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From-scratch position-establishing routines
Then it was in the wrong place. As simple as that. The Fate Amenable To Change looked around, incredulous. Stars. Just Stars. Initially alien, in a way a starscape had never been before. This wasn't where it had just been. Where was the Excession? Where were the Elencher ships? Where was Esperi? Where was this ? It called up from-scratch position-establishing routines no ship ever had to call up after they'd run through them in the very earliest part of their upbringing and self-fettling, in the Mind equivalent of infancy. You did this sort of thing once to show the Minds supervising your development you could do it, then you forgot about it , because nobody ever lost track of where they were, not over this magnitude of scale. And yet it was having to do just that. Quite bizarre. (...) The check-time results started to coming in. Relief and incredulity. If this was the real universe and not a projection, or --worse still-- something it had been persuaded to imagine for itself inside its Mind, then there had been no extra elapsed time. The universe thought it was exactly the same time as the Mind's internal clock did. The ship felt stunned. Even while another part of its intellect, and opt-in, semi-autonomous section, was restarting its engines and discovering they worked just fine, the ship was trying to come with the fact that it had been moved thirty light years in an instant. No Displacer could do that. Not with something the size it was, not that quickly, not over that sort of distance. Certainly not without the merest hint that a wormhole had been involved...
Iain M. Banks, Excession.
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