Portmaster

Red surface of Mars dotted with blotches of green of equaformed areas and blue spheres of colony shields loomed through the transparent ceiling overlooking the kilometer-wide interior of the torus of the station. Gardens with exquisite sculptures, crystal houses of many colors, ponds with swans and bushes with sparrows, and none of this was on my mind.

Did he really think it would work? To waltz out of the container, nonchalantly offer to cover the damages and entry fees, and think they would buy the 'rich playcolt with his pet' act?

Elysium welcomed us with pointed guns. We were led to jail and kept in separate cells without as much as one question about how we got there in the first place. At least Portmaster finished healing, he could remove his casts, and use both eyes. Not that it did him much good currently.

Supposedly, Mister Night wanted to see him in person. The very owner of Elysium. We were on our way, not able to even twitch, restrained with tar-field generators clamped over our necks, set to complete halt. I could only imagine the torture Portmaster's unblinking eyes were coming through.

The local cops in menacing, dark armor of plastobsidian teleported us to the most luxurious districts of real gardens and crystal houses, then ferried us on small hoverpads to a mansion styled very much like the Crystal Palace of the Crystal Empire.

They apparently had everything arranged, as we didn't wait even a minute in the lobby area. A teleport-lift brought us to the top of the tower. Gravity was noticeably weaker here, nearer to the station axis. The area shone with purple crystal, gold and colorful gems. A wide,ornate crystal door dissolved into sparks in front of us, and we were ferried into the office of the big boss, its back wall open onto the panorama below, minimal furniture of shifting, colorful hard light, just a wide table and fluff-crystal cushions, some holo-displays, a small bar on the side.

Two ponies were sitting behind the table. One of them, a tall unicorn stallion, black coat sparkling like stars, abundant black mane flowing in smooth curls all the way down his back like a black cloak. The other seemed like a no-shit clerk of some kind, a dull yellow pegasus mare past her prime, a real pony, though she had more electronic implants in her than me.

"What is this?" The black pony asked with scorn. "Why are they in restraints?"

"Mister Night," one of the cops spoke, "they are extremely dangerous."

"Nonsense. Remove their restraints right now."

They switched the tar-field off. I blinked rapidly, not daring to release my pain overrides. My eyes burned bad. Portmaster was faring worse, whimpering quietly and rubbing his eyes hard with his fetlocks.

"I'm extremely sorry for that," Mr. Night spoke in a very business-like tone. "It was never my intention to cause you discomfort. Miss Dusty," he turned to the mare, "I hope you will deal with this accordingly."

"Of course, Mister Night," she answered.

"You are dismissed," he told the cops and they turned around and left obediently. More than obediently - after a couple of years in the service I could see this even through solid armor. They were scared shitless.

"Mister Snake Stomper, if you require medical attention, this meeting can wait. I can arrange that swiftly."

"No, thanks," Portmaster said, still blinking. His eyes were badly reddened. "I'll be fine."

"In that case, please take a seat, and let us discuss business."

We both noticed how he completely ignored me. Portmaster threw me a glance and gestured with his head to join. I did, earning a frown from Miss Dusty, but only a mildly amused smile from Mr. Night.

I think I gasped a little as my rump made contact with the fluff-crystal. It was softer than anything I touched in my life.

"Mister Stomper," the black unicorn spoke. "To say I have mixed feelings about your visit would be an understatement." He smirked.

"Mister Night, if I may," Portmaster spoke. "It may not seem so, but I am a wealthy pony. In current situation I am willing to part with a significant part of this wealth."

"I hope you realize your accounts in Equestria have been frozen?"

"Oh please. I made my share of errors, but I assure you my assets are secure. I would very much like to ask you for asylum. Not for free of course."

The black pony smiled. "Unfortunately this is not an option. The word that you are here already got out. It is only a matter of time before Equestria turns to us requesting extradition. Of course we are not obligated to follow it, currently. I am completely confident though Equestria will attempt to pressure us into compliance and I would very much appreciate avoiding this eventuality."

