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Things on fire

The PMS guy is using his torch to fix things. I set up a chair near my door for the Little Fayoumis to sit in and watch things. Instead, he wanted to play in my room (which I hadn't set up for kid-rampaging). I had to tell him that I had not invited him in to play, I had invited him to sit in the chair there and watch.

Maybe now the blasted chiller unit will stop leaking.

It's not technically an air conditioner. It's got a water hookup to its mothership unit, and they have it running hot or cold depending on the season. It's cooling the apartment, but in doing so, it drips something nasty (and what it drips is pretty nasty too). From what I can see of the exposed guts, it looks like two squirrelcage blowers (FatherSir's technical term -- not sure if that's the industry standard name) and some mysterious guts.

It'll take a while, but it'll get fixed. Eventually.

I offered to dig up another bucket for the guy, should he need one. He didn't, but he appreciated the thought.

I know how to stay out of the way, see.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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