The mission of Buzzbot

by Golden Paw

Prologue

The low hum of lamps was the only sound to be heard apart from the occasional drip of water. Here, deep below the busy streets of Ponyville was a network of service tunnels. They ran throughout the foundations of the city like a nest of roots, burrowing and winding in an ever more complex weave that would leave any incautious explorer lost within minutes.

Ponies seldom came down here anymore, the lights and dazzling events up above were easily enough excitement for most of the citizens of of Ponyville. But it was far from deserted. Hoofsteps, sure and confident echoed along the passageways. They caused the scurrying rats and other dark dwells to scatter, their normal foraging interrupted.

The lights cast their weak neon glow over the approaching newcomer, picking out the pale blue coat and shocking tangle of messy white mane. As the pony drew closer, the sounds of hoofsteps mingle with an odd little tune being hummed, completely at odds with the dreary surroundings.

The stallion is carrying a small paper bag in his mouth which proudly declares its biodegradable nature under the bold title of ‘Hearties Tasty Takeaway’. The delicious smell of ‘hayfries’ follows the twitching pony who despite his happy tune occasionally glances about suspiciously.

Finding no one else around he ducks down a side passage before his demeanor shifts. No longer humming, he tiptoes his way along. He peers back and forth with his brilliant yellow eyes. Suddenly he Sidles along the wall, stepping carefully as they give way from bare stone to metal plates which have been riveted to the rock.

Wearing an almost gleeful expression the stallion ducks and jumps as if avoiding unseen assassins lurking in the darkness. His cheerful tune being replaced by a far more dramatic theme. After several moments of this odd behaviour he finally makes his way to a solid looking door of black iron and rimmed with silvery steel which glints because reflected harsh artificial lights above.

Pausing, the twitchy figure checks his surroundings once more before straightening. He stands before the portal and smiles up at the impassive metal. With some ceremony he raises a hoof as if about to conduct an orchestra and the very air seems to hold its breath before three smart knocks are heard.

A few tense seconds pass, then with a grinding squeal a small hatch slides open ponderously to reveal a glowing green screen. He waits in silence as several images flicker and disappear. A brief motif of ‘T.C.A.P’ flashes up, the acronym centered between a pair of stylised wings.

His smile falls and his brow furrows, the image clearly stirring some hidden hurt within him. The image finally fades before a series of complex symbols and numbers begins scrolling down the screen.

A previously hidden alcove snaps open and a delicate looking prob extends on a trembling spindly arm, a small green light blinking at its point, “Please submit cutie mark for authentication.” The synthesized voice is cheerful, bright and completely at odds with the grim tunnel.

The pony rolls his eyes before presenting his flank to the door, revealing a crossed wrench and screwdriver motif behind a cracked yellow light bulb. He stands still as a glowing red scan beam produced a thin line which swept up and down before winking out.

"Cutie mark authenticated, welcome user: ‘Tinker’. Could I have your password please?" The door says cheerfully, causing ‘Tinker Track’ to frown with annoyance.

He muffled something through the bag in his mouth that sounded like, "Shinker-ith-sur-ratest-finker"

"I am sorry I didn't understand that last part, could you please repeat?" The happy voice asked and Tinker’s right eye twitched

He let loose an angry snort and tried again once again, "I shed, shinker-ith-sur-ratest-finker"

Oblivious to Tinker’s rising ire the voice repeated its request again, "That's not what I have in my data stores user: Tinker. Could you please be sure to speak clearly into the microphone."

Tinker finely loses his cool and yells, "I said, Tinker is the greatest thinker!"

This has two effects. First is that the computer's voice acknowledges the password with a "Thank you user: Tinker" and door begins to cycle through its unlocking process. The second is that gravity catches up with his lunch bag and causes it drop it to the floor with a "splok".

Tinker freezes for a moment as the bag slowly turns a greasy red. His eyes shrank to small dots and Tinker grinds his teeth before stooping his head down to pick up the bag. Liquid oozes about inside the bag, no doubt promising a messy job for its removal. The door finished clanking and groaning before it and swings inwards.

