In 0.000000001 seconds, the energy of 74 middle-aged main sequence stars burst from the Z-click fusion cannon, propelling plasma outward at roughly 9 percent the speed of light.
That’s roughly 80,943,963.6 feet per second.
In five minutes, 4.6 million miles of the ship graveyard was gone, destroyed by the superheated plasma.
Many creatures would see the explosion long before they felt its effects; the light would outrun the blast wave.
In ten minutes, the light reached Alitma, who had stopped a safe distance away in the off-chance that Daniel had been bluffing one last time.
When he saw the weapon flare, Alitma felt a part of him die. His daughter's only hope was gone.
He sighed and added “Curse Daniel Wei Until My Dying Breath” to the list of his life goals.
It was just below “Never Use Temp Agency That Recommended Daniel Wei Again,” but just above "Keep My Temper In Check."
He ordered his crew to activate the cloaking system, and then glumly began the journey home.
In thirty minutes, the light hit Humboldt Sector Judiciary Armada 407, a law enforcement flotilla charged with capturing notorious criminals.
After taking some cursory readings of the area, the armada's commander ordered his captains to shatterwarp out before the brunt of the plasma arrived.
The commander, a would-be politician with a scientific bent, made a note to further investigate the portion of the Quadra sector where the explosion originated.
There wasn’t supposed to be anything in the area that could go supernova.
He decided, however, that his curiosity would have to wait until he captured his quarry: Alitma, Commerce Overseer of Rosov 6.
In fifteen days, the light shined on a stolen spacecraft that had just dropped out of an artificial wormhole.
The psychopath at the controls drank deeply from the explosion's photons, checked his ship’s bearings, and jumped back into another fabricated aperture in space-time.
In one month, the light warmed a small planetoid so much that a down-on-his-luck entrepreneur decided the tiny rock would be a cozy place to set up a kitchen-supply store.
When the explosion's plasma eventually plowed into the little outlet world, the entrepreneur—who had earlier decided it was a bad business venture—was long gone.
Only one escape pod made it out in time.
In six months, the light fell on a human colony that also housed a colony of thrill-seeking bacteria. The sentient germs voted to borrow one of the colonist’s well-shielded ships and visit the supernova.
The bacteria had never seen one up close.
In one year, the light of the explosion lit up the world of the Yi’at’an collective, a warlike race with insect and amphibian traits.
They saw a beautiful star form in the night, a star burning brighter than any galaxy.
To them, it was a sign of hope. Their seers predicted the supernova would usher in a new era of peace. An era where they would end their warlike ways and work together for the betterment of all.
This was true. Because one of their leading scientists pointed out that the light also meant an apocalyptic explosion would soon destroy their world. And if they didn’t work together, they’d all die.
In the ensuing panic, the same scientist noted that the light of the star looked different from other recorded supernovas.
For a brief moment, the scientist said, it appeared misshapen. Distorted.
None of the other Yi’at’ans cared.
They were all very busy trying get off their planet.