7 Reasons A Game Physics Matters
A question so obvious I don’t think I’ve ever answered it before: Why does a game physics matter? I give 7 reasons.

This image composites ‘Theory Of Relativity‘ from Pixabay, with Abstract Quantum Physics by p2722754, also from Pixabay. Even though the formula has been an iconic symbol for physics for about a century, unless your Genre is sci-fi or superheroes, I recommend keeping your GAME physics strictly classical.
In fact, you can do worse than to draw a line above a branch of physics you don’t want, eg Quantum Theory, and use that to select a ‘physics foundation’ date.
I was working on a future post detailing a speculative (real-world) physics – it’s good stuff, coming soon – when it struck me that I don’t think I’ve ever addressed this fairly fundamental subject.
What Is A Game Physics?
When you get right down to it, a game physics is what effect follows a cause, from the perspective of the characters inhabiting the game world.
In the outer meta-verse, you get event chains like
decision (p) -> appraisal (g)
appraisal (g) -> [skill] check (p)
[skill] check (p) -> outcome (c)
outcome (c) -> consequence (c).
(p) is player, (g) is GM, and (c) is character.
A game physics describes what this process looks like from, and makes rational sense to, the characters. The character doesn’t know the game mechanics, doesn’t know there?s this ‘higher power’ called a player, with a still-higher ‘power’ called the GM, both pulling his strings; from his or her or its perspective, he makes a decision to do something, he attempts it, the attempt either succeeds or fails or something in between, and there are then consequences of that outcome that have to be dealt with. The game physics provides the conceptual landscape for translating action (the attempt) into consequences.
Noteworthy properties of a Game Physics include:
- It doesn’t have to look anything like even a simplified model of real-world physics. It can incorporate things that we don’t consider real, like magic and teleportation and FTL travel.
- Internally consistent, up to a point – that point being the cutting edge of understanding of the universe (It’s often useful if you can be one step further along in your understanding, because you can then describe the outcome of experiments aimed at probing that unknown).
- Can contain errors and mistakes of judgment and interpretation. It can contain wild speculation with the caveat that this probably isn’t correct, though there may be elements of truth within it.
- Doesn’t have to explain everything, though it should explain most things, even if it’ only vaguely.
- It can be argued that the game mechanics form an element of the Game Physics, and analysis of those mechanics is physical law every bit as much as any natural law in real-world physics. It’s just abstracted a little.
As a general rule, a game physics should not go so far as to express reality in equations the way our real-world physics does – which is a good thing, because many GMs aren’t equipped to do so, anyway. A narrative description is good enough.
Inevitably, this will use technical terminology. While it isn’t perhaps necessary to specifically define these terms explicitly, doing so helps keep their use consistent, and that’s far more important.
Does too much energy in a focal point tear open a hole in reality? How big a hole? Does this hole suck anything nearby into it, or do things have to pass through it by their own motive power? Where does it lead? How big does it get? These are all things that should be in a game physics.
Three Game Physics, not one
Here’s a technique that I’ve learned the hard way. Create a game physics that describes the universe as you, the GM, understands it.
Make a copy of it, and then redact the most advanced content. Then replace some (just a little) of the remainder with incorrect understandings. Then generalize a little bit. That’s the Game Physics as it is understood by the experts of the game world.
Make a copy of that, redact the most advanced content, then replace between 1/3 and 1/2 of the remainder with something that’s oversimplified or incorrect, then generalize the heck of of almost everything. That’s the game physics as understood by (most) of the PCs, and therefore what you provide to the players.
Oh, and one more tip before I move on: Different cultures will have different names for, and interpretations of, the same phenomena. We’re used to the modern world where terminology tends to become universally accepted; but look back just a century or two, and you find that’s not the case, especially at the edges of discovery. Everyone had their own terminology for the same phenomena, and sometimes didn’t even recognize the phenomena as being the same thing. The pioneers in electricity are a great example, and this cuts the scope of ‘the history of science’ into something small enough to digest. You don’t even need to understand the science itself, the stories of the electrical pioneers are enough.
You can start with this YouTube video;
follow it with this introduction for kids;
then move on to this BBC article;
before concluding with this PDF from the University Of Lisbon
– and having the Wikipedia page on the subject on hand to fill in any blanks might also be useful.
How Much Attention Should You Pay To A Game Physics?
About as much attention as you pay to physics in the real world – you consult it when you need to work out what just happened and when you need to figure out what’s going to happen, and more or less ignore it the rest of the time – which is to say, less often than you should.
The one aspect of physics in the real world that’s ignored all too often is the physics of motion – the correlations between distance, speed, time, acceleration, friction, traction, momentum, and braking distance. But that’s of dominant importance purely because we drive so much.
In a fantasy world, the basic laws of Magic and Faith should take center stage. And in most sci-fi worlds, it’s either the laws of cyberspace or the physics of FTL that should be ubiquitous – but probably aren’t.
Part of your job as GM is to smack the PCs in the nose with a rolled-up game physics when their characters do something stupid – and then let them walk back the action if their characters should have known better (an important caveat).
That implies that you have to fill in the gaps that exist between your ‘master physics’ document (see the excerpted section above) and player ignorance (‘What do you mean, “you didn’t read it”?’).
There are four specific time frames in which special consideration needs to be applied, so let’s break those out and take a closer look at them.
- Indy vs the swordsman, Raiders Of The Lost Ark; and
- Ripley, Aliens, to the Alien Queen: “Get away from her you bitch!”
- Bullet Time from The Matrix; and
- Legolas surfing down the Cave Troll’s back while firing an arrow in The Fellowship Of The Ring.
In Campaign Creation?
If there’s a more important time to work closely with your game physics, I don’t know when it is.
The logic runs like this: Either your game physics is utterly conventional, or it’s not. If it is not, then you want every difference between your game reality and that of the familiar ‘real’ world to be in display, or what’s the point? A difference that makes no difference is no difference. Exceptions can always be made for twists and surprises that you intend to hit the players with in the course of the campaign.
