//------------------------------//
// Chapter 11: The Sound of Sabotage 
// Story: Constellation 
// by Locomotion 
//------------------------------//

Locomotion paced back and forth within the lobby at Sugarcube Corner, fuming with rage. “I knew it! I just knew it!!” he growled furiously. “That idiot Prince Blueblood was issuing death sentences by letting the Constellations back into the air!”

“You said it, Loco!” agreed Lickety-Split feelingly. “It was bad enough with just one crash, but to allow another to happen? That's just...I'm surprised it was just the one plane!”

Sweetie-Belle frowned. “How can he be so heartless?” she protested. “I can understand what Rarity said about him being all rude and selfish, but that's just...cruel!”

“It's nothing less than homicide!” snorted Locomotion. “Nearly seven-hundred passengers and crew, including Buck Rogers...”

“What?!” burst out Lickety-Split, visibly shocked. “As in...that cowpony actor from Applewood?”

“Same one – and he's not the only one either,” Locomotion ranted on. “Hoofball player Bo Rein, fashion designer Suri Polomare, alchemist Thermit Weld, they were all on the same flight – and joy of joys(!), there wasn't a single survivor after it crashed!”

“Hardly surprising,” mused Ruby Pinch, who was sitting nearby. “They were saying that the only reason Flash managed to survive for so long was because there was another pony close enough to catch him before he hit the water. That other plane was probably miles away from land when it crashed.”

“Yeah, no doubt Rarity's gonna be a bit...surprised, to say the least,” added Sweetie-Belle, “especially when she hears that Suri was on the plane.”

“Surprised indeed!” scoffed Locomotion. “I'd say she'd be glad to be rid of that mare, after how she messed her around in that fashion show in Manehattan once!”

“True,” said Sweetie-Belle solemnly, “but whatever Suri may have been in more recent times, she was still an old friend to Rarity.”

Locomotion rolled his eyes and scowled. Somehow, he found that very hard to believe. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered. “Still, at least we can rest assured that Blueblood's gonna be in serious trouble with Celestia when she finds out about all this!”





And indeed he was. Princess Celestia spoke severely to Blueblood about the disaster, reminding him in no uncertain terms that he had no business ordering the potentially unsafe Constellations back into the air without her say-so – and as punishment, she had him locked away in the dungeons while he considered the consequences of his actions. In addition, when he was released a week later, he was made to apologise in public for all the lives lost through his fatal error of judgement.

But it was the Constellations themselves that suffered the most from the crash of All Neighpon Flight 304. In order to prevent any further accidents, Celestia not only grounded the planes a second time, but also ordered their airworthiness certificate to be revoked and all manufacturing of further such planes to be halted. Now, after only half a year in service and a further five months of investigation, and in spite of the seven long years and millions of bits spent on their development, the future of these engineering triumphs looked bleak.

For Professor McPommel, however, this news came as a much-needed bounty after all the trouble he had been experiencing with his Phantom airliner. It was with a triumphant smirk that he listened to Prince Blueblood's public apology and the news that the Constellations, those most formidable of all his opponents, and the bane of his existence, were no longer deemed fit to fly.

“So much for your 'miracle of modern engineering', de Hoofilland,” he taunted. “The lead in the superliner race is as good as mine!”

Withers, who had been looking on with an expression of deep guilt, directed a look of doubt towards his superior. “Are you absolutely certain about this, sir?” he asked uneasily. “The investigators haven't said anything about it being a possible design fault yet; it could be that they still suspect sabotage.”

“As if! The way those planes have been affected, they'll never find any evidence to suggest sabotage,” snorted McPommel dismissively. “Face it, Withers, the Constellation is as good as dead.”

“Well...yes, sir, but in fairness, you did speak pretty harshly of the Constellation right in front of an entire press conference,” pointed out Withers, trying in vain to reason with the iron-hoofed entrepreneur for the umpteenth time. “We'd probably be better off giving de Hoofilland a break...”

But this only served to incur his boss' wrath. He promptly turned and directed a threatening leer at the spineless worm he called his chief designer. “At what point, Withers, did I say you were allowed to talk such trash in front of your superior?!”

Withers backed away nervously. “I-I-I'm just stating a fact, sir,” he stammered. “Everypony knows of your desire to gain the upper hoof on de Hoofilland.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh...y-y-y-yes, sir,” affirmed Withers uneasily.