"Good to have you back user: Tinker. Is there anything else I can help you with?" The door asks and Tinker's right eye twitches again.

Today has not been a good day for him and the overly cheerful voice of his door wasn't helping. He had tried a number of times to reprogram the relentless ‘nicety’ out of the computer, but it had a habit of resetting to its default ‘happy voice’. He couldn't say more with dropping his lunch again and so Tinker settles for giving the metal portal a good kick with his left hind leg as he trots past. All that gets him was a sore hoof and a perky, “You’re welcome” as the door closes behind him.

Tinker fumbles in the sudden darkness with his muzzle to find the switch. Finally locating it he pushes it and with a satisfying "click" waits for the flickering lights to bathe the revealed room.

The familiar bluish light illuminates a cramped space, picking out a number of tables arranged around the oblong space. These are covered with assorted cast off machine parts, tools and the occasional empty food carton.

The shelves which line the walls are packed with tarnished motors, servos and circuit boards. The lab a showcase for all sorts of parts and devices. These all come together to form an impressive, if haphazard strata documenting the progress made by T.C.A.P in the past few years. All this is dominated by a huge ‘Storage Unit 47’ painted in stark yellow letters across the far wall.

Tinker glances about the detritus of fifty years worth of invention. From basic brass cogs, to the latest arcane circuit boards and finally lets himself relax. Among the scrap nestle, pamphlets and magazines showing the smiling face of a purple pony that Tinker knew only too well.

‘Princess Twilight Sparkle’ looks up at Tinker from almost every glossy surface, her happy expression mixed with pride as she showed off her latest inventions. Tinker had read through the booklets until he knew them inside out. He’d poured over explanations of ‘Magical Technology’ so often that he could see them in his sleep.

They normally cheered up Tinker no end, but today was different. He drops his now rather soggy lunch bag onto the central table of his workshop and glares at the manuals with almost explosive anger, “I’ll show her…”

With a sudden flurry of motion Tinker sweeps the booklets across the room, scattering the pages before ripping up the grinning smile of Twilight, all the while snorting and stamping in his rage.

His fury spent, Tinker pants for a while as the scraps of paper settled all around him. The silence grows before with a deep breath Tinker gets to his hooves and heads with renewed purpose towards a coat stand.

With great solemnity Tinker puts on a tattered lab coat before affixing a pair of welding goggles about his head. Waving a hoof at the ceiling as if in supplication Tinker yells to the world, “I’ll show them all! I’ll show them what a true genius can do and by Celestia if they try to stop me I’ll….”

Tinkers rant is cut off by a sudden pounding upon his door. He jumps half a pony's length into the air, before with a foalish ‘squeak’ shuffles under the table he had been standing at, covering his eyes with his hooves.

“They’ve found me,” Tinker whispered, “All my careful planning and they still found me!”

He trembles under his desk for what feels like an age, but after a few minutes of his workshop's door not being magically blown off its hinges, Tinker uncovers his eyes and looks sheepishly at the entrance. Despite his earlier worries there’s a distinct lack of flying flashbangs and guards rushing in to place him under arrest.

Tinker begins to crawl out from under cover, feeling far more confident before to shout his defiance at the world again. It was somewhat dampened when Tinker in his enthusiasm bangs the back of his head on the desk.

With a yelp he clutchs his now aching skull before with trembling with and trepidation felt back of his neck with a hoof. As Tinker brings it back round before his eyes he saw to his horror there was a dark red liquid smeared there and his stomach lurches at the sight.

He’s just about to panic when he feels something drip onto his neck. Looking around Tinker sees that a small amount of sauce has dripped down from his battered lunch bag. With a great sigh of released tension Tinker and licks his hoof.

The 'Hearties Hay Fries Takeaway' secret sauce didn't taste too bad even after the battering it has received and the familiar flavour brings a smile to Tinker's lips. The highly strung repair stallion begins to calm down, fairly sure now that no pony was coming to arrest him.

