It was almost five years after the Arrival, so you know that I was almost 10. I was playing with some of my best friends, Corran Edozoik, Galen Vulrn, and Iriel Straengi. The V'zod, the ship that the Metaturians came to our community in, had sat, disused, in the field where they had landed. Arrival Day (and, therefore, my birthday) was about a week away, and preparations for the celebration were underway.
I don't remember who, but somebody had the idea to have some fun with the teleporter their representative had used to disembark that day. It might have been Corran's idea, since he was the first to go into the booth. He went in; there was a flash; and Corran wasn't in the booth anymore, he was onboard the ship. He called after us, so we decided that it must be okay. Galen was next; followed by Iriel; and I brought up the rear.
Teleportation wasn't any easier to describe going through it than it was watching it happen: I was inside the booth; there was a flash; and I was inside a different booth, inside the ship.
That was when the police came in, two human officers. "Come out of here, you kids," one officer said. "This stuff is nothing to play with."
"Yeah," the other officer added, "you could hit the wrong button, and who knows what could happen?"
We grumbled a bit, about grownups always having to spoil our fun, but we went with them off the ship.
Little did we know that, in my case, the officers' warning had come too late.
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