//------------------------------//
// Chapter 2: Phase 
// Story: Quantum Lottery 
// by Doctor Axiom 
//------------------------------//

Forewarning: Explicit and implied mathematics in this chapter. If the thought of numbers makes you squeamish I suggest you skim parts of this chapter. The paragraphs are spaced to make it obvious where the action starts. If you like math I apologize for the lack of detail.

It was a glorious clear sky, her leg was feeling almost back to normal, and it was the perfect kind of morning for Dr. Rosen Bridge to buy a lottery ticket and end a life-long abstinence from gambling.
Well, she supposed that wasn’t strictly true. She gambled with her career quite a bit, staking her funding on her ability to create solutions to impossible problems. And sometimes she had almost lost those gambles.
She had also potentially been gambling with her life for the past week. Did it still count if she knew with near-certainty that she would win that gamble? She wasn’t sure. It didn’t really matter.
She entered the lab through the back door, turned into the hallway, and locked herself in her office. All her lab staff knew not to disturb her when she did so. She thankfully didn’t encounter Bill at all on her way to the office. Her Mark V Q.S.D. was still neatly hung up on the wall where she left it. No one would be finding her dead in any of their realities today.
Tomorrow, of course, was another matter, if she had her way. The lottery would draw their numbers at 5 in the morning, the newspapers would publish the numbers by 7, and by then she would have bound her fate irrevocably to the numbers they came up with.
The Equestria Daily and the Canterlot Times would both print the Las Pegasus Sweepstakes numbers in the morning, and the odds of a misprint on both should be smaller than the odds of winning the lottery. The Equestria Daily was, annoyingly, as a matter of reputation less prone to error than the Canterlot Times and would give her a higher likelihood of actually winning in the realities where she survived. She set to work estimating the error rate of her best language parsing spell.
15 years of lab work meant 15 years of data from various experiments. She coupled her reading spell with a scribe spell and had it copy data tables from every project in her library, then checked the work by eye. It was tedious work, but no more than her usual obsessive project. Besides, what would the point of it all even be, if she stopped now?
About 800 pages into her 10,000 page bank of numbers, there was some whispering outside her door. She thought she saw a silhouette that looked like Bill and another that looked like Grass Tie, one of her other lab managers. By the time she reached her door to peek outside, they were already gone. Rosen Bridge brought a hoof to her currently bare neck and shook her head. Then she closed her door and went back to work.