“If it isn’t Twilight’s goons, then who is it?” His relief fades as Tinker turns his attention back to his front door. “If no one knows I’m here then….” Advancing with some caution he makes his way to the monitor built into the wall just before the entrance. Using his hoof, rotates the hidden camera around. The green tinged display showed no pony outside his door.

Putting forth his hoof (leaving sticky patch of sauce on the control knob) he turns the view this way and that. Still no sign of any pony up or down the tunnel either. With further adjustment Tinker turned the image down to the floor and is startled to see a large box on the ground outside.

The hairs on the back of Tinker’s neck begin to rise and butterflies begin to dance in his stomach. Was it a trap?

Tinker frantically reviews his options. “Okay Tinker, there’s a strange box outside your secret workshop. So….” With a hesitant hoof Tinker opens the door, the grinding and sliding of bolts giving him plenty of time to second guess himself.

He cautiously pokes his head out to double check that the screens were accurate. No, still no pony about and the strange container was really there. Suspiciously he leans down to get a closer look.

The box appears to be a basic storage crate, a rounded white cube that was designed to open in the manner of a briefcase, once the securing bolts are undone. Hefting it Tinker finds it surprisingly lightweight, far lighter than its size would suggest. Frowning, he runs a hoof over the embossed T.C.A.P logo on its lid.

Suspicion mounting Tinker peers around and studied the odd offering, further exploration revealed a strange hoof written note, "For Tinker Track: This will help".

Tinker stares at the note for a time, feeling at a loss. Who would be sending him mail? Who even knew he was here to receive mail? More and more questions come to his mind but after another check Tinker finds himself still completely alone.

He trots around the crate but found no other indications of who sent it. Tinker feels his innate paranoia warring with his sudden curiosity. The crate was nothing like Tinker had ever seen, the metal covering it looked odd. Tinker can’t place his hoof on what was odd about it, only that he’s certainly never seen any material like it. Eventually Tinker’s interest got the better of him and with a final glance up and down the passage he pushes the crate into the workshop.

Tinker still isn’t sure if he should open it, after all there could be anything in there. He reasons that the T.C.A.P security forces wouldn't use anything so clandestine, it wasn't their style. Still it paid to be careful so with a puzzled expression Tinker spends a significant time donning a gas mask and strapping a few bits of metal plating onto himself for extra protection.

Double checking his protective gear, Tinker carefully lowers the goggles over his eyes and feels a little more confident about tackling the task at hoof. He hadn't told anypony about his work shop or what he was planning to do, so it was unlikely that the crate contained any sort of tracing spell. Plus who ever sent it already knew where to find him so what would be the point in that?

Feeling as ready as he can be, Tinker grabs a power tool and begins to undo the crate. Holding his breath he undoes one locking bolt after another until with a final tinkle the last bolt bounces across hard stone floor.

Still half expecting an explosion of some kind, Tinker sidles about the crate and with a darting motion pulls the lid from behind. When the crate fails to explode or vent a toxic gas Tinker is almost disappointed.

Carefully peering around the upright lid he sees a collection of parts that resemble a robotic pony. Further cautious delving reveals a few books with titles such as 'Time Travel and You, Things You Need to Know' and 'Building a Gateway to the Past, Do's and Don’ts'.

Tinker Track's eyes grow wide behind his goggles at the sight of the last book in the crate, 'How to Assemble Your Very Own Infiltration Pony-Bot”. The thing that makes his mind boggle is when he glances at the author, Tinker sees it is….himself.

Author's Note:

With the process of rewriting this prologue I really begin to see how far I have come since I first started writing. I hope if you have taken the time to reread this work or are seeing it for the first time I hope the changes made have improved the story for you.

I am glad I decided to take another crack at this story as I felt it was far below it's potential.

Comments

[Golden Paw]

Hi every pony, having warmed up some what, have taken the time to fix some of the errors that I have found on the Prologue. Thanks for bearing with me as I have refined this chapter of my story. I think it will be a better read now and make more sense. Cheers for those who helped me spot them! As always if I have missed any bloopers please let me know!