In particular, anything mentioned in the players’ briefing material as their characters’ understanding of the game physics should be represented, but must be supported by the ‘real’ game physics – even if the details that indicate that difference are somehow obscured.
It’s like a mystery plot, where you have to present a clue without making the significance of the clue obvious.
It’s long been my practice to deliberately design some unique property, some distinguishing concept, into my campaigns to differentiate them. Those “axioms” are fundamental to the game physics of the campaign, shaping both its past and its contemporary reality. And the logical consequences form subsidiary impacts on all of the above.
In the Rings Of Time campaign, the central tenets were “The Gods are mostly paper tigers; they select a number of promising mortals and give them extraordinary luck and opportunities, use them to do their dirty work, then dump them back into the Normal World and forget them”. The PCs were two such mortals, and they decided (at the end of what was intended as a one-off adventure, doing that ‘dirty work’), that if they were going to do the Work of Gods, they were damned-well going to enjoy the perks that went with Divinity.
In the Fumanor campaigns, it was “Belief and perception shapes the Gods. Churches, Shrines, Temples, Priests, and Holy Books exist to shape beliefs and perceptions through Myth and Allegory and outright fiction, written by Mortals for their own purposes”. The very concept of Divinity and what made a God a God were central premises, and much of the Campaign revolved around Lolth’s insatiable Lust for Divinity, not realizing that she would then be trapped in the form shaped by those Mortal Perceptions and have far less freedom of action than she currently enjoyed through the Faith of her followers.
In the Shards Of Divinity campaign, it was an Origin Of The Universe story that created Gods and Anti-Gods to assuage the All-father’s loneliness, and contained an inevitable apocalyptic confrontation between these Children Of The All-father, with the Mortals and Monsters and Demons and Devils created (imperfectly) by these Children playing the role of the ‘X-factor’ in that outcome; Leftover ‘shards’ of the body of the All-father, destroyed by his children out of Jealousy and Teenaged Angst gave mortals the ability to wield Magic, both Faith-based and Arcane. Loneliness, Love of Creation for its own sake, Ego, Pride, Willfulness, Envy, and a sense of Responsibility (or lack thereof) were built directly into the Game Physics, which were set against the imminent Apocalypse.
In Zener Gate, it was ‘Causality in a universe with Time Travel’,M/em> and the nature and physics of Time Travel were key components of the game physics.
And so on.
I can’t recommend this approach strongly enough. Define your game Axioms and let all of History (from the perspective of the END of the campaign) be an exploration of the consequences, implications, and ramifications of those Axioms.
In Character Generation?
Anything a character can do should be represented or explained through the game physics. Again, work from the player version but check for compatibility with the ‘real’ version.
Note carefully any differences between what a character will think is going to happen when they first use this ability, and what is really going to happen. And make sure, when they DO use it for the first time, that you make a point of telling the player that it is the first time, or they will want to know why they didn’t notice the difference sooner.
Sometimes, the environment they were in can be used to explain this, and you can have the character be familiar with the ability and still get surprised by it, discarding the “first time” justification. That’s always good, because you can only plausibly go there so often.
For this reason, some of your game world either should be set up to have this consequence, which means doing it after character generation, or you should anticipate the possibility of a character having the ability in question and construct your game world accordingly.
In Game Prep?
The game physics should always be in the back of your mind when you are designing adventures – it can be worth your time to skim the physics descriptions accordingly.
Obviously, the longer and more involved they are, the longer (and probably more superficial) this review is going to have to be. That’s something to keep in mind when you’re creating the game physics in the first place.
In Play?
The final ‘special occasion’ is during actual play, because that is when the physics will actually make a difference – if it’s well-constructed. It should rarely be at the front of your mind, but it should normally be at the back of your mind.
But always remember the Rule Of Cool – “any action attempted can succeed it it’s cool enough”. In a fantasy game, this is attention from a “passing deity” overriding normal cause-and-effect to decree a different outcome. It can be harder to explain in Sci-fi campaigns; perhaps dictating that physics has a fuzziness, an ‘uncertainty principle’, a ‘butterfly effect’, in which random factors, usually negligible, combine to change an outcome.
And never forget that the Rule Of Cool should also apply to attempted actions by NPCs, be they allies, onlookers, or enemies.
Sidebar: What is “Cool”?
I’ve seen “The Rule Of Cool” referenced hundreds if not thousands of times, but it was only when I typed the statement above that I realized that I had never seen anyone define “Cool” – so let’s give it a shot. here and now.
An action is “Cool” if it so perfectly and spectacularly distills the primary capability of the character performing it that it supersedes rules and planned plotlines. It creates an iconic “moment” within the campaign.
If the game were a movie, these moments are the ones that bring roars of appreciation from the audience. They can be spectacular, but even without trying hard, I can think of two moments that qualify with nary a special effect in sight:
Both of these brought the entire cinema to their feet when I first watched the respective movies. It’s the difference in reactions between Star Trek The Motion Picture and The Wrath Of Khan.
On top of those examples, there are a few that rely on special effects, a paradigm shift in the way you see possibilities.
Once again, cinema-goers were on their feet cheering these scenes the first time they saw them. These were Cool moves.
The first has its equivalent in the GM getting his narrative description of action absolutely perfect, coalescing a noise of small details into a perfectly-visualized scene. The latter is more obvious – it’s the perfect blend of audacity and skill.
A rogue catching a dagger in mid-air and throwing it back at the target is a great example. By the rule-book, they might have to make all sorts of rolls and might lack the specific abilities needed – but because it?s definitive of the character, and the PCs have their backs to the wall, the GM lets it happen regardless – once. Try to do it again, and the results are likely to be less than spectacular.
“The Rule Of Cool” should also apply to NPCs attacking the PCs, but because the GM has so much control over the game, this is more difficult to justify; it has to be self-evident that it’s a ‘Cool Move’ or it will fall worse than flat.