"Still, if you were to turn us in for the bounty, we wouldn't be having this talk."

"Please. Ten million is not even pocket money for me. It's not even pocket fluff! I highly doubt even the value of your combined assets would be of much interest to me."

"So, is there anything each of us has the other might want?"

"Yes, I believe so. Miss Dusty?"

The mare coughed and read the items off a screen. "A fully fueled Dart class sloop with active jump cloaking device remains anchored to the dock. We can provide new identities to you, and your companion if you choose to take her with you. We can extend a hundred million bits of credit for any purchases you wish to make within Elysium. Also, we will set a hundred million bits of conditional bounty on the head of any pony who successfully claims the bounty for your capture. Actually..." she coughed into her hoof.

"Actually," the unicorn took over, "I took the liberty to establish that bounty already. A little thank-you for removing my old-time rival Count Hayburg from the game. No sane, serious bounty hunter will bother to capture you. Greenhorns can still give you trouble, but you have proven capable of dealing with them."

Portmaster looked to me. He smiled a little. I nodded. He turned back to Mr. Night.

"That is a very generous offer. What would you expect in exchange?"

"I have seen the performance reports of past portmasters of Hayburg. They were not some incompetent newcomers. They were skilled and efficient. Then you came with your unorthodox methods, and you improved upon their performance by thirty percent."

He paused, as if expecting some protests. None came, and he continued.

"If you are able to improve efficiency of Elysium logistics by three percent, that will cover all my expenses on aiding in your endeavors within a week. I am asking you to teach my head logistician, Miss Dusty Planet, how to improve the efficiency of the station."

"I believe I could provide some tips..."

"Very well. Your needs will be seen to, and please begin your lessons as soon as you can. Our time is short."

"Well, first things first, before it's too late," Portmaster turned to Miss Dusty. "Don't punish these guards. Reprimand them, that's all."

"But..." she tried to protest.

Mr. Night's teeth showed in a wide grin. "Miss Dusty, I warned you his methods are highly unorthodox. This opportunity will never repeat. Do not waste it."

"Yes, Mister Night."

* * *

We sat in the control center of Elysium, surrounded by screens projected into the air. Portmaster looked over the list of rules which the replicants of Elysium had to follow, scrolling over the display in front of us. He leaned into me, striking out one rule after another. He paused on one. "Do you think they'd abuse it?" he asked me.

"Currently, for sure. In three years they'll know better."

"Schedule erasure of rule ninety-seven in three years," he told Miss Dusty.

"Yes, sir. But... but all these rules, I developed them all observing small inefficiencies, I worked really hard on removing these inefficiencies."

"Miss Dusty, please, let me demonstrate something. Come over, please."

She walked up from her console. Portmaster opened the view of the cargo terminal. A hundred replicants busy with various tasks, loading and unloading cargo from two dozens vessels.

"There, let us pick a task. I see that stack of kegs. Let us assume you need it moved to that corner. How would you get it done?"

"I use the dispatcher system to allocate a porter and assign it to the task of moving the kegs as soon as its current tasks are finished."

"No break, no deadline, just tight schedule?"

"Of course there is a deadline, and a punishment for not meeting it."

"Please estimate when this task would be completed."

She pulled a console up and worked on the simulator for a while. "Thirty three minutes since allocation, unless we prioritize it higher."

Portmaster grinned and leaned to the console. He pressed a button.

"Late Shift, leave these power bricks and take ten minutes break. I will later need that pile of kegs moved to the far corner. See if you can get it done before four o'clock. Then you'll finish with the power bricks." He pulled up the system and pushed the deadline of the current task of the selected replicant by some two hours up.

Late Shift was a dun Earth pony, busy at a container, moving the contents onto a conveyor. He stood confused. "Excuse me, could you repeat what is my task?"

"None. Time off. Do whatever you want. Rest, get a drink, whatever."

"Can I... umm, help another pony?"

"If that's what you wish."

Late Shift trotted to another craft, where a short, green-maned Earth pony mare struggled with heavy iron rails, dragging them one by one to a pile in a designated area. The two talked for a moment, then the stallion picked up one end of the rail carried by the mare and under the shared load the two trotted briskly to the destination.

