Work Text:
Six screws undid the panel, letting him into the superheterodyne coaxulator, as arcs still lingered on the gaps. Pops always said “never work on live wires, especially in radios” but hey, that was years ago now. He was better at it, he’d be fine. Besides, not like there was a safety shutoff.
Dad never finished that... the relay computer was supposed to manage power for the facility, but he only bothered to make it kick up alerts when stuff broke. And every time it came up, of course, he’d say “I’ll get it later, c’mon, gotta switch that transformer.”
Speaking of, as he probed an arc shot off one to his screwdriver, thankfully grounding itself through the ground wire, not his heart.
“Gah dammit! What the-” he caught himself. Closed his eyes, counted down binary. Looked down, centered himself in his dusty work shirt, boots grey from salt outside, sun darkened arms, hands, fingers. He was alright. Exhale. Back to work.
Where was that fault, now? Times like these he wished he had the diagrams for this stuff still. That there were diagrams, that dad hadn’t kept it all in his head, but...
He looked over the charge gaps, counting the irridescent glass cans. He was what, 17 now? He could take care of this himself, he had the last few years. Still didn’t know what half of it did, or why, or what this was all even for. Why Dad built all this, all the way out in nowhere
Breathe. Check the- “Hey, what’s that?”
Something lighter, poking out the corner of the hatch. Taped off to one side, barely there, but... The tape crackled off, spreading adhesive dust, and the boy pulled out a little 3x5 card. Typewritten in terse, quick words. Familiar.
“Charge gaps finnicky, if reception stops try 7 or 10. Tap gently, stay grounded, and discharge. Stay grounded.”
This was... weird. Dad always kept his own notes. Remembered the problems in the machine himself, knew the mechanisms inside and out. Could rattle this stuff off top of his head like nothing. So... who was this for?