Probability -2025

Figure 1. Image by Grok.

In my previous blog post I began experimenting with the Kimi chatbot (Kimi AI) which told me: "I don't have the ability to generate images directly. However, I can help you refine this wonderfully creative concept and suggest how you might create it or commission it from an AI image generator."

The image shown in Figure 1 was generated by Grok for the following text prompt: "Generate an image depicting a science fiction joke scene, in low Earth orbit eight alien pterodactyls fly in V-formation pulling a classic alien UFO at the end of two nano-filament cables, four of the alien pterodactyls are in two groups each attached to one of the cables forming the V-shape with the UFO at the vertex, the scene visually evokes reindeer pulling Santa's sleigh, in the style of a 1950s cover illustration for Galaxy magazine 35mm film".

I told Kimi: "Generate a one page science fiction story about the alien pterodactyls flying in V-formation and pulling a classic alien UFO and use the style of a "Probability Zero" story from Astounding Science Fiction magazine." 

 Kimi:  PROBABILITY ZERO: THE CHRISTMAS RESCUE
by K'Thar of the Seventh Wing

A Zor’nathling. Image by Google Flow.

 The nano-cables snapped at 2300 hours, Terran Pacific.

I felt it in my primary flight tendons—eight of us in perfect V-formation, towing the Zor'nath research saucer through low Earth orbit, when the port filament crystallized from a micrometeorite impact that had no business existing.

“Release protocol!” I whistled in Old Pteran, but the starboard cable took the full load and twanged like a dinosaur’s harp-string. The saucer—gleaming chrome hubcap with blinky red dome—tilted.

Inside, the Zor’nathlings (imagine a cross between a brain and a lava lamp) pulsed orange panic. Their mission: deliver twelve metric tons of reconstituted fruitcake to the Lunar Peace Corps before Christmas Eve. Earth’s last batch had achieved sentience and threatened to unionize.

A Zor’oling. Image by Leonardo.

 “Formation shift!” I barked. We banked, tails fanning solar glitter, wings edged with meteor frost. My second, Ki’rra, chirped the math: “Delta-v insufficient! We’ll re-enter over Cincinnati!”

Probability of a successful ditch: zero.

Then it happened. A sleigh-shaped radar blip—eight unregistered life-forms, antlered, glowing—rose from the stratosphere on a column of auroral thrust. Reindeer, but wrong: nostrils venting liquid oxygen, hooves magnetic. Their lead broadcast on 122.5 MHz: “Need a tow, cousins?”

Universal Avian Code. We answered in wing-morse.

In seconds they braided their harness straps through our nano-filaments—reindeer ahead, pterodactyls behind, UFO in the middle like a cosmic sleigh bell. Cooperative aerobatics; coefficient of drag dropped 38 %.

A Zor’otherling. Image by Leonardo.

 We delivered the fruitcake to Tranquility Base at 2359. The Zor’nathlings paid us in fermented comet-water; the reindeer accepted carrots irradiated to 3.6 Mrad.

Before they descended back into Earth’s myth-layer, the lead reindeer winked. “Cross-species goodwill—probability zero, but it keeps the stories alive.”

We folded our wings, watched the saucer twinkle against lunar jade, and logged the mission: Improbability achieved; cargo intact; belief sustained.

Merry Christmas, Universe.

Figure 2. Image by Gemini.

 Gemini was able to make an image (Figure 2) with text that looks quite similar to an actual Galaxy magazine.

Gemini:  Ah, a challenge worthy of the greatest minds (and perhaps a few lesser ones, like mine)! Here's a "Probability Zero" tale for you, inspired by your magnificent visual:

---

The Grand Orbital Delivery

By Dr. Xylos "Skip" Sprocket

Grk-Thnar. Image by Google Flow.