The final point to be noted is that “The Rule Of Cool” has to be permitted to break GM plot planning. The alternative is disruptive of player agency to the point of sounding like a plot train.
At most, there can be a brief delay while the GM builds the dramatic effect to a maximum, but even that relies on the player concerned trusting the GM, who can’t just say “The rule of cool will let you succeed” without undermining the dramatic effect of the moment. Managing this situation can be quite tricky; you have to acknowledge the move, not let the announcement influence your NPC decisions, and not telegraph your ruling on the move without discouraging the player. Perhaps the best approach is to spread the action out – “Okay, you’re moving into position to make your attempt, I’ll let you know when you get there.”
This can force the GM to have to abandon his script and improvise. I find it a lot easier to do so if I’ve noted at the very top of the encounter what the NPCs are trying to achieve in the encounter, because that’s what will dictate their future decisions.
It can be tempting to play a game of ‘tit-for-tat”, giving the player his “rule of cool” moment but then giving a countermove to the NPCs. Resist this urge. Resist it hard.
The overriding nature of Critical Hits and Failures also gets explained in terms of Game Physics in the same way.
Seven Reasons For A Game Physics
There’s a lot to keep track of when you’re the GM. The game world, the game rules, the motives, the environment, the personalities and capabilities and plans of the NPCs, the personalities and desires and capabilities and plans of the PCs, the adventure, and how it fits into the bigger picture of the campaign.
As a result, GMs quickly get used to pulling decisions out of their butt when they are needed. Over time, and with experience, they get better at all of this, and start learning to integrate all of this into a coherent view of the current in-game situation, permitting those ad-hoc decisions to be better informed by all the different considerations.
Given that expertise in making decisions, and the already high demands on the GM, why on earth would the GM want to add another demand, another consideration, to their slate?
There are Seven critically-important reasons for having a defined game physics. They aren’t all equal, it has to be admitted, but which ones are dominant will vary from one GM to the next. If there were only one or two, you could argue that the totality might not be enough to justify the added workload, but with seven, I think the justification is a slam-dunk.
1. Consistency Of Rulings
There is always a tension between creating an exciting story and creating verisimilitude. One of the pathways to the latter is consistency of GM rulings, because that adds up to an impression that the GM isn’t just making things up as he goes along, he is describing the interface between the game world and the actions of the PCs, especially the more spectacular ones that are less likely to be covered by the standard rules.
Understanding the fundamental principles behind the simulation of ‘game reality’ gives you a foundation to make those verisimilitude decisions more consistently, with less deep thought – and that leaves you with more capacity to focus on other things.
2. Fairer Rulings
Greater consistency, as already explained, makes the world feel more real, and the decisions you make feel fairer from the perspective of the player. It builds that trust in the GM that I mentioned at the end of the sidebar on the Rule Of Cool. But this isn’t some illusion; your decisions actually do become fairer and more justifiable. If one is challenged, you can pull out the game physics to explain it, and if the players can accept that your NPCs are operating within the limits of the game physics (and fail when they attempt to push beyond them without the benefit of The Rule Of Cool), then it all feels more real to them.
3. Ease Of Rulings
If decisions can be guided by fundamental principles that are clearly understood, making those decisions becomes easier – and that produces an automatic lift in the quality of everything else you have to do as a GM because you have more capacity to devote to those aspects of the task.
4. Predictability By Players
If you’re consistent in your use of Game Physics, even if they aren’t explained to the players, they will start making notes and developing theories. But you get greater benefits by providing an abridged and generalized game physics to the players (with an explanatory note that the players version is generalized and simplified), because the players will then be paying attention to the underlying physics.
You know that the physics has been accepted and integrated into the campaign when the players start using it to make plans, and noticing when the physics overrules the usual game mechanics.
5. Internal World-Logic
This benefit is a through-line direct from world creation to game-play. Using a game physics that has been properly worked out creates an internal logic to the game world, and using that same physics to adjudicate game decisions puts the players into direct contact with that internal logic.
A development process
But there was an important caveat in the preceding paragraph that almost snuck through without being noticed, I’m sure: ‘properly worked out’.
I have seen GMs create their game worlds and THEN try and devise a game physics from scratch, and it never really works out very well. The Game Physics should come first.
Of course, that’s hard to do if your campaign is already underway, but there is a way around the problem. It’s my old favorite technique, iterative development.
Start with the most overt expression of game physics. In a fantasy game, that might be ‘what are the gods’ or ‘how does magic work?’. Develop your game physics to answer the question.
Then look at your game world and find the next biggest item that hasn’t been explained by the first principle, its assumptions, its ramifications, and so on. Add a new principle to your game physics to cover it.
And repeat the process for as long as necessary.
You then need to review the results in light of all your in-game descriptions and decisions. Hopefully, there will be no contradictions, but the far greater likelihood is that there will be. For each contradiction, you either need to refine the game physics you’ve built to remove / explain the contradiction, or you need to add another principle to override the nascent game physics.
You will be faced with inconsistencies and anomalies and outright mistakes, and you have to wrest some sort of rational sense out of all of them. It’s a lot harder than getting it right in the first place – but it’s the only right way to do it after the fact.
6. Verisimilitude
I’ve saved the most obvious benefit for second-last (because the last item was added at the last possible minute). The more fantastic the campaign setting and concept, the harder and more important it is to really sell those things to the players. Every factor that contributes to the believability of the campaign, that aids the suspension of disbelief, is a precious resource not to be neglected.
Even if your campaign is not so out there that you need the Verisimilitude boost, what a game physics then does is give you license to stray beyond the lines that your concept has created. You don’t have to stay way out if you don’t want to; it’s just another plot card that you have up your sleeve.