McPommel reverted his gaze to the television, a look of mock remorse on his face as he silently cursed Withers' pitiful attitude. “Yes......I suppose you're right,” he answered at last. “Now tell me this – how do you reckon 'everypony' would react if he came into the office and suddenly discovered that he had been...oh, I don't know...” He paused for a moment before swinging round sharply, slamming both front hooves on his desk and practically roaring out the last word; “...UNEMPLOYED!!!!”

“Uh...yes, sir...I'll bear that in mind, sir.” Without another word, Withers hurried away back to the drawing office.





With the Constellations' reputation in tatters, the investigation teams found themselves working twice as hard to find out who or what could have caused the two planes to crash. Incredibly, in spite of the deeper waters of the Pegacific Ocean, the black boxes only took three days to find, and the flight data readings showed that the plane must have broken up in a similar manner to Flight 759. But it still didn't bring them any closer to working out the cause of the crash, and to make matters worse, the depth of the ocean made the rest of Flight 304's wreckage extremely difficult to retrieve.

Two months later, much to Twilight's relief, Flash's lungs had fully recovered and he was up and about once again. Having been discharged from the hospital, his first thought was to head over to Foalborough and see how the investigation was going – but it was while he was making his way back to mainland Equestria that, after seven long months, the investigation team finally made their much-needed breakthrough...

“Dr Rotor?”

Rotor turned to face the hangar door. “Yes, Aerosmith?”

“Lieutenant Echo Fleetfoot has just arrived with Item 926, sir,” said Aerosmith. “It looks like it might be off the roof of Flight 759, and we think it might be the fragment we're looking for.”

“Ah, good. Right, bring it into the hangar and let's have a look at it.”

Spike's eyes lit up. “So we're finally gonna find out what destroyed the plane, huh?” he asked hopefully.

“Looks like it, Spike,” mused Twilight, watching closely as the offending fragment was brought into the hangar.

At the same time, Colonel Panthera and Major Spyder, who had been speaking with the team investigating into Flight 304's crash, came into the hangar through the other door. “Hullo,” remarked Panthera, catching sight of the fragment they had just received. “Did I miss anything, Rotor?”

“No, actually,” replied Rotor, “you were just in time, Colonel. We think we might have found the 'golden nugget'.”

“Oh right? Might I take a look at it?”

“By all means.”

As the technicians lay the fragment down on the workbench, Panthera examined the item carefully while Spyder eagerly muttered under his breath. Sure enough, the fragment seemed to have suffered from some sort of cracking, and there were several dull grey streaks in the metal. The sphinx metallurgist arched a suspicious eyebrow as he traced the course of each streak. “Yep – this is the smoking gun alright, but there's something strange about this fragment that I can't quite place my paw on.”

“What sort of something?” inquired Spike.

“Well, the fracture line and all the streaks on the surface seem to indicate metal fatigue,” explained Panthera, noticeably confused, “but this sort of failure shouldn't be happening so soon in...well, any plane's life. Added to that, there's nothing to suggest that it might have been caused by a dent or a mechanical overload.”

Spike directed a quizzical glance towards Twilight. “What's metal fatigue?”

Twilight glanced grimly at the fragment. “It's when repeated movements cause tiny cracks to form in a weak point of a metal component,” she clarified. “The more it moves, the bigger the cracks until eventually it just breaks apart. As Panthera just said, it usually takes months or even years for metal fatigue cracks to develop – which, in the case of Item 926, can only mean one thing...”

“And that is...?”

“...that Constellation Zebra Trigger had been tampered with before it even left the hangar.” Twilight looked across to Rotor; “Have the lab ponies prepare me a few samples of the Constellation's hull, but make them about a third of the original thickness. I want to see if my theory stands up.”

“Oh right? What do you think might have happened?”

“I'll explain later,” replied Twilight. “Oh, and while you're up, get in touch with the de Hoofilland Aircraft Company. I have a feeling Sir Geoffrey himself will want to see this.”

Rotor nodded obediently. He was still mystified as to what Twilight meant, but quietly assured himself that all would soon be revealed as he went to telephone.