"I recognize that one," Miss Dusty said. "I recognize her, because she misses her deadline all too often. I noticed an odd regularity though: if she's present in the room, overall efficiency jumps by half a percent, even though her own would drag the average down."

Meanwhile, Portmaster was busy with the scheduler application. He found the mare's entry and replaced the "flexible list" which would assign her a next task as soon as she finishes the current one, with "fixed", time until deadline of current task remaining as free.

I watched as the two were unloading last of the iron rails. But instead of the designated area, they carried them to the pile of kegs. They set the rails on the lowest layer of kegs, and the mare climbed the pile. The stallion stood in the far corner where the kegs were supposed to land.

The mare began pushing them, one by one, onto the rails, where they rolled quickly over the floor. Late Shift was piling them up skillfully. Soon they were down to the bottom layer, and they just rolled the last barrels to the designated area. Then they picked the last of the rails, and returned them to their respective designated area. They hugged and talked for a moment, then the mare - Fern Leaf, as Portmaster pulled her file down, stood for a moment, surprised that despite her finishing her task, she was not given another. They talked for a moment yet, then headed to the half-unloaded container with the power bricks. Late Shift would toss them from deep inside, while Fern Leaf would catch them and drop them on the conveyor. They stepped out to hug again, when suddenly the finished tasks on the Dispatcher screen vanished, and next scheduled ones fell in their place, following the 'flexible schedule' algorithm re-enabled by Portmaster.

The two shook hooves and headed to their respective jobs. Portmaster picked the "Freeze" option and the screen of the dispatcher stopped changing.

"Let us review the results. Iron bars unloaded within ninety-three percent of expected time. Power bricks wouldn't even have required me moving their deadline; done on time. And the task of moving the kegs, time elapsed eleven minutes, squeezed into the schedule without adversely affecting other tasks. That all thanks to giving one pony a ten-minute break."

Miss Dusty sat there with her mouth open.

Then she grinned. "Wait! If we set them in teams of two..."

"No!" Portmaster practically yelled at her. "You still don't get it!"

"What?"

"You are regulating them into the ground! Do not regulate. Give tasks, not orders. They know their job, they know how to do it efficiently, and all you need to do is give them enough slack to be able to do it right!"

"But they do so many things that are unnecessary! They waste time, they waste energy, they..."

"Stop breathing."

"What?"

"You are wasting air. Stop breathing."

"It's not the same! Air is free, and I need it to survive."

"Time is free. We are aiming at maximizing efficiency, not trying to minimize the time not spent working."

"But these are the same!"

"As proven by today's experiment, right?"

"Uh..."

"Right. That would be all for today's lesson. I have a lot of documents to review to prepare other corrections. Now, for your homework..."

"Homework?" Dusty frowned.

"You will find that mare, Fern Leaf. She seems to be a very kind one, and you will treat her accordingly. You will invite her for a lunch, your treat. You two will have a very nice, civilized lunch together, talk about your jobs or whatever, you will listen to her and treat whatever she says seriously. It is essential that you do not treat her as inferior, no matter what traits you consider, her being replicant, her being a porter, whatever."

"Do you mean that... like a date?"

"I will require a detailed report from the lunch tomorrow."

Dusty first rolled her eyes, then moved her lips in a speechless whisper, deep in thought.

"Portmaster," she spoke. "I really do not see how that can improve their efficiency."

"Not theirs. Yours."

"Mine? But I work so hard!"

"You blunder blindly. Who is a better pilot of a spacecraft? One who can get it to land in the dock of a moving space station in optimal trajectory with a mere flick of hoof, or one who toggles a lot of switches and pushes a lot of levers at random?"

"Are you implying I don't know what I'm doing?"

"Do you know how to dock the craft to a space station most efficiently?"

"I'm not sure... I guess, keep it turning in sync, then guide it to the right point while maintaining the bow pointed at the dock at all times?"

"No. Switch the autopilot on."