The broadcast office had three entrances. Only one was open to the public.
Eli joined its queue beneath a stone arch carved with the names of donors who had built the protected network before anyone understood how much of the city would depend on it. A man ahead of him wanted a missing-child notice carried beyond his own district. Two clerks behind the counter were arguing about whether a water warning qualified for the emergency channel. Every few minutes the floor trembled as equipment somewhere below them changed over.
Juno had insisted on coming.
“Someone needs to explain the difference between a transmitter and a loud bell,” she said when he asked why.
He had not asked because he doubted her usefulness. He had asked because she needed sleep. The look she gave him suggested she understood that and considered it irrelevant.
At the counter, he requested an independent hearing slot. The clerk checked his name, then the expedition’s temporary accreditation, then a separate notice laid face down beside her ledger.
“Your organization no longer has an active entry.”
“It had one yesterday.”
