(no subject)
Say what one would about Stacy's interior decoration skills. With its vast movie and fiction holdings, when it came to entertainment, there were few places better for it than the Media Library and it's podrooms.
Hard research? Yeah, not so much.
Lucca had been here for what felt like ages, having commandeered a podroom (though she left the "door" wide open) and scoured the electronic directory, hoping against hope she'd glean some useful information (on their current location or destination, Stacy's underlying technology, etc.) that their captors might have overlooked. No dice. All that remained were general reference works on relativity and other related subjects, and what she'd turned up so far would be of limited value.
Simply put, they were out of date. When they weren't busy insisting that faster-than-light travel was utterly impossible--the view from the Obs Deck notwithstanding--they were claiming that her bread and butter, time travel, violated so many physical "laws" that it barely merited consideration. Seriously. As if any genius worthy of the name would let trifling details like "causality" get in her way! A few featured some theories on how FTL transit MIGHT be possible despite being utterly impossible, but with Stacy being her usual forthcoming self it was impossible to determine which of these theories might apply, if any.
Lucca yawned hugely, setting aside her notebook. She hadn't slept since she'd popped, and had eaten as little as she could without her stomach actively trying to digest itself. Perhaps it was time to turn in, to retire to her cozy little sleeping tube. With its throbbing walls, its nostril-like air intakes, its manifold syringe-bearing tentacles poised and ready and eager to strike--
She shuddered.
Y'know, I think I'm good for a few more hours. Or days. Or even weeks...
Hard research? Yeah, not so much.
Lucca had been here for what felt like ages, having commandeered a podroom (though she left the "door" wide open) and scoured the electronic directory, hoping against hope she'd glean some useful information (on their current location or destination, Stacy's underlying technology, etc.) that their captors might have overlooked. No dice. All that remained were general reference works on relativity and other related subjects, and what she'd turned up so far would be of limited value.
Simply put, they were out of date. When they weren't busy insisting that faster-than-light travel was utterly impossible--the view from the Obs Deck notwithstanding--they were claiming that her bread and butter, time travel, violated so many physical "laws" that it barely merited consideration. Seriously. As if any genius worthy of the name would let trifling details like "causality" get in her way! A few featured some theories on how FTL transit MIGHT be possible despite being utterly impossible, but with Stacy being her usual forthcoming self it was impossible to determine which of these theories might apply, if any.
Lucca yawned hugely, setting aside her notebook. She hadn't slept since she'd popped, and had eaten as little as she could without her stomach actively trying to digest itself. Perhaps it was time to turn in, to retire to her cozy little sleeping tube. With its throbbing walls, its nostril-like air intakes, its manifold syringe-bearing tentacles poised and ready and eager to strike--
She shuddered.
Y'know, I think I'm good for a few more hours. Or days. Or even weeks...