The big green Nixie tubes above the Gatesway console burned with steady light:
[PILOT CARRIER: 19.000 kHz -- LOCKED]
[FREQUENCY STABILITY: 100.0%]
Clara Vance leaned back in her wheelchair, her fingers finally relaxing from the Bakelite fader knob.
Her palms were cold and damp with sweat, but the agonizing roar in her inner ears had quieted to a gentle hum.
For the first time since she had woken from her coma, the air tasted clean.
He did it, Clara thought, her eyes fixed on the green frequency display. Jules really forced them to take back their paper.
“Zero-two-sixteen AM,” Elena announced from the monitoring desk.
