Julian reached into the wire receiving basket of the Rex-Rotary duplicator.
His nitrile-gloved fingers pinched the edge of the damp purple sheet. The paper was ice-cold, soaked with methyl alcohol spirit fluid that stung his eyes like cheap antifreeze. He lifted the page clear of the metal tray and laid it flat on the green desk blotter of the Proctor’s Booth.
He unclipped his brass ECG kerning calipers from his vest.
Adjusting the knurled thumbscrew, Julian set the two fine steel needle points across the top line of purple type to measure the letter spacing.
The instant the brass caliper touched the paper, his right ear popped.
The steady 4,200 Hz ring inside his skull dropped four cycles in a split second, bottoming out at a heavy, throbbing 4,196 Hz.
Thrum... thrum... thrum...
A four-hertz binaural pulse hammered behind his temples. At the back of his tongue bloomed the sour, metallic taste of oxidized copper pennies and cold butcher’s tallow.
