humming, while also producing various data-related information on the experiment that was currently taking place. Each respective machine all hooked up to the gun-like mechanism, recording and exchanging information. The masked man observed the station and sighed in relief, now that all of the heavy lifting was over and done with. Thankfully, he couldn't feel the coldness of the atmosphere that was around himself. It being on the back end of the cold season. The heavy lifting was keeping him warmer than usual. He blinked when one of the machines began to beep. Signalling it had finished fetching the information that he required. Which was the environmental feedback data that was necessary to execute the project. With some pressings of a few buttons on a box-like machine, it began to revise the data it received. A noisy beeping came from the box-like machine, as it flicked on some lights and began to collect data from the planets' satellites. Then, it expelled the data out of a slot on it's side. All printed out like a receipt. The man tore the printed paper away from the slot and reviewed it. He also picked up the chart that was left off to the side. Analyzing it with careful eyes as he processed the information on both of the pamphlets. It appeared to be a good day for hunting meteorites! As the recording data that came from the box-like machine stated that the radar had detected some asteroid belts some lightyears over in the next cosmic region. Perfect ones that were ripe for the picking. Some were of very reasonable sizes too! Yet, why was this insane-sounding project currently being worked on by a lone man on the roof of a building that was shaped like a top hat? Simple, really. His boss wanted some meteorites to sell to villains as power sources. Despite the mans' past protest to abort said-plan to get asteroids to sell to villains. It was...a pretty one-sided decision. -- The double doors to a dimly lit office were slowly opened to reveal a man. He was dressed in a lab coat with a blue shirt with a plane that was broken in two halves, some typical blue jeans, with red and white sneakers. Yet, the man had a very peculiar item on his head that covered his face. As He was wearing a paper bag with goggles that covered his entire head. He cautiously ventured into the dark room, wary about his surroundings as he approached a desk that was at the end of the office. The chair was apparently occupied, as a gloved hand could be seen perching off of the arm of the chair, a wine glass in its' grip, with a mysterious red fluid in it. "Uh...you wanted to see m-me, s-sir?" The man stuttered. To which the individual in the seat hummed. "It's about time you arrived, Flug. I figured you would slowly inch your way up here like a insolent little worm till I had to come fetch you myself." The chair turned around, revealing only grinning green teeth and a reflective monocle. The rest being shrouded in darkness. Causing, the now named man, Flug to jump at the view. The person in the seat sat the wine glass down on top of the desk, then laced their gloved hands together, seemingly in thought. "Do you know why I brought you here on this day, Flug?" The man in the seat asked, giving the nervous scientist a toothy smile, one that was filled with plotted mischief. "U-Uh...no, sir? You said that you had a plan---" "A plan that will be the grand scheme of ALL PLANS!" The man in the seat shouted, cutting off the skittish scientist. "Think of this, Flug. We take our inventions to the next level! A new horizon! A new goldmine that is fresh for the harvest!" The dark man trilled. "I have an idea prompt that I WANT you to make possible!" The scientist flinched under the leer of the wicked man. "U-uh! O-Okay then! So...what is it that y-you want me to do?" Flug said, nervously gripping his arm in anticipation. The menacing man grinned with his vile teeth and let out a mere chuckle. "Flug! We are going to make it our mission to acquire meteorites from space! They are the most coveted power sources a villain can have! You are going to build a machine that is capable of retrieving meteors from space! Then, we are going to sell them for high profits!" The dark man said, cackling out loud for a few seconds. Then, there was an awkward silence the followed afterward before the scientist let out a nervous laugh. "Hahahaha--ah. Very funny, sir. But, is that really all you b-brought me here for?" Flug stuttered, before catching the glare that was being thrown his way by his boss from across his desk. "Oh. You're serious?!" Flug realized. "Yes, I am very serious, you IMBECILE!" His boss snapped, causing Flug to slightly cower before he started to fidget and sputter. "But, Sir! How am I going to get meteors out of space?! I-I'm a scientist, not a miracle worker!" Flug exclaimed, to which his boss merely rolled his one visible eye. "You're intelligent. Figure it out." He waved Flug off. "Now, get to work. I want one as soon as possible!" He snapped. To which, Flug slumped over and made his way to the exit. How was he going to get meteorites from space? Ah, better late than never to start brainstorming ideas at 11PM at night. -- Eventually, Flug DID think up a way to get a full meteorite from space. It took careful statistics, judgment, accuracy, and data to make sure that his prototype would be effective enough to do the job it was supposed to. Now, featuring the gun-like mechanism that