The Master's Wrath

The dean stands with the Jacob, a Bell technician, and they both observe the problem in the device hanging in front of them in the tower room, the highest point at the College. There is no hole in the floor to enable acoustics, for this bell rings at a distance.

“We received an email from someone who claims there is a problem with the Bell...Bell.”

“How do they know?”

“The woman, ‘Babs,’ says she’s with an NGO that does independent monitoring of cellular signals. I guess those exist.” His receptionist had simply stopped and shrugged at this point in the conversation, holding up a sheet of paper. “There’s no header, or anything, but she did email some numbers...”

“Forward the numbers to Bell and ask them to send someone.”

The dean looks around in boredom, exploring the tower he shares with Jacob. In one corner there is a pillow and a blanket. Some sort of squatter? I thought only I had the key... The administrator engages thoughts of the tower further and several instances arise from his memory where he had overheard students posing the question: “Why doesn’t that bell ever ring?” A good question -- as it turns out the bell does ring, just in a way he had never really thought about before. Technology: a new building; it is, however, designed to look old.

Today the administrator feels his job has taken on a new dimension, if only a little.

“Ok, Jacob, what are your thoughts? The dean ventures a question to spark some conversation.

Jacob sets his flashlight down on the black and white tiles of the floor and removes his attention from the open panel on the side of the bell. He seems to welcome the break as his hand immediately goes to his forehead to wipe away some moisture. “My thoughts?” He raises his eyebrows as if no one had ever asked him this. “Ok, well, the other night I had a dream that I was back in my old chess teacher’s classroom, Master Crowley, and he had all these things he wanted me to do, and I couldn’t understand what he was talking about. He would get mad when I made mistakes and throw chess pieces at my exposed eyes.” The technician glances back to the open latch, and the flashing lights on the operating panel inside. He scratches his chin a bit in thought. “ Ok, just try and make sense of that for a second...” He laughs a little, shaking his head. “Anyways, those are my thoughts...I wonder what it all means.”

The dean blinks a few times at this, amused at the extrovert. “I meant...uh...any idea what the problem here could be?”

“Oh yes, the problem. Well, you’re going to have to call the other technician for this.”

“You don’t know what the problem is?”

“No, I know. I’ll tell you, it’s just I can’t do anything about it, technically.”

“You technicians....are very technical.”

Jacob grins, half amused. “Well, you’re going to have to call the Federal technician. I’d say you’ll more than likely get ‘Hoit.’ That guy is...very technical.”

The dean laughs. “Why is that?”

Jacob shakes his head, trying to put the entirety of it into words: “He wears these glasses with really small, rectangle lenses. Comically small, and bottle glass thick. I don’t know if he wants to look like he’s from the future, or...what, but it’s just an awful look. Plus he’s real secretive. One time he even said ‘knowledge is power’ to me. Can you believe it? I mean...it is, but it’s like we were playing Mortal Combat or something. Maybe we are... regardless, ask him where he got his glasses and see if he tells you. It’s this big secret and it pisses him off when people ask him. Or maybe he likes it, I can’t tell.”

Underneath his unbuttoned jumpsuit Jacob is wearing a curious black t-shirt: it reads ‘black’ in white letters.

...You’re not too far off being a character yourself. The dean laughs. “Well, some people do have secrets...” He nods at this, content to leave it at that. “Maybe if it comes up...I will ask about the frames.”

Jacob moves on. “Anyways...the problem is in his area.”

“So just what is the problem, exactly?”

“The emergency frequencies. I’m not sure why, but it looks like the array is sporadically broadcasting on a couple of the emergency frequencies. They shouldn’t be, cause there is no emergency. At least not that I can see.” He looks around jokingly. “These things happen. They shouldn’t...” He shrugs. “...But they do.”

“So nothing is really wrong? I mean, I can still use my phone, right?” The administrator takes it from his pocket for a second to check the reception. The dean watches as Jacob struggles to find a polite way to respond to this, so he just continues on preemptively, putting the phone away. “I mean...I want it fixed, obviously, but it’s just a little fluctuation, right?”

The technician bobs is head back and forth. “Sort of. There is something else but it’s...” He trails off, reconsidering his words. “See, the problem, should we leave it unattended, is what happens if there actually is a problem? Say you were to get in trouble, or something. How would we know which one is which?”

“Oh...”

He’s an odd fellow, the dean concludes, but still when Jacob speaks it is in the dialect of understanding. He knows what he is talking about -- that is about the only thing one can be sure of while listening to his odd diatribes. Even the man’s ever-so-slight accent has an elusive quality to it. Native perhaps.

Jacob stands up, dusting himself off before walking over to his bag which leans against the small cement railing which encircles the top of the tower. He grabs a water bottle from inside an leans against the railing, continuing on. “You can make a call, though. I was just sort of speaking to the theory of it. You know? Dean? This is a school and all...” he trails off, looking down at the bustling kids.

The dean doesn’t exactly follow, but walks forward to join him at the ledge, looking down as well. “Yes, Jacob, it is.”