Author's note: This story, like the whole issue of Tevun Krus it was first published in, is a tribute to the master of creative science fiction himself, Douglas Adams. Enjoy!

The Supernova and the Sandstars

Far out on the rim of one of the smaller galaxies in the remote backwaters of the universe a nameless, bored blue star committed suicide. Or, expressed in common star lingo, it went supernova. Although a colourful spectacle, the event was of minor interest to the vast majority of the universe.
Popular media didn't cover it at all: They were currently engaged in heated debate if Proxima bogfrogging should be considered a sport featured in the upcoming Pan Universal Lympic Games (PULG) or rather be counted as spiritual experience.

Only the venerable professor Halalax, head of the astronomical department of the Most Important Intercontinental University of Planet Qronok (MIIUPQ), signalled interest in the local supernova. He also was a convinced opponent of sports, including PULG.
Halalax assigned three enthusiastic junior students to the task of observing and documenting the astronomical occurrence. They even were granted access to MIIUPQ's brand new bubble telescope.
Unfortunately, the supernova had the impertinence to occur during the annual Qronok toad-blaster festival, a folkloric event neither accomplished professors nor hip students were prepared to miss.

Qronokian mudtoads and supernovae have one thing in common, namely that they are best blasted respectively observed by night. In consequence, not a single aspiring astronomer was present in the observatory when something unexpected happened.

A glamorous glinthopper, irritated by the obtrusive noise of toad-blasting and cheering, misjudged its hopping distance. Therefore, the insectoid rodent landed in the well-oiled central gear wheel of the clockwork supposed to turn the telescope's bubble. With a sickening and, for the glinthopper, deadly crunch the wheel ground to a screeching halt. The sturdy, glittering chitin armour of the hopper firmly wedged in the wheel's teeth blocked the precision mechanism.

Students and professor returned three long Qronok weeks later, still fighting residual effects of toadsap intoxication. It would be presumptuous to try to explain the intricate complexity of the Qronok calendar and its flexible week and month system in a few sentences.
Suffice to say, upon his return to the observatory, Halalax realised the stench of decaying glinthopper didn't go well with toadsap hangover. In addition, the supernova had come and gone without the telescope's inbuilt expensive, imported digicam recording the slightest glimpse of it.
Embarrassed, the professor graciously ignored the incident and set his students a new, more exciting task. It involved a nearby black hole, an obscure navigational algorithm received by a medium in prolonged seance with a starblazer pilot lost in action, and a leftover barrel of toadsap.

~

Thus, the supernova on the outskirts of an insignificant galaxy in an obscure corner of the universe passed largely unnoticed. Nevertheless, a fierce radiation wave enveloped several neighbouring systems. Most affected stars acknowledged the supernova with a sluggish solar flare or two before returning to burning up their own mass or other private business lonesome stars conduct.

Travelling around one small, lazy star at a leisurely pace was an even smaller, introverted planet. In fact, it showed its surroundings little interest and, bound by gravitational laws, had no way to duck out of the line of fire, anyway.
Subsequently, the radiation wave hit the unspectacular planet full force. A lifeless ball of dust, it cared little about radiation. While it continued dutifully to circle its star, it remained blissfully oblivious to the fact the wave found a target in the vast sandy plains of the arid silicate desert covering ninety-eight percent of its surface. Another two percent were asteroid remains half-buried in the sand. One of those consisted of solid gold, but as nobody discovered it yet, it has no significance for the further development of this story.

Upon impact, the supernova radiation tickled some mostly ordinary molecules. However, one of them was atypically ticklish for a mere assemblage of atoms. Aroused, it collided with an unsuspecting neighbour and unintentionally caused a chain reaction.
In an unstoppable avalanche of events, molecules united to cells and cells started to split. Soon, a veritable splitting frenzy spread outwards from the starting point.
Life took root in the wastelands of the unnamed planet. The rising evolutionary wave engulfed a few golden sand dunes on its way. But resources on this world were limited. It would have ended its uneventful span of existence as uncharted rock if not for the supernova incident.
Soon, the wave of change trickled out to nothing in the endless desert expanses.