was pointed at the stars! The machine he built was going to function like a transportation ray. Days of work went into correcting and calculating this machine. Let alone building it. Using the hyper-scope attached to the top of the gun-like mechanism, it would target distant asteroid belts and meteorites, turn them into easy-to-transport particles, bring the particles back from space at warp-speed and into the reassembling box that looked like a giant metal crate with a removable lid, and then restore them back to their physical status from within the metal crate. Then, Boom! You have a meteorite in your possession! It was pure genius and it only required typical ray-based knowledge, some light physics, and excellent distant judgement. But, of course, operating the particle gun was extremely dangerous. As nothing of this degree had been produced by Flug before. Let alone, tested before. Nor built by Flug before. Flug was sure that he was pushing his own scientific limits with this particle gun. Yet, only his boss could think of doing something this abscond for Flug to do or make. If it fails, he won't be surprised. If he succeeds, he'll probably give credit to beginners' luck. At the beginning of the experiment, Flug had looked through the radar scanner and took note of where the particular belt was. Then, he had to calculate how much time and power it would require to fire into that specific area. Then, he picked out an asteroid from the radar that would be the right size to be used as a power source. Finally, he got behind the particle gun and looked through the hyper-scope, judging the precise location and using some stars to map his way into the next neighboring cosmic mass. He fired up the particle gun and spied the sector that he wanted to shoot for. Flug then calculated the trajectory and length of the journey in lightyears to the cosmic mass, to the best of his abilities, and fired a pillar of green light into the night sky from the gun-like mechanism. A pillar of green light shimmers as it fades into the sky. Pixel-looking bits would flicker in and out of the ray as it grew stronger and stronger. The light blast sped off into space at a rapid pace that even impressed Flug himself, to which, he got out from behind the particle gun and hurried over to his equipment. Observing the lights' journey as it already breached the atmosphere and headed off into the direction of the distant asteroid belt. It was a successful launch. Yet, Flug waited anxiously. Watching the radar capture the light breaching past the known planets in their solar system. It was nothing but a mere green streak across the empty void of space. Yet, the sights of the ray might raise questions in both heroes and villain communities alike, maybe even inspire conspiracy theorist. Regardless of what others thought, Flug watched his project work its' scientific wonders. His unseen mouth cracked up into a big smile as he watched the particle gun do its' thing. He was proud of himself. Well...he felt like that, anyway. --- The beam of the gun took only 30 minutes to reach the distant asteroid belt. All while Flug collected data of the journey and observed from homebase. Even if it wasn't his primary field of research, he couldn't help but become intrigued with his current project. Recovering distant asteroids could broaden the world of science as a whole, if this was made for a different reason other than for the profit of his boss, of course. Yet, this experiment has a high chance for failure. And if he fails to bring back a meteorite...his boss won't be a very happy man. Well, he never is. Unless it involves money, scheming, or villainous actions, of course. But, that's just his boss on a normal day. Failure to deliver a meteorite to his boss can cause a lot of stress on Flug. And, sadly, he probably won't succeed and get punished for his failure. Which terrified Flug. But, who can blame him? Even as a scientific genius, he still had limits on what his expertise can do! Like he said, he's a scientist and an inventor, not a miracle worker! Yet, so far at least, everything has gone smoothly. The beam didn't flicker out and it was actually traveling across space at an impressive speed and collision was nearing. If Flug was optimistic about this project, he would probably say that it is the first successor of its' kind. It kinda...warmed his heart to think that he would be able to make a particle ray that could transport asteroids across the vast emptiness of space. That would just make his year. But, just as Flug was getting his hopes up that everything was going to go fine, something went horribly wrong immediately after the beam collided with something. Emergency beeping startled Flug out of his admiration stupor and sent him reeling as he began to attempt to observe the radar, ignoring the beeping and errors that were popping up everywhere. Flug was surprised at what he was witnessing being recorded on his data transmitter. The beam had apparently missed the asteroid belt that he was aiming for and it had collided with another foreign object within the same galactic cluster instead. Strangely enough, Flug didn't see any other objects out there. The asteroids were hard enough to spot as they were! He hurriedly attempted to detect what the beam had collided with. But, the sudden collision jump-started the transportation process. As it began to break down what it collided with