7. Natural Color
Probably the least-obvious reason, which is why it was an afterthought to the original list of six. The reasoning behind this one lies in the prediction of outcomes, making descriptions of those outcomes more detailed and – when its justified – more spectacular. But because these narrative blocks are describing an implied reality, they feel more natural, and contain hidden ‘worldbuilding’ that lends a solidity to the game world.
There’s an example of this that I would love to cite, but (1) it hasn’t been played yet and would give entirely too much away, and (2) would probably double the length of this article. So, instead, I’ll choose a pair of second-best example from my Doctor Who campaign that suffers from neither of these restrictions.
- SET 1 Front Right:
- Coil #1 (Primary): Magnetic Strength 10.8 ML, Thermal Change 10 QD, Implied health status: Slight Degradation.
- Coil #2 (Primary): Magnetic Strength 10.9 ML, Thermal Change 11 QD, Implied health status: More micro-breaks but they are less severe than Coil #1, so Slight Degradation.
. - Coil #3 (Lateral): Magnetic Strength 12 ML, Thermal Change 10 QD, Implied health status: Very Slight Degradation.
- SET 2 Middle Right:
- Coil #4 (Primary): Magnetic Strength 10.6 ML, Thermal Change 9 QD, Implied health status: Slight Degradation.
- Coil #5 (Primary): Magnetic Strength 9.6 ML, Thermal Change 50 QD, Implied health status: Moderate Degradation.
- Coil #6 (Lateral): Magnetic Strength 6 ML, Thermal Change 300 QD, Implied health status: Severe Degradation.
- SET 3 Rear Right:
- Coil #7 (Primary): Magnetic Strength 0 ML, Thermal Change 0 QD, Implied health status: Complete Failure.
- Coil #8 (Primary): Magnetic Strength 1.2 ML, Thermal Change 2000 QD, Implied health status: Critical Failure, will cause thermal stress degrading surrounding coils.
- Coil #9 (Lateral): Magnetic Strength 7.3 ML, Thermal Change 200 QD, Implied health status: Moderate Degradation.
- SET 4 Rear Left:
- Coil #10 (Primary): Magnetic Strength 8.4 ML, Thermal Change 104 QD, Implied health status: Moderate Degradation.
- Coil #11 (Primary): Magnetic Strength 10.5 ML, Thermal Change 11 QD, Implied health status: Slight Degradation.
- Coil #12 (Lateral): Magnetic Strength 8.5 ML, Thermal Change 97 QD, Implied health status: Moderate Degradation.
- SET 5 Middle Left:
- Coil #13 (Primary): Magnetic Strength 0 ML, Thermal Change 0 QD, Implied health status: Complete Failure
- Coil #14 (Primary): Magnetic Strength 1.2 ML, Thermal Change 2000 QD, Implied health status: Critical Failure, will cause thermal stress degrading surrounding coils. Coil#13 might be it’s first victim.
- Coil #15 (Lateral): Magnetic Strength 5.2 ML, Thermal Change 63 QD, Implied health status: Moderate Degradation.
- SET 6 Front Left:
- Coil #16 (P): Magnetic Strength 8.5 ML, Thermal Change 88 QD, Implied health status: Moderate Degradation.
- Coil #17 (P): Magnetic Strength 11.1 ML, Thermal Change 8 QD, Implied health status: Slight Degradation.
- Coil #18 (L): Magnetic Strength 12.2 ML, Thermal Change 7 QD, Implied health status: Very Slight Degradation.
- GM NOTE: Prepare a Table.
Example #1: Gallifreyan Units
The Gallifreyan units of measurement described below were determined by asking the question, ‘how would this defined race measure these quantities?’ – and that gets into areas of psychology and culture. There’s nothing sacrosanct about the units of measurement employed by humans, and you immediately introduce differentiating color to the species and culture by employing units that they find sensible and traditional. The units described below reflect the internal world-view of Gallifrey and its residents, and add additional layers of world-building to the campaign. Most significantly, it’s possible to reverse-engineer the reasons for these choices of unit to reveal subtle details about the Doctor’s home-world.
There are two primary levitation coils for each wheel, and 6 more along the chassis that provide lateral stability, for a total of 18 coils in sets of three. A critical failure of the system, requiring a repair, is defined by two or more adjacent primary coils failing entirely, resulting in one corner of the vehicle dropping uncontrollably.
Repairing only any critical failures would degrade the ride quality 15% or more – you would feel every rock, bump, and jolt, and there would be an increased risk of instability at high speeds, during sudden maneuvers, and during heavy braking using the emergency brakes.
GM Note: Driving Penalties should be increased.
It would have taken 10 minutes to fetch a portable power unit from the Tardis and 10 minutes to take it back when the work is done but this is avoided by using the power supply you have already taken to the Bug. It only takes one minute per coil to disconnect it from the system, hook up some power leads, feed it some juice, measure the magnetic flux, and write it down on a Christmas tag (the first thing that came to hand and that won’t be excessively degraded by exposure to vacuum since there’s no glue or binding involved). Tie each tag to the relevant coil’s power cables with a bit of string, disconnect the power and move on to the next. Once you can compare the readings for each coil, you can decide on your next move.
Gallifreyans measure magnetism in Lobes, a number of Quantum lines of magnetic force per micron. Lobes are useful for the most minute of magnetic effects; kL (Kilolobes) is the right unit for lifting small weights, ML (Megalobes) for the lifting of heavier objects (like the Bug), and GL (Gigalobes) for reactor field strengths and the like.
They measure temperature in Quanta-D (and yes, the Doctor is well aware that the English translation of the term creates a pun with the word “Quantity”. This is defined from the Perfect Gas Law that relates the absolute temperature to the average velocity of movement of the gas molecules). The “D” refers to “Derivative”, which comes from the definition of velocity as the rate of change in position and direction over time. There’s roughly 100QD in 1°C.