However, in its epicentre a promising society of small, sand-dwelling, multi-limbed starlike creatures arose. Born of silicate rich sands and perfectly happy with more sand to sustain growing families, they developed fast to the point where life with the sole purpose of reproducing seemed boring. Therefore, the star creatures took their fate into their own fingerlike appendices.

For some centuries measured by the rotations of their planet around its disinterested sun, the sand dwellers entertained themselves with futile religious wars.
Once the novelty of this engagement ran out, they united into one happy agnostic nation called Shikahika. World dominion was its declared imperial goal. Luckily, the Shikahikans were the only living species around. Their claim met no significant resistance.

An empire established on consensual agreement, the newly elected baby emperor of Shik sent out explorers to map and expand his area of influence. Scores of promising young Shikahikans ventured out into the desert and vanished. In time, the stream of volunteers subsided to a few depressed loners seeking death or ultimate illumination in the desert.
Soon it became obvious to every Shikahikan of average intelligence including the baby emperor: There was nothing to be found in the four directions of the sand-compass except more sand.

Another round of boredom threatened to pull the young nation into renewed crisis and war. Right in time, the emperor, prompted by his chief advisor, decided to channel his people's surplus energy into the fine arts and sciences instead. Of course, some rumours blamed the adviser in question to be either an alien agent or a dangerous lunatic.

Unexpectedly, the new concept proved an unprecedented success. Half the population concentrated on building elaborate sandcastles decorated with artful sand paintings. The other half delved into natural sciences with astonishing enthusiasm.
Certain branches, like biology, sadly encountered a severe lack of species to study. They didn't last long. Others, like astronomy, became very popular. So popular even accomplished sand-architects forgot about castle-building and followed the Shikahika court astronomers' space debate with glee.

In real terms, the public debate proofed too enticing. The whole nation followed closely, and no one found time to pursue development of space-age technology or construction of actual spaceships. Thus, elaborate astronomical theories remained untested.

The baby emperor didn't mind. His people were happy and content. Why should he change anything when he finally found a way to nick time for extensive naps?
He retired to his imperial playroom and enjoyed the opportunity to suck on one after the other of his many thumbs. His self-imposed task of finding out which one's flavour he liked best turned out surprisingly demanding.

~

Planet Shikahika was discovered a few centuries before the ongoing debate over the feasibility of faster-than-light-travel had the slightest chance to reach closure.

The explorers, a piratical subspecies of the Gologugs of Googalosh, landed with their heavy jump-splonker in the middle of a heated national FTL-debate. They lowered a sturdy access ramp and the Gologug high-captain stepped down to the planetary surface with raised neck spines.
Unfortunately, he chose to take his planet-side postprandial stroll during an important panel discussion. One single step of his protective wimot hide boot crushed the podium including the elite of acknowledged scientists and imperial representatives. His next step erased the emperor's sand palace.

Unaware of this misfortune, the captain took in the monotonous desert with one dismissive glance. He was about to give up on the planet when he spotted thousands of tiny silicate creatures frantically waving their multiple arms in the air like golden filigree tentacles. The captain marvelled at the minuscule shiny starflowers as he spontaneously called them. Extraordinary imagination wasn't compulsory to become high-captain, obviously. Anyway, the starflowers were certainly the only remarkable thing about this desolate excuse of a planet.

Already turning back, ready to leave, a brilliant thought struck the not-so-imaginative Gologug like lightning. This proofs even unimaginative high-captains sometimes strike solid gold. Probably for the same reason national lottery on Googalosh busted centuries ago.

Before the captain exchanged the heat of the planetary surface with the air conditioned comfort aboard his splonker, he bellowed an order.
'Collect some of these starflower-thingies and put them on a string. They'll make a nice necklace for the mistress.'

For a short period, jewellery including shells of the prematurely extinct golden Shikahikian sandstars was the rage in high society of the universe's most illustrious circles. But soon, ladies and other beings of fashion shifted their interest to the even rarer belly feathers of the hickybicky hive heron. This aggressive, bird-like reptile was whispered to inhabit the mist-covered mountains of the mysterious planet Myssery seven.

The universe shrugged and turned to watch the next edition of PULG.