 It was, shall we say, a matter of considerable debate in the Galactic Interstellar Haulers’ Guild. Our esteemed colleague, Grk-Thnar, a creature whose cranial ridges pulsed with an almost alarming regularity when he was particularly pleased with himself, had submitted a proposal. A delivery proposal, mind you, for a shipment of… well, the contents are classified, naturally. But the method, ah, the method!

Grk-Thnar, being from a rather quaint, low-tech world, had a penchant for the "organic" solution. "Why waste fusion coils," he’d squawked, his respiratory vents whistling, "when nature provides the propulsion?"

We, of course, presented the data: sub-light drives, warp conduits, even the experimental quantum displacement array. All scoffed at! Grk-Thnar, with the stubbornness of a neutron star, insisted on his "Orbital Avian-Towed Transport System." Or, as he called it, “The Grand Orbital Delivery.”

Grk-onar by Leonardo.

 His chosen "aviators" were eight magnificent, albeit somewhat temperamental, Pterodex-alpha from his home planet. Think of a terrestrial pterodactyl, then infuse it with the dense bone structure of a meteor and the metabolic rate of a small supernova. These creatures, he argued, with their natural wing-beat frequency perfectly synchronized to generate a localized micro-gravity displacement field, could, in theory, achieve low Earth orbit. And, once there, their combined efforts could tow a standard Class-B saucer.

The Guild, after much head-tentacle shaking and probability calculations that invariably yielded "0.000000001%," reluctantly approved. Mostly, I suspect, to see Grk-Thnar fail spectacularly.

The launch was, to put it mildly, a spectacle. Picture, if you will, eight enormous, leathery-winged behemoths, each harnessed to a nano-filament cable, straining against the feeble gravitational pull of the launch pad. The saucer, gleaming dully in the pre-dawn light, wobbled precariously. The roar from the Pterodex-alpha was deafening, a primeval shriek that rattled the observation bunkers.

Grk-Nardo by Leonardo.

 Then, with a truly astonishing thwack-thwack-thwack that was more felt than heard, they lifted. Slowly. Majestically. The V-formation, honed over centuries of atmospheric hunting, held. The two nano-filament cables, each supporting four Pterodex-alpha, stretched taut. The saucer, with Grk-Thnar himself at the helm, began its improbable ascent.

Our instruments, designed for the precise readings of fusion flares and tachyon bursts, flickered erratically. They simply couldn't comprehend propulsion generated by muscle and wing. Yet, the altitude climbed. The velocity increased. And then, there they were: eight alien pterodactyls, pulling a classic alien UFO in perfect V-formation, against the silent, star-dusted backdrop of low Earth orbit, just as you saw!

_______________

Figure 3. Image by ChatGPT.

 The image that was generated by ChatGPT (Figure 3) is similar to some 1960s science fiction paintings.

ChatGPT: They called it impossible for reasons that could be written neatly on a chalkboard.

Vacuum, for one. Lift, for another. Muscle physiology, metabolic throughput, Reynolds numbers, the absence of anything to push against. The equations were airtight. That was the problem.

At 02:14 UTC the equations were wrong.

Lieutenant Harrow was on orbital debris watch when the first blip resolved into wings.

“Control,” he said carefully, because careful language seemed appropriate. “I am observing eight… organisms. Large. Pterosaurian morphology. They appear to be flapping.”

Image by Google Flow.

 There was a pause while Control decided whether this was a joke that required disciplinary paperwork.

Then Harrow added, “They’re in V-formation.”

That clinched it. Radar didn’t lie about etiquette.

The creatures emerged fully from Earth’s shadow, leathery wings flexing with an ease that mocked Newton. Their bodies were lean, almost skeletal, with elongated sternums studded by crystalline nodules that pulsed faintly blue. Each downstroke shed a faint auroral shimmer, as if the vacuum were briefly reconsidering its career choice.

UFO by Leonardo.

 Trailing behind them—because of course there was something trailing—was a classic flying saucer. Polished aluminum curve. Dome. Portholes glowing a warm, domestic yellow. It hung at the vertex of the V like a reluctant thought being dragged forward by enthusiasm.