Clockwise from Front Right:
Given the minute nature of the components, disassembly of severely degraded coils is not really a viable time-effective option, though you’ll work out the logistics just in case there’s a way around the problems. Instead, you (through Quasima) will probably have to have the Tardis manufacture replacements while you’re doing other things – but that’s going to be easier said than done, too.
Electromagnets consist of coils of wire (usually very fine, but it depends on the current they are expected to carry, which is a function of the material and magnetic strength they are to output). More of either current or coil density and you get a stronger magnetic field. These coils are usually wrapped around a ferrous material of some sort, which amplifies the magnetic effect produced. Both wires and core are often composed of exotic materials when they have to cope with unusual conditions – and the Moon definitely qualifies in that respect, due mostly to the thermal differential between night and day (254°C or about 26000 QD).
With permanent magnets, the magnetism can recover from exposure to extreme heat up to a point, known as the Curie point, but anything beyond that causes permanent loss.
It’s the same with the cores of electromagnets. The core is chosen as a material by a tendency to have it’s crystalline domains align easily, amplifying the magnetic force produced (potentially) thousands of times, but releasing that magnetism quickly and as close to completely as possible when the electrical current stops flowing through the coils. The Curies point is the temperature at which these tendencies break down and the material becomes paramagnetic. Approaching the Curie Point there is a loss of efficiency, but cool them back down and they are as good as ever – but go past that temperature, and the ability of the core to create magnetism just stops working, and the magnetic field almost completely collapses.
Most commonly-used electromagnetic materials can cope with lunar daytime temperatures just fine – being near a fusion reactor is more likely to cause them trouble. But there’s always a secondary consideration when dealing with materials intended for space – mass, or more specifically density relative to magnetic performance, and THAT is then complicated by the lunar conditions.
The =second=-best answer, when everything is taken into account, is old-fashioned iron, and until about 2035, that would be the only choice considered. But in that year, engineers came up with the Axiom-Cobalt Matrix, designed for extreme thermal stability and high magnetic density – and with a Curie point at an unprecedented 1450°C, which is 145kQD. It’s weight is significantly higher than that of iron, but a little clever engineering can bring it back down to the effective weight of iron with most of it’s benefits preserved.
Ideally, you would like to use the old cores and construct a new winding around them, because the new unit would be a more exact replacement for the dead or damaged unit. But that would take time, and time is the one thing you can’t manufacture.
The Tardis uses a different core material in preference, one humans of this era have not yet invented, a Quantum-Graphene Ferromagnet. It weighs less than 40% the weight of an iron core, but still has several times the magnetic efficiency – though still less than Axiom-Cobalt. It’s just considered a more practical compromise by Gallifreyans.
It would take the Tardis about an hour to build a new coil with an Axiom-Cobalt core. Once it’s made one, it can turn out as many more as required in about 10 minutes.
It would take about 40 minutes to build a new coil around the existing Axiom-Cobalt cores, but that’s 40 minutes per coil – it’s detailed and finicky work. And you would have to carry each dead coil back to the Tardis, and cut away the existing wiring loom without damaging the core underneath – that’s another 40 minutes per pair of coils – and give the Tardis 10 minutes to measure the number of coil windings, wire diameter, and electrical properties of the wire. Even if you only have to replace 4 of them, that’s more than 4 hours, and four coils is the bare minimum for functionality.
Using the technology that the Tardis already ‘understands’ is a significant time saving – about 5 minutes to measure the physical shape of an existing (dead) unit, 5 minutes to do the electrical analysis and determine the number of windings, another 5 minutes to override the scans and replace broken wiring with whole in the specification (with Quasima doing the work, it would take you hours), and 10 minutes to manufacture as many as you need. You would still have to remove a defective coil and carry it down to the Tardis for all this to take place, and still need to ferry the replacements back out to the Bug, but that’s 25 minutes plus transportation time for unlimited replacements – there’s no real alternative to consider, given the time restraints. There’s so =much= you could get done in the more than 3œ hours you save!
It takes 8 minutes to remove a single defective coil/unit, 12 minutes to install a single replacement and connect it, plus 8 minutes returning to the Tardis (you’re learning the terrain) and 10 minutes per pair of coils to be repaired /replaced carrying them from the Tardis to the Bug. You can’t take more than 2 at a time on the sled.
And that raises a logistical question of what approach is the most efficient? The Tardis can’t begin it’s scans until you carry a unit down, but you only need to take one. By the time you’ve finished evaluating the different combinations, you have multiple options to consider.
Option 1: Remove all the coils to be replaced, carry one to the Tardis, wait for the analysis to be completed and the replacements to be manufactured (taking advantage of the time for a rest, a quick cuppa, and to recharge your O2 tanks), collect the first pair, return, collect the second pair, and then install them.
Total: 2 hrs 31 min.
Option 2: Remove a coil, carry it to the Tardis and set it up to be analyzed, return to the Bug and remove the other 3 coils to be replaced while the Tardis is performing its scans and analyses and manufacturing the replacements, head back down to the Tardis, bring back the first pair of coils, back to the Tardis, bring back the second pair, and install all four. Total time of 2 hrs 16 mins.
* Is saving 15 minutes worth foregoing a 25-minute break? Only you can answer that, but I suspect not – you’ve been working for just over 6 hours at this point and are more than ready to take a break.
But the options don’t end there! Both options 1 & 2 are based on the QDF cores that the Tardis understands and can manufacture relatively quickly. There are still two A-C core options that have to at least be considered.
Option 3: Much the same as Option 2, but the Tardis manufactures new A-C core Coils instead of QDF Core Coils, which should make them more compatible to the existing systems of the Bug. Time: 3:34.
Option 4: Remove the damaged cores from the Bug, take them to the Tardis (2 trips), carefully remove the existing windings after the Tardis has run its scans, and manufacture new windings around the existing cores. Take the new cores back to the bug (2 trips) and install them. The problem is the winding removal and replacement; this is time-consuming and requires your expert supervision. Time: 7hrs 12 minutes. You can now rule this option out with a clear conscience.
