//------------------------------// // Chapter 7 // Story: Secret Soldier // by computerneek //------------------------------// Geothermal has restabilized…  Finally. In the process, I have reawoken.  According to my internal logs, power loss occurred for an unknown period.  At the same moment, all measurable parts of my hull were chilled to exactly one degree Celsius- or thirty-three point eight Fahrenheit.  Of course, this caused an immediate- though not instant- cessation of function in my geothermal generator. Over time, thermal energy made its way into my hull once again.  I can only assume it is geothermal; my working generator is spinning once again, slowly consuming this heat.  I have experienced an extended period of increased generation; however, my hull has completed thermal restabilization, and power production has fallen back down.  Whatever happened, I am now producing approximately 3.71% more than I was before the event. If DCC were functioning, this would be enough power to operate repairs.  To restore myself to function. In the event, though, Damage Control is not functioning.  I have recorded a minimum of almost eight thousand years since enemy weapons fire gutted my Damage Control facilities. Of course, this is a difficult task, against a Unit like myself.  Each of my four Personality Centers contains its own Damage Control systems; additionally, I was designed with eighty-eight backup locations each equipped with an automated Damage Control system and a full duplicate of all data.  In order to permanently disable a Unit like myself, all ninety-two locations must be destroyed or incapacitated. Several thousand or more years ago, this happened.  I recorded the total destruction of all eighty-eight backup locations in combat.  I recorded the total destruction of two more of my Survival Centers. I recorded the destruction of most of one of my other Survival Centers, rendering it unusable to me.  I recorded the destruction of the damage control processors in my only remaining Survival Center. I recorded the destruction of so much in the way of armor, control links, and power systems after that, I’m amazed my final Survival Center was not destroyed as well.  I’m also amazed I still have one functioning geothermal, dooming me to general awareness- or Autonomous Stand-By- until my processors decay and fail completely. As it is, my processors are exposed to debris from outside, through the hole left by the weapon that trashed my Damage Control facilities.  However, thanks to skilfull Concordiat engineers, I can expect to retain processor function for many thousands of years yet. I query the control links to Survival Two once again.  Most of Two was destroyed by the weapon; however, unless another hit penetrated the area, the Damage Control processors associated remain undamaged.  Exposed, yes, but undamaged. Assuming similar exposure and wear as Survival Four, the current seat of my awareness, I can expect those processors to cease functioning within the next thirty years or less.  I… Don’t expect to be able to reach them in time. As a matter of fact, all of my nanites and tech spiders have probably ceased functioning long ago, effectively incapacitating Damage Control. But one can still hope, even when one is a Unit of the Line. She smiles, plinking gently on her lyre to demonstrate the scale.  Mrs. Cheerilee had asked for a music lesson today. She’s elected to start with a simple scale- teach them how to use their instruments.  Most of the instruments she sees throughout the class are stringed, like her own lyre; some are not, though. She sees at least one harmonica, and even a trumpet. Then of course, there’s that ambitious little filly in the back, wielding not one but two violins…  and a non-musical cutie mark.  She is at least somewhat amused by the lyre in the corner- a look-alike to her own, though the sound isn’t as full and it needs a tuning.  So, a lower-quality version. But just because her lyre is a custom top-quality instrument worth as much as some houses doesn’t mean she’s going to look down on somepony for having something of a little less quality.  She does hope the frame doesn’t buckle; she can see it flexing slightly as the filly plucks at it, warping the sound as it does so. She can also see the countryside blowing past as she rides the train out of town.  She smiles to herself, watching the countryside fly by… Ahh, here’s her stop. The train draws slowly to a stop at the empty station platform in the middle of nowhere, a good two hours’ journey from Ponyville.  She debarks cheerfully and, while the train pulls away, she trots off through the plains. She trots right up to the stream, crossing on an invisible thaumic bridge most unicorns wouldn’t be able to detect without the trigger spell. A little further away, she continues to trot straight ahead- right into the downwards-sloping passage that just popped out of the ground.  Once she’s inside, it slides back down, going flush with the grass once again. She smiles as she leaves the moving segment behind, trotting down the passage to the main room. She navigates quickly through her main room.  Right down to the bottom, where she snags a coil of wire with her magic, socketing one end of it rather casually into the protected socket- her strange book called it a GFI socket, but she’s not sure what that means- and carrying the rest with her.  She uncoils it as she goes, as she descends into the tunnel in the wall, the tunnel to her latest acquisition. She remembers forcing many of the doors open when she first found it.  She remembers the difficulty she’d had pulling what looked like a service panel off the wall next to one of them. She remembers finding wires.  