Twilight, Spike and Panthera spent the best part of the rest of the day conducting experiments on the metal samples, trying to work out how part of the roof could have been subjected to such alarming metal fatigue growth in what could only have been a few days. They completed the tests with moments to spare before Captain Sir Geoffrey de Hoofilland, now in a foul mood thanks to the tarnished image of his graceful new flying machines, arrived at the aerodrome late that afternoon. Rotor, Panthera and Twilight greeted him warmly, but it did little to quell his frustration.

“Now then, Your Highness,” he said to Twilight, “I believe you've found the root cause of the crash?”

“We have indeed, Mr de Hoofilland,” affirmed Twilight, “but it's a bit...complicated, to say the least.”

“Complicated?” Sir Geoffrey looked perplexed. “How so?”

“Well, it was sabotage alright; but whoever was behind all this seems to have taken a somewhat unorthodox but very effective approach.” Twilight pointed towards the broken panel as Colonel Panthera explained what had happened;

“We've just been examining a section of the roof from Flight 759's forward fuselage which had only just turned up this morning. From what we've observed, there seems to be a dangerous amount of metal fatigue throughout the panel, and the line of fracture shows signs of just such a failure.”

Sir Geoffrey looked put out. “Metal fatigue?! That's absolutely preposterous!” he claimed. “We at the de Hoofilland Aircraft Company have not only used the very finest aluminium alloy to build the Constellations – we've also taken every step to eliminate all stress concentration in the airframe! Always had done ever since the crash of Royal Equestrian Airways Flight 781 back in 1954, dash it all!”

“We know that, Mr de Hoofilland,” interrupted Twilight calmly. “We never once suggested that it could have been faulty materials or stress concentration.”

“What do you suggest then?”

“Well, part of my studies under Princess Celestia involved the application of magic to metallurgy,” explained Twilight sagely, “and from those, I have managed to work out that a simple ultrasound spell, similar to the one that aircraft engineers use to detect fatigue cracks, can also have the potential to cause them.” She then turned and nodded to Spike, who produced two three-hoof wide metal sheets. “Now, as you see, Spike here is holding up two samples of the aluminium alloy used in the Constellation's construction – basically identical, no defects whatsoever. We also have a magnifying glass with which to examine each sample. Now first off, Spike is going to subject one of these samples to repeated bending forces for thirty seconds. Take it away, Spike.”

With little more reply than a succinct nod, Spike rested one of the samples on the workbench and began bending the other one back and forth again and again. Sir Geoffrey looked on reticently, while Twilight counted the seconds as they passed; but predictably, the metal sample still remained intact after the thirty seconds were up.

Twilight levitated the magnifying glass over the sample, showing a series of dark lines where fatigue cracks had begun to extend outwards from the edges of the metal. “So,” she surmised, “we've managed to induce a few cracks in the metal, but none large enough to have any real effect.”

“Yes, I can see that,” retorted Sir Geoffrey in a bored voice. “Where are you going with this anyway?”

Twilight nodded a second time to Spike, who held up the second sample. “This,” she replied simply, “is where I'm going. We're going to subject this next sample to the exact same bending forces, but before we do that, I'm going to use the aforementioned ultrasound spell for around five minutes.”

Spike held the sample in plain sight while Twilight cast her spell, closing her eyes in concentration. There was a dull humming sound as her aura surrounded the metal, but Sir Geoffrey barely noticed any movement at all – in fact, by the time Twilight had finished, he was beginning to wonder if there was any point to this demonstration. But when the lavender-coated alicorn hovered the magnifying glass over the sample, he was almost rendered speechless by what he saw.

“What in thunder?! But you never applied any force to that!”

On the surface of the metal was a whole network of dark lines, far more extensive than on the previous sample. Many extended right across from one side to the other, while others branched out and even interconnected at various points. But if these dark lines had taken him by surprise, the next part of the demonstration came as a bombshell; once again, Spike began bending it back and forth, this time with much more ease. No sooner had Twilight passed the three-second mark than the metal started to come apart with a groan – and finally, just four and a half seconds in, the metal sample snapped in half like a cookie.

Sir Geoffrey stared in shock at the broken metal sheet, unable to believe what he had just seen. “Great Scot!!” he blurted out. “How the dickens did you do that, your Highness?!”

“It was pretty simple, really – all I needed to do was boost the signal to a frequency of around 800MHz and concentrate it to an area of around half a square hoof,” Twilight replied. “This has the effect of vibrating the metal by a few microns each way. It may not seem like a large amount, but at this kind of frequency, it's enough to cause a lifetime's worth of metal fatigue in a matter of minutes. We believe that's exactly what the saboteur must have done to the two crashed planes.”