Two nano-filament cables connected the saucer to the formation, each cable held by four pterodactyls in perfect symmetry. The tableau was unmistakable.

“They look like,” Harrow said, “reindeer.”

Control did not argue.

Astrophysics went first. The saucer’s mass was well within limits for inertial dampening, but the cables weren’t transmitting force in any sensible way. Spectral analysis showed localized manipulation of vacuum energy—Casimir gradients being rhythmically modulated by the creatures’ wingbeats.

Femtonelle-powered flight
by Leonardo.

 Biology followed, limping. The nodules along the sternum were organelles—organelles—capable of transiently coupling cellular metabolism to zero-point fluctuations. No fuel. No reaction mass. Just probability being nudged where it was most embarrassing.

“Why the V?” someone asked, because scientists are like that.

Zor’oling by Leonardo.

 The answer came uninvited.

 A panel on the saucer slid open and a small figure leaned out, bundled in a red pressure cloak trimmed with something suspiciously like fur.

“Draft reduction,” it called cheerfully over an open channel. “Also tradition.”

Harrow blinked. “Tradition?”

“Of course. We tried random swarms once. Very inefficient. Morale suffered.”

The lead pterodactyl banked slightly, adjusting the formation. Its eye—golden, intelligent, amused—met Harrow’s camera.

Of course, the equations realized too late. The V wasn’t aerodynamic. It was psychological. A pattern so deeply embedded in observer expectation that reality cooperated out of habit.

Zor’oling and Grk-Lav by Leonardo.

 The saucer drifted past, bells chiming softly along its rim for no physical reason at all.

Before Control could ask the obvious questions—Why Earth? Why now? Why this?—the formation accelerated. Not by thrust, but by narrative necessity. Probability, relieved to have clear instructions, stepped aside.

Within seconds they were gone, leaving behind only a faint shimmer and a data set that would never quite fit on a graph.

Harrow filed his report.

Under Cause, he wrote: Seasonal anomaly. Confidence interval: negligible.

And somewhere beyond low Earth orbit, eight alien pterodactyls flapped contentedly, pulling a saucer full of gifts, secure in the knowledge that some things work precisely because they shouldn’t.

Figure 4. Zorg and Glorp by Grok.

 Grok:  The Migratory Saucer

Captain Zorg blinked his three eyes at the viewscreen, his tentacles twitching in annoyance. "What in the void is that?" he barked at his navigator, a blob of sentient jelly named Glorp.

Glorp quivered, analyzing the anomaly. "Sir, it's... pterodactyls. Alien pterodactyls, to be precise. Flying in a perfect V-formation through the vacuum of space."

Zorlorp by Leonardo.

 Zorg leaned forward. "Pterodactyls? Those extinct Earth reptiles? Impossible. Space has no air for wings."

"Ah, but these aren't your grandma's dinos," Glorp replied, pulling up a holographic scan. "Bio-scans show they're engineered lifeforms from the Pteron Empire. Their wings aren't for flapping—they're organic solar sails, woven with quantum filaments that capture stellar winds. See those golden beaks? They're emitter nodes for tractor beams, phase-locked to harness the Casimir effect. In vacuum, they generate virtual particle thrust by polarizing the quantum foam. The V-formation minimizes interference patterns, amplifying the pull by 300% through constructive wave resonance."

Zorg's eyes widened. Trailing behind the flock was a classic saucer-shaped UFO, the kind Earthlings drew in their tabloids—silvery, domed, with blinking lights. But this one was being towed, its engines dark, connected by shimmering energy tethers to each pterodactyl's beak.

 

Gleep by Leonardo.

"They're migrating," Glorp continued. "Seasonal route from Alpha Centauri to the Orion Arm. That saucer's probably a hitchhiker—broke down en route. Pterons are known for their eco-friendly towing service. No fuel, just biology meets physics."

