"Well, there's your problem," the technician in the white cotton and poly-fiber blend shirt said, flicking straight greasy hair from his eyes then pointed to some number on the holo-display.
"Oh?" I asked non-committally. Just to make it look like I possibly knew (or cared) what he was talking about.
He nodded sagaciously, pulling a laser controller out of his pocket protector. Firing the light at the holo and clicking, he illuminated the lines four, seven and thirteen, and the corrosponding series of Rs, and Ws and Xs after them. "You've got kittens in your light-engine, captain."
Dammit. Not again.
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