into tiny particles and started to transport them back to the restoration box. Worse yet, the particle gun began to overheat from the exertion of pressure from the particles that it was trying to transport. Apparently, something within the particles was causing the engine to strain much more than usual. Yet, that shouldn't be possible! As Flug made the machine as strong as he could make it in such a short amount of time as two weeks. Smoke bellowed out from the machine as it transported the particles back. Sparking and vibrating to a violent extent as the particles passed through the filter, which only seemed to make it worse. Everything began to spark, even the side equipment that recorded the data began to go haywire! It caused Flug to take a few cautious steps back away from the machines. Shielding his fragile paper bag from the sparking mechanisms and smoking electronic pieces. Being a prototype and the first machine to be used this way, Flug was pretty much expecting this outcome, even if it did succeed. Yet, he wasn't expecting this level of violent reactions! Flug panicked as he began to mentally tally his options of survival for himself or his research. He quickly made his decision. Rather than trying to save the invention and risk his life doing so, Flug ran over to the hatch that lead to the roof and took cover in there instead. From his hiding point, he could see the particles had finished returning. Passing through the final filter before emptying out into the reassembling crate. After the particles were successfully transported from space to the crate, the particle gun suddenly started to alarm with flashing red lights and errors, the smoke turning a inky black and bellowing out of the machines on the roof. Flug slammed the hatch to the roof shut and crouched down in the entry way, covered his ears through the paper bag, and braced himself for the inevitable explosion. It took only a few seconds for the particle gun to suddenly catch fire, then everything suddenly lit up in a bright white light and an explosion erupted. The medium explosion caused a miniature sonic boom to erupt, causing the top hat shaped manor to vibrate and rattle, the crashed plane that was stuck in the roof to become slightly more crooked, the surrounding streetlights to flicker, woke up some neighbors from their slumbers, and caused a nearby dog to start barking madly at the sudden loud noise. To which, all that was left on the roof was raining burnt debris and shattered mechanical parts that were whole no more. -- Flug coughed violently as he opened the hatch that lead to the roof and was immediately confronted by inky black smoke. He attempted to clear the smoke out of his vision by waving his marigold gloved hands around to part the smoldering cloud that was hovering in front of the entry way. Upon leaving the safe haven that was the entry way, he peered over all of the destruction that now littered the rooftop. Which was covered in smoldering pieces of metal, sparking wires, and broken machinery. He inspected the rooftop to see if there was any type of damage to the roof, thankfully, there appeared to be no holes or cracks in the sturdy material that made up the house. Yet, as much as he dreaded it, he looked over to the machine that once worked like a charm. To which it came as no surprise to see the particle gun in shambles on the roof. Each piece either broken beyond repair or burnt to a crisp. Two weeks worth of labor. Utterly destroyed and wasted. Flug let out a disappointed sigh. "I knew this wouldn't work." Flug grumbled as he brushed his path clear of debris. Moving some broken machinery out of the way with his sneaker. He looked back toward his invention, which now laid in smoldering pieces on the roof, and sighed. Yet, when he looked over to the crate, expecting it to also be in shambles, he was surprise and glad to see that the crate was still in one piece. It was charred black from the explosion on the roof. But, the steel held out and kept it whole! Even after all of that hard work, he probably still had a meteorite! Even if his prototype particle gun invention exploded, he probably, and hopefully, still has a meteorite that will probably save him from his boss's wrath! Flug sighed out in brief relief. At least all of that hard work had not been for nothing! Walking over some smoking and smoldering metal, he approached the crate with great care. Then, he carefully laid his yellow gloves onto the removable lid and attempted to lift it. It was almost welded shut from the heat, but he kept pulling and the metal was slowly being pried apart. So he kept trying to remove the lid on the crate. Grunting as he did so, yet, he suddenly started to hear what sounded like...groaning? And it was coming from...inside the reassembling crate...? Quickly halting all of his movement, Flug stopped to listen for the sound. Then, he heard it as clear as a summer day. "Uuuugggnnnh..." Flug felt his eyes widen in pure surprise. Yes. Something was GROANING inside the crate. Astonished and unsure, he decided to preform a short experiment just to make sure he was not going mad after all of these years, as he folded up his hand up into a fist and knocked on the lid. Then, he pressed his unseen ear to the lid, listening intently. A quiet moment of silence passed by. It was silent for a certain period of time that Flug started to suspect that he was just hearing things.