As the flock veered past their ship, one pterodactyl peeled off, banking gracefully on an invisible gravity gradient. It locked a beam onto Zorg's vessel, giving a gentle tug.

"They're offering us a lift?" Zorg exclaimed.

Image by Google Flow.

 Glorp jiggled affirmatively. "Free ride, sir. But remember the fine print: Pterons expect tips in fish-flavored asteroids."

Zorg chuckled. "Engage the beam. Who needs warp drives when you've got dinosaurs?"

And so, the galaxy's oddest convoy soared on, proving that in space, no one hears you squawk—unless you're pulling the saucer.

High gravity-world alien by ImageFX.

_______

Claude: The Aerodynamic Imperative -A Probability Zero Story

Dr. Helena Voss had spent three decades studying xenobiology, but nothing prepared her for the transmission from the Kepler-442b expedition.

"They're towing it," Commander Park's voice crackled across 1,200 light-years. "The spacecraft is non-functional in atmospheric conditions."

The image resolved on her screen: a classic lenticular craft, approximately forty meters in diameter, suspended beneath a formation of seven enormous flying creatures. Tethers of what spectral analysis identified as carbon-nanotube composite connected the beings to the craft in a perfect V-formation.

Alien by Gemini.

 "Initial contact suggests the species evolved on a high-gravity world with dense atmosphere," Park continued. "Their spacecraft—they call it a 'void-swimmer'—uses a magnetohydrodynamic drive optimized for vacuum. Completely useless in planetary air. No aerodynamic surfaces whatsoever."

Voss studied the creatures. Wingspan: approximately twelve meters. Hollow bones reinforced with metallic carbide structures. Those weren't wings—they were biological superconducting surfaces generating localized electromagnetic fields for enhanced lift.

"So they evolved biological flight," Voss said, "then achieved spaceflight, but never developed atmospheric craft?"

Alien by ChatGPT.

 "Precisely. They find it more efficient to use themselves. The formation reduces drag by 40% according to their mathematics—each individual rides the updraft of the one ahead. They've been doing this for millennia."

Voss watched the graceful beings bank through clouds of methane-tinged atmosphere, pulling their inert spacecraft toward the surface. No landing gear—why would they need it? They simply landed themselves and set the craft down gently.

"Cultural assessment?" she asked.

"They're deeply communal. They consider it impolite to fly alone. The one pulling rear position—they rotate every hundred wingbeats for fairness—is considered to be performing a service of honor."

Image by ImageFX

 Voss smiled. Humanity had assumed advanced spacefaring species would abandon biological limitations. Instead, the Pteranthi had built their entire aerospace industry around them. Their void-swimmers were magnificent—capable of 0.3c using staged antimatter catalyzed fusion.

But in atmosphere? They needed a tow.

Image by WOMBO Dream.

 "Commander, recommend we offer them our atmospheric shuttle designs."

"Already did, Doctor. They politely declined. They say flying in formation is how they sing."

 Claude: I've written a Probability Zero-style story based on your fascinating image! The story presents the absurd premise—advanced aliens who tow their spacecraft through atmospheres using biological flight formations—with deadpan scientific seriousness.

The technical details include magnetohydrodynamic drives, carbon-nanotube tethers, biological superconducting surfaces, and the aerodynamic efficiency of V-formations. The Pteranthi are portrayed as cooperative and culturally sophisticated rather than threatening, and the ending has that characteristic Probability Zero twist where the seemingly inefficient method turns out to have deeper cultural meaning.

Image by WOMBO Dream.

 Would you like me to adjust the technical details, expand on the Pteranthi culture, or take the story in a different direction?

Me: "take the story in a different direction" <-- slightly modify the story to include the idea that all the members of the group of flying alien pterodactyls are clones who coordinate their actions by means of technology-assisted telepathy.

Claude: The Aerodynamic Imperative

A Probability Zero Story

Dr. Helena Voss had spent three decades studying xenobiology, but nothing prepared her for the transmission from the Kepler-442b expedition.