It’s when contemplating additional repairs in the Critical Systems phase that things get interesting – assuming you have the foresight to manufacture all the QDF cores at the same time.
Options 1 and 2 permit the replacement of an additional four Coils in just 1:56. That’s short enough that it has to stay an open question, for now. Option 3 permits the same with a new A-C core coil, but will take almost an hour more, making it only marginally possible. Option 4 would take 6 hrs 36 minutes to do the same job, so it’s definitely off the table.
After those 8 coils are replaced, the next worst is Coil 9. You can add it to the to-do list at a cost of just 38 minutes (options 1 & 2), 52 minutes (option 3), or a prohibitive 1 hr 48 mins (option 4).
Which would leave only two coils to be replaced with any benefit, #5 and #12. If you had the replacements on standby, Options 1 and 2 would see them installed in another 58 minutes. Option 3 would require 1 hr 26 mins – and the cumulative total is starting to look pretty bleak for that option. Option 4, at 3 hrs 18 more, is right out of the question. Or you could go the whole hog and replace all 18, even though that would be replacing functional units with less effective ones.
Aside from the recharging your O2 tanks – and Option 2 is the only one that doesn’t allow this – and the period of rest that ONLY option 1 permits – it’s really when thinking about these additional repairs that the differences between Options 2 and 3 really become stark. Choosing option 3 is choosing systems compatibility over more substantial repairs – In the time it takes to replace the most critical 8 coils under option 3, you could replace 11 coils under option 1 or 2 and still have about an hour in hand to work on other systems.
But options 1-3 are only fully effective if you get as many replacement cores as you need all manufactured at the same time. So, while you don’t have to =commit= to the larger repair jobs right now, you DO have to commit to a core choice (QDF or A-C) and to keeping the doors open to further repairs to the suspension.
(What’s your initial gut instinct?)
Before you make that choice final, there are a few more things to know (that have been taken into account in those timings).
Assuming you go with one of the QDF core options, the replacement units will have a 25% efficiency loss relative to the existing ones – it would be twice that, but Gallifrey has had a long time to work out the kinks in the technology, and you can use high-current-density Samarium-Copper Alloy in the wiring, making the replacements that little bit more efficient than whatever the designers used, and mitigating the negative impact.
Your new units will produce about 9.7 ML, so any existing unit doing that or better should not be replaced unless you are prioritizing consistency over speed.
There are four coils that are completely dead or virtually so: #7, #8, #13, and #14. They HAVE to be replaced, but that’s all that has to be done for =minimum= function.
Adding coils #6 and #15 would significantly improve lateral stability and #10 and #16 would boost maneuverability and reliability. Finally, although you might not get time for it, replacing Coil #9 would further enhance both those factors.
Quasima makes a firm declaration of his opinion: The optimum strategy is to manufacture ALL of those replacement coils (9 of them) at the same time using QDF cores so that you have at least the option of doing more if time later permits.
You CAN operate the Bug without the additional repairs, but just barely.
Example #2: An advanced fusion reactor
For various reasons, human technology in Doctor who is 20-30 years more advanced than in our world but most of this doesn’t show, most of the time. This reactor was supposedly built in 2040 by Volvo for the European Space Agency, and almost certainly both the design and construction were subcontracted out with Volvo supplying the parameters, tolerances, & specifications. It had to be compact, robust, and reliable.
It exhibits world-building from three directions at once. First, this is a statement of the capabilities of human engineering at the time it was built; second, it shows the industrialized deployment of advanced technology, with the the compactness and miniaturization that results; and third, it combines that with well-known, tried and proven technologies that connect back to those of our world in clever ways.
The Fusion Reactor is a brilliant bit of design. It starts with the batteries, that ionize the deuterium fuel with an electrical current through one side of an ionization chamber. This causes massive expansion of the liquid gas, propelling some of it to the next stage of the process.
A second electrical current elevates the Hydrogen to plasma temperatures, stripping it of its ability to hold electrons for very long. Electromagnets pull the resulting witches brew apart.
Electrons are pulled toward a metal plate to create a secondary electrical circuit.
Nuclei that still have electrons are pulled toward an intermediate point where they enter a pipe that recirculates them back to the ionization end of the chamber using magnetic accelerators.
But nuclei without electrons are pushed in the opposite direction by the magnets and enter the next element of the system.
Carbon nanotubes carry them forward toward the reactor in twenty separate pathways through a particle accelerator that raises their speeds to a significant fraction of the speed of light and synchronizes them into pairs, accelerating or slowing them until they are timed to arrive at the reaction chamber in pairs, 1/10th of a second apart.
The clever part is pulling these nuclei into a curved path and holding them there, so that the accelerator consists of only 4 sets of electromagnetic rings for all twenty nanotubes. This makes the whole accelerator incredibly compact and efficient.
When the two nuclei are released into the reaction chamber, their trajectories will be close to the desired intersection point but not perfect. To refine that trajectory, they enter a crystalline lattice that uses the Quantum-slit principle in reverse to focus the motion of the nucleus into the precise direction needed. It’s like a misstatement of the old tale: “You take the high road and I’ll take the low road and we’ll both end up in Tipperary”. No matter what the trajectory of the particle was, the Quantum Tunnel Engineering of the reaction chamber forces it to move on increasingly the correct line.
A magnetic containment field keeps the nuclei from escaping – always possible when dealing with Quantum-level effects..
A pair of synchronized nuclei. still traveling at significant fractions of the speed of light, strike each other so hard that fusion takes place. Just a single reaction but it will keep happening every tenth of a second.
The two nuclei do not strike each other in exactly opposite directions; they intersect at an angle, so that the vector sum of their post-fusion movement thrusts the resulting Helium nucleus toward another, larger nanotube set with a lesser accelerator. These nanotubes coil around the reaction chamber, so the nuclei absorb the energy generated by their own creation as heat, which they then pass on to the Salt Chamber. This transfer is about 60% efficient, and is key to the operation of the reactor.