. . . . . Then suddenly, a knocking sound was heard coming from within the crate itself. Knock, Knock, Knock! Flug jumped back, as if the lid itself had burned him. He was speechless at the returned knocking. His mind began to jump to any logical explanations on how something in the crate was knocking back at him. Yet, all he seemed to do was confuse himself and second-guess his own ways of logic or reality. "What the-!?" He gasped. 'This...! This shouldn't be possible!' He thought, trying to control his reeling mind.

He was sure that the beam went into the sky! There was NO WAY that he managed to. . .unless. A silent idea creeped into his mind. The thought of extraterrestrial life living within that galaxy cluster made Flug want to sputter and brush off the notion. It just wasn't plausible...was it? Could he have accidentally hit...a planet? With life on it? Intelligent life?! He could feel his heart racing as the thought of creatures with many eyes, mouths, and limbs came into his mind. The thought of creatures made of fire, transparent skin, stardust, glass-like substances, and even scales crossed his imagination. Bipeds, Quadrupeds, Tripeds, and Alien Morphs passed through his brain. Just...what did he get? What would it look like? Would it be instinctively driven or abstractly driven? Intelligent or...? Would it...eat him or attack him if he let it out of the crate? Shit, he hoped not! But, he has to let it out of there some time.

Flug, now sweating from looming anxiety and fear, grabbed the top of the crate again. He took a deep breath while squeezing his eyes shut, and lifted the lid.

.  .  .

Flug was confused, but thankful, that nothing had jumped out of the crate and mauled him or began to devour him. Opening his eyes, Flug then peered into the crate, curiosity overwhelming his fear. What he saw made Flugs' mental gears suddenly ground to a sudden halt.

"What...?" Flug said in disbelief as he saw another. . .human?

Inside of the crate was another, seemingly normal, human being. They were in what appeared to be a grey T-shirt with an Alien symbol on it, along with some black pants that had UFO's on them. They're clothes also seemed to glow in dark as the darkness within the crate seemed to show that very vividly. Producing more light to illuminate their features. To which Flug began to notice the major differences on this...peculiar human.

Flug blinked, they seemed homosapien. . .but different from the ones that Flug has seen all of his life.

Their features were softer and their eyes were friendlier-looking. They were also laying down on their back with a completely relaxed posture. Despite the situation that they were currently in, they held a relaxed expression. Even when looking at him, all they did was arch an eyebrow at him.

Flug must admit, if he saw this person walking around, he probably would be suspicious of their differences. Or he would probably just think they were a really weird-looking foreigner. Definitely not what he was expecting from an...alien. Yet, even if they were lackluster, he was still surprised to see them within the crate.

He locked eyes with the "person" in the crate once more. His voice still gone from disbelief.

A few awkward seconds passed between him and the alien. To which, a staring contest ensued. .

.

. The alien then gave a friendly smile towards Flug. Waving at him slightly with one hand. "S'up?" The 'human' in the crate spoke up as they smiled and looked at him. "I came in pieces. Take me to your leader." They spoke, holding up their hands in mock-surrender. Laughing all the while at their sub-par joke. Much to the surprise, and slight distaste, of Flug.

Flug could only gulp in fear in response.

Oh, his boss was NOT going to like how this experiment turned out... ------------------------------------------------------ Next>