The Machine has not, in Its wisdom, seen fit to grant a visual display. The audio provides plenty of context clues for the nature of Stoll's workshop. Screaming metal saws and the tumble and crash of huge machines blot out the conversation at regular intervals. It's almost as bad as the profanity-filled arguments between tech priests about what goes where.

"You ever heard of the Ship of Themis?" Magos Stoll's rasping voice came over the intercom. "Don't know if you heard this story before. Primarch Vulkan, blessed be his name, saint and guide to artificers and artisans, trained personally by the Emperor in his craft, sought to repair a ruined starship within the city of Themis. First he changed the engines, and then he upgraded the void shields, and then he ripped out the circuitry, and then he reinforced the hull, and t- [unintelligible, metal screaming] -ime he was done there was nothing left of the original."
"Who are you talking to, uncle?"
"I am trying to [unintelligible, adepts yelling] - my darling."
"And why did you just launch into a story instead of greeting them like a normal person?"
"It's a story that lives in my head every day, and it is not often it becomes relevant to [unintelligible, what sounds like an earthquake in a scrapyard]."
"- n't be here?"
"It's all right my darling. We're all le - [unintelligible, metal screaming] - finish my story."
"Yes, uncle."
"Well, when the Primarch had finished his work, and looked upon the completed ship, it was superior in every way to the original. Perfect. Content, he sat at its controls and prepared for launch. But when he signaled to open the hangar doors, the Machine refused to comply. It did not recognize this new ship inside of it, and so Vulkan's masterwork was stuck."
"Oh! I see!"
"Go on, darling."
"So the point is that it's important to add guns so you can blast your way out!"
"... so anyway, how can I help you, stranger?" sighed Magos Stoll.