The Faded Frequency
The rejection order lay on the desk, its edges curling slightly against the cold linoleum, the ink still wet with the bureaucratic finality of Major Halloway’s refusal. I signed my name at the bottom, the pen slipping twice in my left hand before the letters caught, and then I walked out into the October air where the wind smelled of wet pine and diesel, the station’s backup generator coughing...
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