But not all that 40% is not thrown away; a Magnetohydrodynamic System (essentially a big pair electromagnets) harnesses the passage of the charged particle to deliver instantaneous surges of power when they are needed by this system. The fact that it’s positively charged and not negatively charged is a minor detail in the engineering (any charged particle passing through a magnetic field induces a current – the faster they go, the greater the current). This also slows them down considerably.
The nuclei then continue through the nanotube tunnel that eventually delivers them to a stream of electrons =from the collection plate in the ionization chamber,= where they pick up a couple of those electrons from the electron beam to become helium =atoms= and are ejected through the exhaust as waste heat, cooled slightly by the cryonic coolant system.
Meanwhile, the salt has boiled from the heat, and expansion forces it into a pump built around gravitic technology (no blades needed) to circulate the liquid salt through a generator that converts the kinetic energy into electrical power. That power then drives the wheels of the Bug. The liquid salt is thermally isolated from everything else (and from the outside world) by the cryonic coolant system; without it, the salt would slowly overheat until pressure forced the salt chamber to explode. That’s the weakest point in the system; there can’t possibly be any sort of overflow valve, the white hot liquid salt would consume most things in its path.
The problem with – and virtue of – this arrangement is that the salt takes time to get hot enough to create the kinetic energy. That smooths out the peaks in power delivery (a pulse every 1/10th of a second) from the fusion reaction and delivers consistent baseline power, but can’t cope with a sudden increase in demand very quickly. That’s why the MHD system also harvests energy from the system – to cover any temporary shortfall.
It’s taken you 5 minutes to work out the intricate ballet of particles that drive the fusion generator. Now that you know how it’s supposed to work, you can turn your attention to what went wrong – and what you might have to do to fix it.
THE FAILURE:
Analysis (Sonic Scan): Confirm the containment field integrity and check for radiation leaks (2 mins) by feeding power from the batteries into the electrical components..
Log Check: Access the black box logs to confirm why the reactor shut down (5 mins). You will need to download these to the Sonic Screwdriver and then extract that information while in the Tardis. But you will have known that was coming, and so could have taken the information down on your last trip for analysis.
The system itself is robust, but was shut down automatically when the power distribution system overloaded.
The logs show that the system performed exactly as it was designed to do in such an emergency, 16 years ago. When the Power Regulation System (PRS) failed, the IFB detected a “Load Rejection” (nowhere for the power to go) and initiated an automatic Emergency Shutdown, automatically decreasing the acceleration of the particles in the system to a point below which fusion would occur.
The reactor should still be intact and ready to go – but whatever caused the PRS to fail is still in effect, so the reactor will =not= fire up until that is fixed.
If the shutdown wasn’t in time, then there were 1-9 Hydrogen-Hydrogen fusion reactions within the chamber ‘uncontrolled’, which may have caused further damage – but you think the design is robust enough to cope with that. These are technically referred to as “stutter pulses”. So those few minutes analyzing the way the system works leads to the conclusion that it will probably fire up again if the electrical system is repaired. There will have been minor thermal pitting on the containment wall, but this is purely cosmetic and will not affect the function of the reactor.
Example #3: Main Headlights
Oh heck, why not one more, since I have the source document open, and because I’m really pleased with the cleverness of the design.
Lighting systems in the Bug can be subdivided into two classes – those for internal illumination, which you’ve already dealt with, and those to illuminate the outside world. Anything in shadow on the lunar surface is more or less pitch black and could conceal absolutely anything. And that includes the Bug – if you can see where you’re going. Exterior lighting can also be subdivided into running lights and twin light assemblies at the front.
Running lights form two lines along the sides and rear of the Bug, each light having a rectangular shape 3mm x 2mm. The two rows are slightly off-set from each other to form a ‘brick’ pattern. One set is designed to be on continuously while the bug is in operation, but are dim, while the other set brightens and then goes out a hundred times a second. The net effect isn’t so strong as to be considered ‘strobing’ though it might still trigger anyone with epilepsy; instead, shadows of objects within range seem to ripple, the closer the object, the stronger the effect. You could also liken it to the shadows shifting to give a cross-referenced position of the object casting the shadow. It takes a few minutes to get used to, but it’s clearly designed to address a landscape in which normal distance referents are either absent or misleading because they are based on terrestrial experience.
But those are just sideshow attractions. It’s easy to dismiss the headlights as ho-hum and humdrum systems – until you examine them really closely with the Sonic Screwdriver as a kind of sonar, letting you look inside. The design extrapolates the potential for maintenance being performed in an atmospheric environment even though that was not an available feature of the human Lunar Outposts in 2048 when it was being designed. It uses a secondary cryonic flow to reduce any gas into a liquid state to permit it to drain out harmlessly through minute “tear-ducts” at the bottom, matched by inverted ones at the top to permit any gas NOT liquefied to escape. So it is designed to operate in the hardest vacuum possible, at superconducting temperatures, even in the harsh light of the lunar day. That means that the operating conditions are as firmly stabilized as the engineers could, well, engineer.
But that’s just the foundation for one of the most amazing pieces of design you’ve ever encountered. Some genius must have reached the absolute pinnacle of their creativity while creating this system. At it’s heart, it imagines the human eye if the optic nerve were a light generation system – and then improves it – and then nests three of them one inside the other – and then has them work in harmony.
‘Adaptive Optics’ is probably how the marketing gurus would have described it, but that undersells its brilliance, unlike most marketing hype.