Image by WOMBO Dream.

 "They're towing it," Commander Park's voice crackled across 1,200 light-years. "The spacecraft is non-functional in atmospheric conditions."

The image resolved on her screen: a classic lenticular craft, approximately forty meters in diameter, suspended beneath a formation of seven enormous flying creatures. Tethers of what spectral analysis identified as carbon-nanotube composite connected the beings to the craft in a perfect V-formation.

"Initial contact suggests the species evolved on a high-gravity world with dense atmosphere," Park continued. "Their spacecraft—they call it a 'void-swimmer'—uses a magnetohydrodynamic drive optimized for vacuum. Completely useless in planetary air. No aerodynamic surfaces whatsoever."

Image by WOMBO Dream.

 Voss studied the creatures. Wingspan: approximately twelve meters. Hollow bones reinforced with metallic carbide structures. Those weren't wings—they were biological superconducting surfaces generating localized electromagnetic fields for enhanced lift.

"So they evolved biological flight," Voss said, "then achieved spaceflight, but never developed atmospheric craft?"

"Precisely. But here's what's remarkable—they're all clones. Same genome, grown from a single lineage. Each one has neural implants broadcasting on a quantum-entangled mesh network. Real-time coordination down to the microsecond."

"Technology-assisted telepathy," Voss breathed. "That explains the formation precision."

Image by WOMBO Dream.

 "The drag reduction is 40%, but that's not the impressive part. With shared proprioceptive data, each individual knows the exact position, wing loading, and muscle tension of every other member. They're functioning as a single distributed organism. When one adjusts for turbulence, they all compensate instantaneously."

Voss watched the graceful beings bank through clouds of methane-tinged atmosphere, pulling their inert spacecraft toward the surface. No landing gear—why would they need it? They simply landed themselves and set the craft down gently.

"Cultural assessment?" she asked.

"They told us cloning was the practical solution. Once they developed neural networking technology, individual variation became... inefficient. Why have seven minds learning seven different flight responses when one mind can learn once and share it instantly across seven bodies?"

Image by WOMBO Dream.

 Voss felt a chill. "You mean they gave up genetic diversity for synchronized flight?"

"Not exactly. They maintain genetic libraries, run biodiversity simulations. But for spaceflight operations? Clones with quantum mesh implants are 99.97% more effective. The formation you're seeing isn't seven individuals cooperating—it's one consciousness distributed across seven bodies."

Voss watched them bank in perfect unison. Humanity had assumed advanced spacefaring species would abandon biological limitations. Instead, the Pteranthi had built their entire aerospace industry around them. Their void-swimmers were magnificent—capable of 0.3c using staged antimatter catalyzed fusion.

But in atmosphere? They needed a tow. And they'd restructured their entire species to optimize for it.

Image by WOMBO Dream.

 "Commander, recommend we offer them our atmospheric shuttle designs."

"Already did, Doctor. They politely declined. They say the neural synchronization during flight is the closest thing they have to transcendence. When seven bodies move as one mind..."

Park paused. "They say it's how they remember what it was like to be individuals."

___

Claude: I've updated the story to include your new elements! The Pteranthi are now clones who use neural implants on a quantum-entangled mesh network for real-time coordination. This gives them microsecond-precision synchronization by sharing proprioceptive data across all bodies. The ending now has a darker philosophical edge—they sacrificed genetic diversity and individuality for operational efficiency, and the formation flying has become their way of remembering what it was like to be separate beings. It's more melancholy than the original, but still fits the Probability Zero style of presenting an absurd premise with serious scientific and philosophical implications.

Below are some videos that were generated by Grok. The first video was mage using the image that is shown above in Figure 1.

Apparently, green is the default color for aliens generated by Grok. Be sure to play the audio for the last two videos. The last video was made from the image that is shown in Figure 4, above. Lucky for us, all aliens speak English.

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