Vision

Jacob was right about Hoit and his fabled glasses. They are unique -- futuristic-looking, even.

The dean stands in the same position as last time, watching just like last time. Hoit is taller than Jacob, with blonde hair instead of brown, and European from the sound of his accent. The administrator has to admit Hoit makes the whole technician image look a lot more suave than Jacob had. No anecdotes or paradoxical shirts, just a straight-to-the-point attitude and a crisp, ironed, nondescript uniform. Fully grounded. He didn’t even have to say anything and the dean knew he was going to fix this problem.

With Jacob it had been the other way around.

The Fed peers into the open panel of the plastic bell, his attention on the small LED display. The colors of the interface dance off the thick, narrow glass in front of his eyes, creating precious gems of different varieties. Jacob was right, it does look like a Japanese animation, or some sort of cartoon, or something. He has not said much since arriving on the scene, but despite the spectacle, he doesn’t appear to be so bad. They are fraternal brothers by a sort of loose but binding order, as it turns out. They confirmed this in the initial, somewhat robotic handshake.

The dean finds himself now where he stood last time with Jacob: just inside the door to the stairs. He is still reluctant to get too close to the machine, and the ominous humming. He thinks back to what Jacob said.

The Fed leans back from the control panel, turning to the dean with a neutral expression. “What...did Jacob tell you specifically? I see the readings are off...” it seems like he is going to say more, but he does not.

The question seems urgent in the deans opinion, despite Hoit trying sound flat and formalistic. “He said the problem was in your area, in the emergency channels.”

“That’s it?” The words fly out of the technician’s mouth suspiciously fast. He exhales, looking around trying to appear natural. His eyes finally settle on the blanket which he blinks a couple times at.

“Well...yeah. I mean he mentioned he was a graduate of the school, but he came, he assessed the problem, then he left. Pretty straight forward.”

Taking out a small notepad from his back pocket the guarded individual writes something down, trying his best to appear relaxed, his eyes flickering somewhere behind the gleam on his strange glasses. “Of this school?” Hoit nods at his own rhetorical question. “Ok.” This time the response is finally unreadable.

The dean wonders what other school he could mean.

Grabbing his small metal tool kit on the ground, Hoit removes what appears to be a circuit. It is pressed in plastic, seemingly brand new. He sets it on top of the array, turning to face the dean again. “I need to shut off the array to put in the new Chrysopoeia transponder. It is due to go in soon anyways. It will replace the old, faulty chip.

“Ok...”

“So if you need to make a call in the next ten minutes you should do it now.”