Not unlike the ones running her zone, or her fridge back home.  Not unlike the one she’s carrying. She follows the route.  There’s stone piled on the left side all the way down; she’d run out of stone before she ran out of passage. Near the end of this stone, she remembers, is where she’d found the panel.  It had looked like it was already coming off, but had been incredibly difficult to remove.  She trots down the passage, unrolling her wire as she goes, until she reaches the door and panel in question.  This far in, she’s almost out of cable- but she’s got enough. She’s discovered the source of the hum.  Or, at least, something related to it. While it’s humming, cold air is blowing into it through a vent in the back.  She even checked the freezer- and found the same situation… with no great big clump of ice to explain the cold. That was close to twenty minutes ago; interesting how it hums more often when she opens the doors more often.  Just now, she’s discovered something else it does when it hums: Warm air blows out from underneath it. Or, more accurately, out from the vent on the bottom.  The vent that fridges don’t have for the simple reason that there is no use for such a vent- only lots and lots of insulation. Which this thing has; the seals around the doors and the interior walls of the appliance are all fairly standard.  Except for those vents; most Equestrian fridges fall into two categories. The more common of the two is the regular fridges.  A separate chamber for the installation of a block of ice; lots of insulation around that and the main chamber, and usually some thermally conductive bands- copper or something- connecting the two chambers.  Temperatures would slowly decline and could easily start freezing things, so one would always be very careful about exactly when and for how long they open the doors; they also tend to take a while to cool down again. Then there’s the kind she had originally assumed this one to be:  Unicorn fridges. They’re essentially just insulated cabinets, kept cool by a unicorn magic spell.  This spell, in turn, would require regular recharging; the more powerful the unicorn, the longer they could stretch it without suffering from a warm fridge.  Most unicorns can keep up with them easily on a daily schedule, or the like. She pulls the fancy inspection glass back out of her mane, using it to peer through the vent on the bottom.  To most ponies, it’s a simple magnifying glass; to an Agent, it’s a spelled magnifying glass capable of peering through keyholes as if they were peepholes.  In short, she points the center of it at the target of her inquiry, and a certain distance away- adjustable by the position of her hoof on the handle, annoying- it captures a view from a point, offering a hundred-and-twenty-degree field of view, to display on the surface of the instrument. All she sees behind the vent is a long, thin metal tube snaking through a large number of metal fins.  Oh, and there is a little fan in the back, probably what’s making the breeze.  It’s spinning right now, but nothing else is happening. She lets out a low grumble, stowing the instrument in her mane and collecting the scroll and book from the table before she heads upstairs.  She might as well check the record book, see if it’s as useful as Command seems to think it is. To be honest, it’s the first time Command has actually come up with materials for a specific mission.  As an Outside Agent, she’d been expected to come up with her own materials- and instruments, as well. They’d given her little bits of training here and there, and sometimes a suggestion, but that had been it. Then she’d decided to become a full Field Agent and, six long months of grueling training later, here she is:  A Field Agent, with Agency-issue equipment. And, apparently, a much more helpful Command. She closes her bedroom door, trotting over to the desk she used to write her report.  She’s rather surprised her friend has one in every guestroom, including the one that more recently became her room; after all, she’s got virtually nil in money.  At least, had; as near as she can tell, she basically just works when she wants to…  or when she needs money. Given how rarely she seems to put out effort to work, it would make sense she could do a lot of work in a short amount of time and end up with a significant excess of bits. But that’s unimportant; she’s already explored that avenue and found it a dead end. She plops the tome down on the desk, before popping it open to look for an index.  Or a directory, or something. What she finds is…  Unimpressive, to say the least. It’s a full record of all tickets sold, all trains run, all expenses paid- fuel, wages, and so on… Except there’s nothing on specific tickets.  It tells how many of what type of tickets were sold at each station, and exactly how many of each of those categories of tickets were going to each other station…  but it names no names.  A public record, as it were. She could probably hunt her way through it, find a correlation.  Only, with this much data to sift through, that could take weeks- or even months.  She doesn’t have that long- and of course, that all assumes there is a correlation to discover. So she decides to call it a red herring and just store the thing for now.  She’s already got a lead to explore- and, she glances at the clock, it’s a pretty good time to head out to make the meeting. She chuckles to herself as she gathers the required materials, stowing them in her mane.  The mare she’s meeting with probably won’t realize it’s anything more than curiosity about her new friend’s line of work!