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[TRANSMISSION-PROTOCOL-VERSION: 8.5-3]
[TRANSMISSION-FROM: DO-28631-S-89594]
[TRANSMISSION-TO: *]
[TRANSMISSION-LOCAL-DATE: 11.78675]
[TRANSMISSION-ID: 00CED42D-428E-44DA-B9AE-168059CDFD64]

I've been exploring my new home, one abandoned corridor after the
other. I tried to navigate the vast network of tunnels and rooms using
the holographic maps that came with the sales prospectus, but they are
useless.  The spaces shown on the map do exist, but the proportions
are all off and there's a lot more corridors and rooms in between that
are not on the map.

A few days ago -- standard days that is, not the local days that last
only three and a half standard hours -- I wandered along an offshoot
from the main corridor between my housing quarters and the air
scrubber installation, I stumbled upon a unmapped server room. Its
contents, rows upon rows of racks crammed full of server hardware,
were not on the inventory either.

The noise when these were all operational must have been deafening, as
would have been the heat emanating from their cores. It's not the most
modern hardware, but I got excited nonetheless. I've become intrigued
-- maybe even a bit obsessed -- about the purpose of this station.
What was out here that warranted a research station this size?

The enormity of the server room only added to the mystery. Why would
they need such an overcapacity of raw computing power?

Hoping to find answers, I powered up one of the machines. It blew out
its power supply as soon as I flipped the witch, but I could easily
fix that in my make-shift repair lab.

Unfortunately, the storage unit has been thoroughly wiped. Not even a
shred of data is left, not a femtojoule of residual charge to revive.

I will continue to try and boot up more of the servers, even though it
will take me a life-time to get through them all. But it's not like I
have anything else to do.

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