//------------------------------//
// Par 11- Probability and Parasprites 
// Story: So Long, and Thanks for All the Ponies 
// by Sir Ginger 
//------------------------------//

Time, as the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy frequently points out, makes foals of us all. Something which may have made perfect sense at the time may seem totally without reason at a later date. According to the witnesses to the events leading up to the current state of affairs on the planet Trivitor, they “seemed like a good idea at the time”. This is all they will say on the matter, which is a shame because at present not a single historian, scientist or indeed god has yet to be able to work out what exactly what occurred and why.

All that is known is that the planet Trivitor is now currently uninhabitable because of the presence of approximately one hundred and eighty-six thousand giant lobster like creatures, apparently composed of candy floss. This would normally be a problem solved easily enough, except that each has, in some uncertain way been implanted with a bomb capable of taking out half the galaxy, wired up to it’s fear sensors. The implication that this situation was not only set in motion deliberately, but by ponies completely and utterly in command of their senses and wits is terrifying in its own way, but most people, upon hearing the story are more worried about why things are this way than they are about the potential for half the galaxy to neatly disappear in a single instant should a single one of the aforementioned creatures be so much as startled. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Indeed, having a likely cause of utter annihilation so conveniently unsolvable has done wonders for the lives of all aware of it, they having taken Carpe Diem well and truly to heart.

One thing that seemed an excellent idea at the time was for the University of Maximegalon to spend the entirety of its library budget on importing its entire stock into a single memory bank. The theory was that it would be far easier to access than any of the alternatives, and therefore would save time, and therefore money, in the long run. Unfortunately, due to the incomprehensibly confusing copyright laws in the Galaxy, the database became utterly untouchable. Digital Rights Management meant that in all the yottabytes of information, barely anything was accessible without correct payment by the university to it’s respective author. The university simply accepted this, and paid nothing at all. What was important was that they had a library which technically had more information than any of their rivals. The students had long since been using their copies of The Guide (or The Encyclopedia Galactica for those with traditional views and no friends) for all research purposes.


*


Light flared in the library. It flared violently with the fire of a magical being who really and truly has been pushed too far.
“WHAT?” Twilight jumped around and approached Pinkie with murder in her eyes. “What in the world is DRM and why can’t I get at anything?” She jabbed at the offending console behind her with each word. “Why. Won’t. It. Work?”
Pinkie moved across to have a read.
“Well, that’s not very nice at all!”
“What do we do?” Twilight’s hair, forever a useful indicator of just how closely she was holding on to her sanity, was in a state that even the Van-de-Graaff-Generator worshipping Wookiees of the planet Staticulon would call a bit out there.
“I guess we could just check that there Guide?” Applejack’s voice entered the conversation with the warmth and comfort factor of a good southern whiskey. “Does it have anything much about places where we could find that doggone ship?”
Twilight’s head flicked back to Pinkie. “Would that thing have what we need?”
“Probably. But...”
“So we came here for NOTHING?”
“The library does have more detail.”
“But for Celestia’s sake Pinkie, I can’t get at any of it!” She whimpered. “I can feel it right there!”
“AJ?” Pinkie turned to the workpony.
“Yeah?”
“Look up probability in the Guide please. It will be under “P”, and Twilight?” She turned back “just look at the cover please.”
“I AM NOT PANICKING!”
“But look at how large and friendly the letters are!”
Twilight bit the retort back. This is fortunate because it would have been unprintable anyway. The letters actually were somehow... comforting. Their precise shape, colour, font, size and placement somehow instilled a clam all of there own. She took a deep breath. And began swearing anyway. For reasons of decency, the telling of this story has been edited to make it more suitable for an (audience home planet here) based audience. All words which remain unsavoury on (audience home planet here) have been replaced with far nicer ones. We apologise for the inconvenience.

“Biscuits! Why the bunnying sugar did you leafing make us get all the happy way out to this mittens-hole of a place if the hopping piece of cake book we’ve had all this rainbow time had the right muffin answer the WHOLE PUPPY TIME? I don’t understand this crazy summer universe, I haven’t had a daisy drink in way too long, and now the one place I thought I could enjoy doesn’t even let me in! So the whole adventure we just went on served NO FUNCTION AT ALL!”
“Well, it will make a good story for later! Can you imagine telling people we travelled so far when I had the answer on me the whole time?” Pinkie giggled. “It is kind of funny right?”
“KITTENS SUNSHINE SPARKLES FROSTING! SWEET CELESTIA HUGGING ME IN MY FOUNTAIN CANDY!”
“Oooooooh!”
“WHAT?”
“Oh you wouldn’t have read it anyway...”
They were interrupted by Applejack triumphantly holding up the Guide, and that same authoritative, calm voice began to speak, silencing the argument.