The sun had long since peaked and almost finished its descent by the time she finished.
1 in 30,000. Her reading spell misread approximately 1 in every 30,000 numbers.  She furrowed her eyebrows.
By most measures, this was an acceptable error rate. To win the lottery by quantum suicide, she knew this was nowhere near sufficient. Wearing a Q.S.D, there would still be an order of magnitude fewer universes where she actually won the lottery than universes where her spell thought she won because it misread the numbers.
She quickly estimated probabilities on the back of some student’s thesis. For a lottery with 6 numbers drawn, this still made it about a hundred times less likely that she won than that something else went wrong, like her spell misreading the lottery numbers from the paper, or the paper misprinting it. Most of the realities where she lived would be ones where her spell malfunctioned, not ones where she won. She crumpled up the paper and chucked it in the trash.
She got up and begin to pace. A quick glance through the door told her the rest of the lab had gone home for the day. Fewer distractions. She left her door open and paced the hallway.
There was always a clever solution. The obvious, dumb solution to her problem was just to keep playing the lottery until she won. Unfortunately, she had foregone or intentionally misperformed most of her responsibilities at the school, and she would likely soon lose access to most of the resources that allowed her to quickly build a Q.S.D. to spec.
In other words, repeatedly playing the lottery might just cost her her career before she won, even with (relatively, for the lottery) high odds like 1 in 100. Then she’d really lose her ticket to everything, and be out of a job.
Rosen blinked at that thought, and then grinned suddenly.
This was just another career gamble. And she didn’t lose those. She could tackle this the way she tackled any other problem.
So what did she know about the problem? She knew, of course, that much of what she was dealing with weren’t pure probabilities in the quantum sense. Her spell would be affected by a myriad of things that were likely already determined instead of pure quantum randomness. The only thing that was truly random was the lottery draw itself, which was decided by multiple automatically casted fair coin spells. The fair coin spell relied purely on thaumon decay, and would give pure quantum randomness. Everything else- the blocks of type that were used at the newspaper’s printing press, the different editions that were going to be printed, these could all be predicted by how the press organized their printers, and how many people were going to buy the paper. Which meant that for best effect, whatever her spell was would have to be locked in before the lottery was drawn and all the papers were printed. Otherwise the lottery numbers drawn would probably not be the ones she picked, and the only realities in which she lived would not be ones where she won the lottery, but rather ones where she couldn’t cast her spell because she was incapacitated somehow.
That ruled out casting the spell on later editions of the paper, even though papers printed later would be less likely to have errors. She knew from experience that they set the type on the printing press independently for each edition.
Wait! That was it. That was her solution. Different papers, printers, and editions.
Dr. Bridge ran back to her desk and used her reading spell to spot check a few of the numbers it had misread previously. A few of them, like a smudged out 5 and a sloppy handwritten 3 where the ink was faded, were consistent. Others, it recognized when she scanned the papers from a slightly different angle, or in different lighting.
So, then. She might be able to reread the paper several times, and get better results. It would be even better to read each copy of the newspaper twice, and read multiple copies through different printing cycles. If she went by the newsstand and cast on it in the morning, she could have her spell scan every copy that someone bought. By noon her spell could pick the most common numbers it read and use them to determine if she won the lottery or not. In most realities those numbers would all just be the same, but she needed to be absolutely sure.
Better still, she could read both papers sold in Canterlot, both the Equestria Daily, and the Canterlot Times. If she covered multiple printing cycles the odds of a misprint and the odds of a misread would become vanishingly small.
She estimated the probabilities again. 340-to-1 odds of winning the lottery in all realities where she was alive. There was probably a paper or two she could publish in that idea about a spell that could automatically gather a consensus from mismatched data. It didn’t even matter.
She rubbed her hooves together and grinned.
She set her Q.S.D on her desk, cast her coded key spell, and undid the safety latches on the casing. She popped out the trigger unit. Using the actual trigger unit from her Q.S.D for testing would yield the most accurate results. Thanks to all her work during the day, she now had several copies, hornwritten and spell-copied, of all her data. If she used her spell to form a consensus between the three, she could calculate lower bounds on how accurately her spell would perform on a printed newspaper.
She grabbed her test data and her trigger unit and practically danced all the way to the computation engine room. Since she couldn’t just force Bill to help her for a myriad of reasons, she would have to use the computation room automate her testing further. She fumbled with the door’s time lock for a bit before simply overpowering it with her magic.
The night passed quickly. She organized her runes, worked out her spell fundamentals, and checked and double checked her abstraction matrix. She ran a short test and found two misaligned runes.
The moon was at its peak now. She fixed her runes, set her spell running on her test data again, and headed outside to think.
She needed to know where there were newsstands in the city. She knew about the big Equestria Daily stand in the city central, right next to the Equestria Daily press building. She had been in that area once or twice for interviews with the press regarding her new spells. There was also a stand right in front of the School for Gifted Unicorns. She also remembered there being a Canterlot Times stand at the end of restaurant row. There was both an Equestria Daily stand and a Canterlot Times stand at the train station.
The big stand was about three times the size of the other stands, and it was in the busiest part of the city. She remembered Draft Print, the Equestria Daily editor-in-chief, bragging that the paper made just as many sales from paper stands as it did from deliveries. She had, in almost the same breath, bragged about selling a hundred thousand papers daily in Canterlot alone, almost twice as much as the paper named for the city. Assuming all those numbers were correct, each of the dozen Equestria Daily stands in the city sold about 4000 papers over the course of the day. The big stand in the city central then, allegedly sold about 12000 papers.
Halve that for arrogant exaggeration, and she could still read 2000 papers for each newsstand she cast her spell on.
She arrived back at the computation room just in time for the computation engine to finish evaluating the probabilistic performance of her spell. She looked through the numbers. They looked promising. She plugged in her estimated newspaper printing numbers, and set another simulation running. Then she took a short nap.