The three “optic nerves” are banks of low-powered monochromatic laser beams with different output frequencies. These aren’t milliwatt devices like might be used as pointers in a lecture hall – they are smaller and more reliable solid-state devices that probably operate closer to the microwatt range, and each is collimated to exactly match the aperture of the lens system. Each lens is optically tuned to respond only to the specific wavelength of one of the beams. The lenses are coated in microscopic light-absorbing-and-emitting diodes embedded in the lens material, which is a gel-like substance sandwiched between layers of self-sealing crystal membrane barely one molecule thick – thin enough, in fact, that they can flex to shape when compelled to by the gel within. Unlike the beams that charge them to release the light energy when the laser pulse ceases, they emit white light from the back of the lenses, which is then shaped and directed by the lens as the system requires.
Running horizontally through the lenses are microscopic wires of a memory metal, which contracts like a muscle when electrical current flows through them. This controls the width of the resulting beam, from broad and diffuse to sharp and focused. Also embedded in the lens are ferromagnetic ‘fibers’ which respond to shaped electromagnetic fields from above and below to raise or lower the focal length of the beams – right in front of the Bug for the most diffuse, and farthest away for the most focused.
That in turn means that the natural tendency of beams to ‘spread’ has been use to the advantage of the system.
But the cleverest piece of the whole system is a connection to the sensors that report on the speed with which the front wheels are turning – the faster the bug is going, the more the beams stretch out in front of it. Go slow, and the light focuses on what’s immediately in front of you – go faster, and it stretches to illuminate what you have time to react to at those speeds. And it makes these adjustments with no need for computer controls or other mechanisms – they are engineered directly into the headlamps as a fully-autonomous system.
It’s complex and innovative that must have taken hundreds of iterations to get right. And then you realize that the most rearward lens’ output has to pass through the two lenses in front of it, and so has to take their shapes and settings into account, and you revise that estimate to thousands of iterations, possibly tens of thousands.
But what strikes you most of all is the robustness of the design. Each of the fibers, be it memory metal or magnetic, acts completely independently; unlike a coil, which is one long strand of wire, these are all independent and parallel, so even if one suffers a breakdown or puncture, the rest will still perform. One diode emitter can fail, and the rest will still function – with no moving parts that nevertheless change shape. And the rigidity of those environmental settings means that the whole would be designed to operate indefinitely under lunar conditions, or something close to it. There is no one point of failure; there are hundred of them in parallel with each other. This level of engineering would be cutting-edge even on Gallifrey!
Back in the Bug’s cavern, you isolate an ‘on’ switch (to conserve battery power when the bug doesn’t need to light up), and a ‘test mode’ that lies to the optical mechanism, telling it that the Bug is actually traveling at speed. It takes only a minute to run the system through its’ paces, finding – as you expected from the design – that there is some degradation, but that the system still functions adequately.
But that raises a separate question – should you actually disable the running lights, despite the possibility that you might need them? They clearly silhouette the Bug, making its presence more obvious. Quasima suggests that the gains from doing so are not worth the effort – not with the main headlights shining. Those, you decide, should only be activated at need; the full earth-shine is enough light for out in the open on Mare Crisium. Only when approaching a ‘built-up’ area or an area with hazardous terrain should they be activated – the way they are now. You hastily flip the switch to deactivate the system.
In total, you have spent all of 8 minutes on the lighting systems, mostly gushing over the headlamps, if you’re honest.
Future-proofing Your Game Physics
The more robust your connection with the real-world physics around us, the more vulnerable you make your game physics to new discoveries in that real world. You avoid some of this by not detailing formulas and more of it by using narrative-based explanations of the physics, but – to be honest – the only real solution that is worth the time needed to implement it is simply to specify a date and ‘fix’ the foundations of your game physics to the real world as of that date. Anything new that comes along has to fit within the spaces between any customized elements.
Fantasy tends to get a lot more freedom and flexibility, but the historical foundations of your game physics tend to occupy a strange half-way house between what was believed at the time and the modern view of the 1850s-1950s. The latter are simple enough that a high-school education is generally enough to understand them, and a primary-school education gets you most of it, providing a window of accessibility for most players and GMs.
If you can dispense with the details while locking in a solid foundation with the single line, Based on the Physics of 1910 except where otherwise contradicted, it leaves you free to focus on the exceptional elements.
Nor do you necessarily have to restrict yourself to reality-based physics; there’s absolutely nothing to stop you from defining your foundations as ‘Based on the novelized Physics contained within [source X]’, and this shortcut can save you an awful lot of work – but there is a price to be paid: this opens the door to differences of interpretation of that material.
These are best addressed by ignoring them until they arise unless you’re already aware (thanks to professor internet) of such differences of interpretation.
Some Final Advice
When writing a game physics, always fall in love with the word ‘because’ and all its antonyms. Not doing so creates a superficial appearance of depth with no real substance in back of it.
This is a problem that Star Trek The Next Generation suffered from frequently; as a result, they achieved a consistency of technobabble, nothing more. The capabilities of their technology became extremely inconsistent because of this.
And it connected to other problems on the show – “Tech Today, Gone Tomorrow” being how I describe one of the more important ones, which was an almost-complete reset of capabilities from episode to episode. This week, the cast figured out how to do [x], and three episodes later, when confronted with a similar challenge, they had completely forgotten it. Every now and them, the scripts would drop in a line to cover this – “None of our existing solutions will work,” or “unlike anything we’ve ever encountered before”, but they start to wear thin after so many shows, too. The sheer number of encounters made the crew of the Enterprise some of the hottest problem-solvers around, with exemplary records for bringing home the bacon, week after week, and that only made the absence of institutional knowledge stand out all the more.
Viewers – and players – remember. They have that institutional knowledge. If you don’t prepare for that, they will get on top of you, every time. The solution to this is to continuously update the game physics every time the PCs figure out how to use it to achieve something else.
A Game Physics will actually come under more intense scrutiny than that shown to a television show. It needs to be about what can be done with the physics and why things work the way they do than simply “The [x] permits [y]. It is aimed through the [z] panel and has the following side effects…”.
But it can also be a GM’s best friend – if you let it.


















































