//------------------------------// // Chapter 12 // Story: The Equestrian Starliner // by computerneek //------------------------------// “Wait.  If the wingless and hornless crewmember was some low-level operations clerk before, why is she now the tactical officer?” Everything rewinds to the two points.  It sure is interesting to have a fourth-dimensional perspective. “Updated identity of the plain pony crewmember represents updated projections of future crew forms.  Shuttlepod Maintenance Clerk Tenneth has been confirmed unicorn; Lieutenant Chasing, Tactical Officer, is currently projected to be a plain pony.” “How do you know?” “At this time, all transforming crewmembers have begun developing horns or wings, save only Lieutenant Chasing.” “What about the flight we just took aboard?” “Crew Flight Three has not yet begun transformation.” “Roger.  Kill the sim, we’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.  About what was said…” “All information given to crewmembers is accurate, to current knowledge.  Stated results from simulations pertaining to post-transporter transformation results are genuine; all further data, analysis, and simulation on pony capabilities is based in simulation.” “So, you really do think I can fly supersonic, and turn on something smaller than a dime.” “Simulations do suggest such, affirmative.” “And that I can teleport.” “Present simulation accuracy on teleport details estimated at twelve point three percent; however, simulations suggest teleportation is possible.” “...  So, in short, we messed up the simulation parameters a little, and everything cascaded from there- even when corrections were made.” “Affirmative.” “Alright.  So, now that I know exactly how badly things could go wrong, will we be okay if I never lift that ban- if we pretend we’re all humans up here?” Momentary pause.  “Affirmative.” “In that sim, did I tell my dad?” “Negative.” “What if I do tell him, and implore him not to tell anypony?” “No material difference, save substantially improved familial relations.” “Alright.  How do you know what my parents will turn into?” “Question implies knowledge that is absent.  Parental forms in simulation are predicted based on observed patterns in transformed crew.  Breed prediction confidence eighty-nine point seven percent for Mrs. Matthews; forty-seven point one percent for Mr. Matthews.  Color prediction confidence ninety-three point four percent for Mrs. Matthews; ninety-seven point two percent for Mr. Matthews.” “...  Ahh, I’m going to pretend that made sense, beyond that you’re pretty sure my mom will be a dark blue unicorn and that my dad will be a deep blue…  pony of uncertain breed.” “Affirmative.” “Really?  I got that right?” “Simplification accuracy one hundred percent.” “All-right!  … Okay, I should probably return to the land of the living.  I can come back to play with these simulators some other time.” “Affirmative.” She lets out a sigh when the machine finally turns off.  “Alrighty! First thing’s first: Am I really an alicorn?” “Affirmative.” She puts a hoof to her forehead.  “Yep. Huh, it’s a bit longer than the sim gave it credit for.  Next up: Do we still have no idea who that white, uh, alicorn, was?” “Identity unknown.” “Then…”  She scowls.  “Wait. When she appeared, you were saying something about the worldwall?” “This vessel is not equipped with passive sensors capable of detecting events across the worldwall.” “Yes, that.  What worldwall?” “The worldwall that separates this universe from the next.” “Soo…  when whatever it was interrupted that transporter jump, it dumped me into another dimension, which you successfully pulled me back from.” “Affirmative.” “Can you do that all the way to the dimension of the ponies, where she came from?  Where magic came from?” “Unknown.” “Unknown?” “Affirmative.  The path to the specified dimension is unknown, save recorded coordinates for the Dimensional Engine.” “Uhh…  can you jump me there directly, or…?” “Negative.  Transporters lack sufficient power to penetrate the interdimensional void.” “But to that…  cloudlike world, they do?” “Intermediate dimension is directly connected to the present dimension, requiring no passage through the Void and only one worldwall penetration.  At this time, over forty million additional accessible dimensions have been detected connected to the intermediate dimension; chained entry via transporter is possible for approximately two point three percent of them.” “Uh…  Let’s just forget about that for now, then, and plan on flying to that world sometime or another.  Um…” She glances to the side. “The simulation. How accurate was the power loss thing?” “Simulation confidence regarding thaumic decay zero percent, from new data; thaumic decay rate appears to decrease in close proximity to ponies, in addition to individual production rate.  Simulations suggest enough crew are aboard to reduce decay rate to zero in a small area.” She raises an eyebrow.  “How many would it take to do that for the whole ship?” “Projections suggest twelve thousand, eight hundred forty-three ponies are required, if distributed; if concentrated, eighteen thousand, two hundred nineteen may be required.” “...  Ahh. Um…  Oh- that simulation, the time my dad calls.  How confident are you in that?” “Simulation confidence on timing of Space Lord Matthews’ call, ninety eight point two percent.” “Which means, what?” “Approximately six point three one hours from now.” “Roger that.”  She glances back at her wings.  “Confidence on flight capability?” “Sixty three point four percent.” “Alright.”  She heads for the passage.  “Flag pool room, let’s find out how accurate it was.” “Warning:  Simulation used simplest predictions available, to minimize false learning.” “...  Roger.” As it turned out, the warning was well served.  The simulation didn’t teach her anything that hurt the effort, it’s true- but it only really taught her enough to avoid getting hurt.  Namely, how to move her wings in sync with each other. It took her the better part of an hour to stop splashing pell-mell into the pool whenever she tried gliding off the diving board…  and she wasn’t too keen on her scanty swimming skills, so she stopped once she’d mastered it, almost a full two hours after she’d entered the pool room. Then she’d headed for the mess hall, eaten, and finally set out for the bridge, figuring she’d kill a few hours on tactical exercises- along with figuring out how to use the control panels with hooves, something the sim never covered- while she waits for her father. Now, though, the door to her bridge just opened, and she’s still standing in front of it. She closes her eyes almost dramatically, then reopens them in similar fashion. Nothing changed. She opens her mouth.  “Athena? Are those… crash test dummies?” “Affirmative.” “Leftover from the test cycles?” “Affirmative.” She grins.  “I know exactly how I’m going to expedite the rest of my crew.”  She trots forwards, to stand next to her command chair.  “Alright. Let’s hail the United Space Administration, Commissions Branch.  On the main screen, with me filtered to appear human.” “Orders confirmed.  Requesting video connection.” The main screen in the front of the bridge lights up, displaying the prompt she expected. “Uh…  You have me in uniform, right?” “Affirmative.” Then the screen changes.  A young boy appears onscreen, gazing out at her bridge.  “United Space Administration, Comm- uhhh…” He blinks a couple times, scanning his display.  “Um, Head Commissioner Kane is still here- would you like to talk to him?” She nods.  “Yes please.” “Roger.” Moments later, the screen changes again, this time showing the United Space Administration’s videocall hold image. This lasts around three seconds, before an older man comes onscreen.  “United Space- Oh, shoot.  Um, United Space Administration, Head Commissioner Kane speaking.  I take it someone forgot to clean up before commissioning your vessel?” She nods.  “It would appear so, Sir.” He sighs.  “Alright, I’ll track it down.  Do you have the ships’ registration ID?” One of the panels surrounding her command chair lights up, displaying the relevant credential.  “Yes, I do.” “Excellent.”  He touches a couple buttons on his end.  “What is it?” She reads it to him- a long, alphanumeric code. “Thank you.  Let’s see… Starship Athena, correct?” “Affirmative.” “Alright, I’ve got it.  Um…” His eyes scan down something she can’t see.  “All testing was completed successfully, result pass.  Looks like one of the low-level commissioners just forgot to send a cleanup crew before he dumped her in the commissioning queue.”  He looks back at her. “It’s completely safe to remove any and all sensing equipment left over from testing, return optional. I will be notifying…  looks like both Personnel and Operations of the issue; crewing operations will be expedited with choice candidates, and your first exercise will be delayed by a full week.” She raises an eyebrow.  “A full week?” He sighs.  “That’s the most I can give you- and you’re going to need it.  This is telling me you’ve got close to fifty thousand of the things scattered across the ship.” She blinks.  “You said return optional?” “Yes ma’am.  The equipment in question was not taken from our inventory, so you may jettison or destroy it at your discretion.” “Thank you, Sir.” “You’re welcome,” he nods, and looks at his side screen again.  “Hmmm… I’m not in control of everything over in Personnel, but you can probably expect a temporary promotion, and some shuffling of all or part of your bridge crew.  They all seem mighty junior, to me, for such a big ship.” He salutes to her. “Safe travels.” She tries the salute with her hoof.  It doesn’t work too well, but she doesn’t lower it, hoping Athena’s alteration would cover her fumbling.  “Thank you, Sir.” The screen goes dark. She sighs, lowering the hoof.  “Um, how did I look with that salute?  Both real and on the call?” The big display comes back on, displaying the two images side-by-side.  “Synthesized human appearance performed the salute with precision. Physical salute estimated eighty seven point three percent success.” She blinks, looking at the image of her pony self, saluting out of the screen.  “... Huh. It didn’t feel that good.”  She shrugs. “Anyways, how many of these dummies are there?” “Forty nine thousand, two hundred eighteen.” “Can you get rid of them somehow- burn them as fuel or something- on your own, or do we have to do something?” “No action is required.  Confirm order: Recycle all forty nine point two thousand test dummies?” “Uhh, confirm.” “Orders confirmed.  Energizing transporters for removal of Bridge dummies; Three.  Two. One.” On the unvoiced zero, all the dummies in her bridge momentarily glowed white and vanished, in very quick succession.  Over all, it took around a quarter of a second for all ten or so dummies to disappear. “Nice.  Though I have to ask, how will the other dummies make it in for recycling?  That didn’t look fast enough to do them all with the transporters.”