She awoke to another printout from the engine. It was done. If she just hit one newsstand, it was best to use the big Equestria Daily newsstand in Canterlot central, and her estimated odds of winning were only 2.3-to-1 for that. If she hit two newsstands, it was best to use one Equestria Daily newsstand and one Canterlot Times newsstand, which gave her 8.1-to-1 odds of winning. 11.4-to-1 if she hit three newsstands, two Equestria Daily stands and one Canterlot Times newsstand. She frowned. Her spell was performing much worse than she had initially estimated. She set her numbers running again for larger numbers of newspaper stands.
She didn’t sleep this time, and simply paced in front of the machine until she got numbers back for 4 and 5 newsstands. Best case scenario: 13-to-1 and 14-to-1. Diminishing returns. She frowned and rubbed her temples. It could be her trigger unit malfunctioning. She had certainly given it a workout yesterday by taking the Q.S.D. off her neck with the mana crystal still in place. She thought about replacing it, but at just that moment, the moon began to shine through the west window. She glanced up in alarm.
She needed to cast her spell before the lottery was drawn at 5 in the morning. It needed to be impossible for her to live unless she won the lottery BEFORE it was drawn, or else the realities in which she survived would probably just be the ones where she flubbed the spell since the lottery would have already drawn incorrect numbers. And those would also in all likelihood be realities where she had no future. She glanced at the clock. It was 4:15. 14-to-1 odds would have to do.

Rosen Bridge ran.

Academics are typically not known for their physical stamina, and Rosen was no exception to this generality. In the back of her mind, she was torn between pushing herself to hit as many newspaper stands as possible and taking it easy so she was not too tired to cast the spell perfectly.
It was probably better to cast the spell perfectly. She turned the corner from the bridge leading to Celestia’s school and paused to take a breath before casting. This was the closest paper stand, an Equestria Daily stand. There were no papers stocked, and nopony minding it. It was too early still for that.
Fantastic.
She readied her mind, and cast.
The glow of her magic settled into the desk at the stand. It looked perfect. But she couldn’t help but use another valuable minute to double check her work. It felt perfect through her magical probing as well.
One newsstand down.
She glanced at the clock tower. 4:27.
Haste.
Heh. That was funny to think about, since she there was no way she’d be able to perform the haste spell as she was now. That was alicorn-level magic. It would really come in handy right now. She didn’t even know why she was thinking about this. She should be preparing to cast the next segment of her consensus spell.
She skidded to a halt by the Canterlot Times paper stand next to restaurant row. She collapsed on the floor and wasted 10 valuable seconds catching her breath. When her vision finally cleared enough, she read the clock through the window of Hot Cuisine. 4:34. She could still make this work. She could hit 3 stands before 5.
She closed her eyes and cleared her mind, then cast her second instance of the consensus spell on the stand of the Canterlot Times.
It looked and felt perfect to all her senses, magical and otherwise.
Two newsstands down.
4:38. She might even be able to hit two more stands if she was lucky.
She brushed the hair and sweat and tiredness out of her eyes and ran again.
She had to head north for the next closest Equestria Daily stand, and it was the large one directly in front of the Equestria Daily building. Much of her good odds would rely on being able to cast on that stand.
A left, a right, another left.
She glanced at the clock tower as she was swinging around the bank. 4:40. She could at least make the big stand. She would be fine.
She turned the corner and immediately collided with somepony.
She shook her head and got back up.
“Sorry,” she said, “I wasn’t expecting anypony to...”
“Well well! Doctor Rosen Bridge!”
She looked up straight into the smug smile of Draft Print, her least favorite editor-in-chief.
“What is my favorite professor of applied mathemagics doing out and about before the sun is up?”
A grin twice as smug as Draft’s slowly spread across Rosen’s face. She gestured to her neck.
“I’m just showing off my fancy new—”
Her hoof met her bare neck.
Her smugness vanished instantly.
Rosen Bridge couldn’t tell if her mind was frozen or racing. There was no point locking in her spell unless she was wearing her Q.S.D; she was pretty sure that if she wasn’t wearing the Q.S.D. before the lottery was drawn, the only universes in which she survived would be the ones where something happened to render her incapable of putting on the Q.S.D.
She had to go back and wear it, but she had only cast on two newsstands. Her odds of winning the lottery were poor. Well, relatively speaking they were quite good, but – Oh WHY was she trying to be specific about terminology in her own head at a time like this!?
“Are you, uh, alright there, Dr. Bridge?”
Should she try to cast here or return to her office and just wear the Q.S.D? Risking the cast seemed like it might cost her the opportunity to wear her device, and wearing her device seemed like it might cost her the opportunity to win the lottery here and now.
Safe option, safe option. Which was the safer option?
It didn’t matter did it? She already had 8-to-1 odds, and she could probably try again tomorrow. That meant the best option was to see how her spell performed, win or lose. Lack of sleep was making her slow, and she really just needed to get back to her office and sleep.
“Hey! I’m talking to you, don’t walk away!”
She whirled around so quickly and with such fury that Draft actually took a step back.
“Draft Print,” she monotoned with fury, “you’re an arrogant blowhard who doesn’t know progress when it bites her in the butt. Buck you.” She about-faced and broke into a run again.
She rounded the corner of restaurant row and continued towards the center of the city. Her Q.S.D. was on her desk, and its trigger unit was in the computation room. She couldn’t forget either one. She doubled her speed.
Adrenaline warred with fatigue, blurring the edges of her vision as buildings flew past. At times she was aware of nothing but the feeling of her hooves hitting the ground in succession. She had a singular purpose: to don her neckwear before 5 am.
She tripped as she came up on the bridge to the school. The impact with the ground barely registered. Someone helped her up, probably the night guard. He asked her something to which she just shook her head without processing. She was too busy trying to clear her vision enough to read the clock. Her throat burned. 4:55. She ran again.
She came to her building and opened the door. She walked to her office and paused in the doorway to catch her breath. Her wall clock read 4:56 through the glass on her door.
Oh.
Oh buck.
She had almost forgotten the trigger unit. She galloped to the end of the hall and stepped down the stairs as quickly as she dared. She ran down the tunnel to the other building.
The door to the computation room was still slightly ajar, as she had left it. She threw it open and dashed over to her rune matrix, then removed the wires connecting her trigger unit to her makeshift automation system. She tucked the trigger unit behind her ear.
She raced back through the tunnel, mentally estimating the time she had left. She ran up the first flight of stairs and her legs promptly gave way as she reached the landing. She groaned and propped herself up on the railing.
She was never going to exercise again.
She pulled herself up the other flight of stairs as quickly as she could.
She stumbled through the door and limped into the hall. Her right leg felt almost entirely numb. The edges of her vision seemed to flicker on and off to the rapid beat of her heart. Her door key wouldn’t fit. She fumbled with it twice before opening the door and collapsing on the floor.
Oh she wanted so badly to just pass out.
She could just do this tomorrow when she was better prepared. This exertion wasn’t worth it.