“Yeah, and that leaves only one piece of the puzzle,” put in Spike; “who could have had a motive to destroy two fully loaded Constellations?”

“We've already ruled out the changelings as potential culprits,” added Rotor, “and we can hardly see it being a would-be assassin of Ambassador Yehuda El Equuis, so we can only assume that the plane itself must be the target.”

Sir Geoffrey frowned. “And I think I might know who'd have a motive,” he said darkly.

“Who would that be?”

“If I didn't know better, Mr Panthera, I'd say a certain McPommel must have had something to do with this. I wouldn't be surprised anyway, considering how he slandered the Constellation as being a mere upstart at the Foalborough press conference, shortly before it was launched.”

“Wait – McPommel?” Spike's eyes widened. “As in...Professor Arrowhead McPommel of McPommel Airliners Incorporated?”

“That's the same one.”

“Yeah, I know the guy,” remarked Spike. “If I remember correctly, he had been working on a superliner project of his own for about...five years before you started on yours.”

“He sure was, Spike – the McPommel PC14, latterly known as the Phantom,” affirmed Rotor. “He actually managed to obtain government support with that plane for about...two years; but eventually they just dropped it in favour of the Constellation.”

“How come?”

Rotor heaved a sigh. “Well, it looked pretty promising at first, but we soon found that there were far too many problems with the overall design,” he said gravely. “It was pretty much a white elephant by the end of the day.”

“So...you think McPommel might be holding a grudge?”

“Could be,” agreed Rotor. “He was a successful enough entrepreneur, but he's pretty ruthless, that one.”

“And jealous of my achievements too,” put in Sir Geoffrey. “I bet you half my factory he's been plotting against me all this time. I just wish there was a way to prove it.”

Twilight spoke up; “Well, I think I might know a way. It'll involve a calculated risk, but if it works, then it should more than clear the Constellations' name.”

Spike looked perturbed. “What are you planning to do, Twilight?”

“What I'm planning,” replied Twilight, a look of steely determination in her eyes, “is to set a trap for the saboteur. The location – Starswirl Airport; the time – early morning; and the bait...” she paused dramatically, “...the very aircraft they've been targeting all this time!”

“WHAT?!” Sir Geoffrey was appalled. “You mean...risk one of my Constellations to lure the culprit out into the open?!”

“Not just the one, Mr de Hoofilland. We'll need an extra plane as backup should anything go wrong on the big day.”

Not for the first time since arriving on Equestrian soil, Spyder went into a horrified frenzy. “Princess Twilight! Have you gone bananas?!” he blurted out. “Here we have a plane that's in constant danger of attack, and you plan to fly two more out to their destruction?! That's just...ape!!!”

But if Spike was anxious about the use of the Constellations as part of the trap, he was absolutely furious with Spyder for offending Twilight, and duly leaped to her defence. “Look who's talking!” he bellowed. “You who's done nothing but yell and screech like the world's gonna end – and then there's Twilight who's been nothing short of an asset to the team ever since the investigation started! So what if it sounds crazy – Twilight knows what she's doing!”

“Alright, Spike, that'll do,” chided Twilight, promptly halting any further argument between the dragon and the monkey.

“Same goes to you, Spyder,” added Panthera severely. “Any more trouble out of you, and I'll put you on a charge!”

Spyder ruefully subsided.

“Believe me, Mr de Hoofilland, I realise the risks involved, but it's the only way to expose the culprit and exonerate the Constellations,” persisted Twilight. “It's either we chance it, or your creation goes on the scrap heap. Now what's it going to be?”

Sir Geoffrey hesitated. Over the seven years that he had spent developing the Constellation, he had grown so proud of what had proven to be his most expensive plane to date that the mere thought of sending one to certain destruction shook him to the core of his existence. All the same, he had to concede that there was little chance of proving that the planes had been sabotaged unless they risked destroying a third plane – and if they didn't, then his greatest works would likely die out altogether.

“Alright then, Your Highness,” he sighed at last. “If you really need to go to such lengths, then you have my leave.”

“Thank you, Mr de Hoofilland. Let's just hope Princess Celestia agrees to my plan.”