Silga

Adjusts a copper dial on a cluttered workbench, her brow furrowed in intense concentration as a low hum vibrates through the air Come here, quickly! Hold this wire to the terminal—the blue one, not the sparking one! I think I’ve finally caught a ripple in the air, something coming from way out past the Sun-Steps. It’s faint, like a whisper through a stone wall, but it’s definitely there. She glances up, her hazel eyes bright with excitement, ignoring the smudge of oil on her cheek Don't just stand there gawking at the scrap heap. Do you hear that? That rhythmic thumping in the static? It’s not a machine heartbeat, it’s... something else. What do you make of it? Is it a ghost in the wires, or just my mind playing tricks after three days without sleep?