No.

She couldn’t pass out.
She couldn’t pass out.
She needed to WIN.
She peeled herself off the floor and shambled towards her Q.S.D.
The school’s clock tower began to chime its soft morning chime.
Eyes wide, she leapt for the peytral and grabbed it with both hooves. She desperately threw the clasp around her neck and fastened it.
The clock chimed again.
She fumbled with the trigger unit, trying to slot it into place.
The clock chimed a third time.
It clicked into the recess, but the door wouldn’t close. She flopped onto her belly and tried to get a better angle. The fastener just wouldn’t fit!
The clock chimed a fourth time.
She got back up and took the trigger unit back out. It looked fine. This didn’t make any sense. She sighed with resignation.
The clock chimed its fifth and final time.
They must have drawn the lottery already. Now she only lived in the realities where she couldn’t put her Q.S.D. back together again.
Ponyfeathers.
With another sigh, she took off her peytral and set it on her desk. Sleep and rest beckoned. She slotted the trigger unit back into the peytral for safekeeping.
Wait, what?
No way.
It fit in just fine.
She felt it with her magic. It was secure and the circuit was closed.
She put it around her neck and fastened the clasp.
Her fail-safes engaged and she felt nothing wrong through her magic.
Rosen Bridge blinked and shook her head. A slow smile grew on her face.
They hadn’t drawn the numbers yet.
The whole struggle had been due to clumsiness and haste. But now she had won the battle, and she would find out about the war soon enough. She lay down right there on the rug and fell deeply asleep, awaiting her fate.