*


Zaphod, Fluttershy, Rarity and Dash began the walk to the buildings huddled together in the middle of the circle of green. The green was crops, actual living plants, which had an exact border onto the totally lifeless desert. If any of them had taken the time, they would have realised that though the music was barely audible at this distance, nothing lived outside of it’s range. None of them did though, so none of them realised just how much safer they became when they stepped across the border. Right now, foremost in Zaphod’s mind was the possibility of a new fun group to meet with and impress, and maybe try some new drinks from. Foremost in the minds of his three companions was to find out exactly why Pinkie’s Parasprite Polka was playing here at all.
Rarity spoke first. “Surely that can’t really be it...”
“It totally is! I think I remember that day pretty well, and that is definitely the tune!” Dash protested.
“But I mean, surely it can’t be! How would they have heard it out here? And why would they play it so loudly?”
“Um, maybe she learned it from them?” Fluttershy’s voice broke in. “I mean, maybe these ponies just really like this song, I mean, I do, and then Pinkie heard it and she liked it too and she just brought it with her.”
Rarity considered this. “You might be right there Fluttershy darling, but there’s only so much one can like any song surely. They seem to be playing it fairly loudly”
“Hey, guys?” Zaphod’s voice called back. “We got company!”
Indeed, several ponies were now coming out to them. Fluttershy wondered if she had ever before seen such a woebegone set of ponies. They seemed to have gone in for wide, bloodshot eyes, messy hair, broad forced grins, and rags stuck firmly in ears which lay down as if in surrender. Her heart, already delicate from concern for that poor Marvin, went out to these ponies. It was all she could do not to immediately begin mothering them on the spot. As it was, the pony leading his four friends spoke first as the groups grew within earshot.
“We don’t have any room!”
“Sorry baby, I don’t get your meaning. Say again mon amigo?”
“We don’t have the room, or the food, or the bloody patience for any more damn ponies!”
“Woah!” Zaphod was taken aback “Frosty cool bro, We’re just passing through. Heard the froody music and just wanted to come in and...”
“FROODY MUSIC? Froody bloody music?” His eye twitched violently, as the others behind him shuddered in unison.
“Um, yeah, we wanted to ask about that song you guys seem to like to much...” Dash said carefully”
“Like? Like? Do you have any bloody idea about anything? Do you even know where you are?” He stared at their confused faces, and his anger melted slightly.
“You genuinely don’t do you?”
“Um, we know this planet is called Gurgen...” Fluttershy offered. “But I guess we had better be going now.” She turned to run away, only to be stopped by Dashes outstretched hoof.  
“So what exactly are you talking about?”


*


The building our ponies found themselves in was a smallish hall not quite soundproofed against the music, apparently despite the best efforts of the owner. It’s cheerful bouncing tune could still just be made out.
“That song is beginning to get on my nerves!” Rarity complained.
Something like a shudder went through the assembled hosts. The de facto leader simply stared at her with something rather like hatred.
“How long have you been hearing...IT?”
“Almost half an hour now, couldn’t you please change the song?” She batted her eyelids.
“That... song” He sounded haggard “has been playing non-stop for the entirety of my life. I have never not heard it.”
Our heroes looked at one-another, appalled.
“But dear...” Rarity placed a soothing hoof on his leg “Why can’t you turn it off?”
“Because it’s the only damn thing keeping the parasprites from eating literally everything we own!”


*


Parasprites are some of the most successful lifeforms in the galaxy, and certainly some of the most dangerous. Nopony know for sure where they came from originally, but now every galactic neighbourhood has one or two infestations. As a general rule, they would initially seem harmless until their population increased beyond the local production capability of the planet they inhabited, or somepony was foalish enough to stop them eating “food”. At this point, they would begin attempting things that might look like food, or used to be sufficiently alive that they could be called food. Eventually they would move on to eating the ground itself, and even then only if something had powerful enough magic to stop them actively eating living creatures. Unless of course the population had some limit on it., such as the deployment of a Sirius Cybernetics Polka Life-tower. For enormous expense, a vast speaker tower could be set up to play a song which, for some unknown reason attracts parasprites like Vogons to paperwork. This represents just about the only product of the Sirius Cybernetics corporation which consistently works, as continued payments depend on there being live beings to pay them.

At the base of each tower is a high voltage parasprite emancipation grill. The overall effect of one of these towers is to create a circular zone in which no parasprite will even attempt to eat anything, and as such crops can be grown in safety. It also keeps the population down enough that the planet in question is unlikely to ever wake up one morning to discover it no longer exists so much as a planet, as a giant ball of adorable tiny little voracious monsters. This does unfortunately come at the expense of the sanity of any occupant after a few decades, but then one can never have everything.


*


The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy has a lot to say on the subject of locational probabilistic variances. The part of the article relevant to our heroes is quite far in, so we will skip ahead to it. This is both for reasons of concision, and the simple fact that most of it makes no sense to anyone who has not spent an unfeasible amount of time studying hyper-advanced metaphysical mathematics on a quantum level.

The planet Medius is noteworthy chiefly because of its singular adherence to the law of averages, and therefore the laws of probability. Both the planet itself and its native flora, fauna and citation sentients relate directly to the average for the galaxy, apparently with no causal link whatsoever. It relates so perfectly that what was previously a long, expensive and pointless exercise; the Galactic Census Report, has now become merely pointless. All results are now obtained simply by direct observation of Medius. According to the census, the average sentient being in the galaxy has three point four legs, three point six arms and owns not only a hyena but one tenth of a firearm and most of a one point eight bedroom house. This is literally true for a citizen of Medius. Furthermore, all coins flip with monotonous regularity, heads, tails, heads, tails and so on.

Quite why the famously inconsistently applied laws of probability should choose to place this planet under such duress is a mystery, and is certain to remain one for the foreseeable future (which is naturally all of it). This only leaves one question, as in a totally logical universe a planet obeying averages would have a population consisting of eighteen bacteria and one thousandth of a toe of a sentient being. Why instead does it demonstrate the aforementioned conditions? It is possible that the alternative would just have been too dull for the universe to bear.