Circe stood looking up at the withered red brick building. Joe's Transistor Radio Emporium (est. 1952) was a fascinating relic. From the outside it looked like a hole in the wall empty storefront, with nothing but a faded sign from a bygone era. She would have never guessed it was still running, had the Trip Advisor reviews not claimed it as the last and best electronic store in the east bay. Able to outlast Radioshack, at least.

After Circe told the full story, Brie had wanted to get over to her apartment asap, but more practical minds intervened (except Mouse, who actually had resorted to blowing smoke in her face after getting desperate). They mostly just spent the day cleaning up blood, patching the roof, and asking Circe weird questions that she couldn't answer.

Natasha and Brie had finally hopped in her car on her way home. They had helped her clean up the blood she had left in her apartment, but not before Brie had gone through exactly what happened to Circe that morning. The moment Brie had gotten a look at the dream number, she had clocked it as a HAM radio band, but admitted she didn't have equipment to receive such a frequency.

They had then done a couple more psionic tests on her spoon collection. Mostly because Brie insisted on seeing a test on a spoon, for alleged matrix reasons, but Circe suspected a darker more anime purpose. It turned out, when she wasn't instinctively defending herself, she actually had pretty good control. She didn't even bleed from her orifices! Bending back all the spoons after her bandmates left was a bitch, though.

Circe hadn't told anyone she was going to Joe's. Had she done so, it would have immediately gotten back to Brie, who would've insisted on coming. As much as she appreciated her bandmate's enthusiasm.... Having someone breathe down your neck about acquiring any skill was exhausting. While technically, this was supposed to be for all transkind, it really felt like she was being pressured to do a complicated favor for a friend who might not have earned it.

She wore her overalls just as Mouse had told her to. Circe had to admit, she looked good. Given how hard it was to remember she had ever been Clarence Lovelace, it should have been disturbing to her how much she had to work to even recall ever having a different body. Honestly though? It was a relief. She was all the best bits of that guy with none of the crippling depression, extensional ennui, or drug habits. Although, while she didn't really miss her coke habit, she had ruined her night thinking she could still smoke a whole joint without getting too stoned to function.

Circe slipped into the store as quietly as she could, but was immediately thwarted by the clanking of hundreds of cowbells. It seemed the wrought iron door from Long's fifth term grew bells like lichen. Hurriedly she looked around the store. The aisles were dead, a single camera looked at the counter, which while protected by bulletproof mesh, was unmanned.

She frowned, if the store could show Circe anything interesting about her powers, having it on film was probably not the best idea. She followed the camera's chord to an outlet high on the wall. With a flick of her mind it was unplugged. Circe smirked, she was never not going to find that cool.

Wandering through the aisles of breadboards, electrical components, AC power adapters of every size, and radio antennas, Circe was struck by how much stuff was for supposedly dated tech. There was even a large 90's computer with the label IVEL ULTRA V MADE IN YUGOSLAVIA, she shuddered, rushing up to the counter, shit like this always reminded her of her fucking dad.

There was an old fashioned 'ring for service' bell standing tall on the counter top. Circe stared at it, biting her nails. There was no way this was going to work, was it? What was she going to do, tell the clerk she's been having dreams about this frequency? This was a stupid plan.

Just as Circe turned to leave, an older man appeared in the bullet proof mesh. He smiled, kindly, like a grandpa seeing his granddaughter for the first time. "Well, hello miss!" His eyes sparkled, with unrestrained joy. "We don't get many women interested in HAM radio or DIY Electronics all that often!"

Circe was caught on the back foot. She spluttered, searching for any sort of response to the barrage of positivity coming her way. "Yes. Yeah.. Um I am in fact here, yep for that, I mean HAM radio, yes."

The old man beamed. "I've always wanted to Elmer a young lady!" He put a hand to his lips to whisper, "I know that sounds creepy but it just means mentor in Ham speak." He winked, if he had been trying to reassure her. He had basically done the opposite.

Nevertheless, he barreled on, oblivious to Circe's mounting discomfort. "It's just, I have all this knowledge that I've passed down to plenty of young men, but women deserve to know this stuff too!" He put a hand on his heart, and let his voice drift into melancholy. "It just isn't fair, and I haven't got much longer."

Circe started to feel bad about her first impression. "Look, that's noble? Of you?" She cringed at how sarcastic it sounded outside her mouth. She vibrated with uncomfortable energy. It was honestly still a toss up whether the guy was a creep or a lovable kook, but she still wanted to be polite and get what she needed. Besides, what could an old dude do to her?

The man deflated a bit with her lack of energy, but perked up when she started smiling. "Now, young lady, what are you interested in?" He started enumerating on his fingers. "If you're just starting out and are only interested in in conventional radio I'd advise getting one of the cheaper VHF-UVF Radios, like this Boufeng here, and just rag chewing a bit, but..." He winked again, this time Circe felt more annoyed then creeped out. "If you're interested in memes," A 70 year old should not say the word 'meme'. "I would recommend a Software Defined Radio to use for SSTV-N."

Circe's eyes glazed over a bit. "What?"

The old man began to ramble a bit. "Well, an SDR is a way of turning your computer into a radio, right?" He nodded his head like she should know that, so she nodded back. "So, SSTV is the protocol for sending image and video over radio, and well, its full of memes!"

Circe was reminded of that one time in high school where she had tried to set up her only black guy friend with her only black lady friend from different social circles, because 'they'd be perfect for each other'. A rich black dork from El Sobrante who talked purely in Dragon Ball references, was unfortunately not a great match for her coke plug from the hood. She never forgot Derricks face when he realized she had set him up with Ashanti just because they were both black.

Point is, Circe hated memes. She didn't even want to think about the types of esoteric bullshit radio guys sent each other over the radio.

She deflected. "Actually, I was after something else." Circe's mind skittered around like a crab attempting to laterally construct a viable excuse on the fly. "I'm actually interested in finding a very specific radio band."

"Oh?" the older man looked interested, leaning forward toward the mesh. His bushy white eyebrows raised as high as humanly possible.

"76.5925 GHz, I need to analyzed the white noise, for... Seince-y... uh, stuff." Smooth, Circe. Smooth as a baby's bottom.

The old man frowned. "76.6 GHZ, hrmmm." He snapped his fingers while looking concerned. "4mm... That band..." He grumbled to himself. "Well, normally you'd only need a technician license to access it, but was made off limits by the government." He breathed out.

Circe's mouth fell open. "What?"

The old man rubbed his chin. "Are you attached to any institution? You could probably get access to the Berkeley dish antennas."

She hesitated trying to work though in her mind what would be suspicious. "N-no. Its like a sound equipment thing."

"Oh! You're a musician?" He said excitedly leaning close enough to the to the mesh she could feel his breath on her face. It smelled like onions.

"Yeah... I- I did the math and its gotta be that specific band." She kicked the floor aimlessly. "Would it be possible at all to access that frequency?" Blinking, it occurred to her. "Why is it off limits anyway?"

The old man waved his hand dismissively. "Something, something, interfering maybe with radar, they're not gonna be mad unless you broadcast." He grinned, his his teeth were unsettlingly yellow. "C'mon back, I got a hobbyist dish, so I can help you get something online." He moved away from the counter fast enough that his white hair poofed out a bit. "It'll take a while, I hope you don't mind being in cramped quarters with an old man!" The door to the back room swung open.

~~+-0-+~~

Det. Kovech looked through the footage once more. It was only a clip of about a minute, still crazy, and stupid. At least the crank theory may have been right. The girl enters, jumps at the sound of the door, looks around until she sights on the camera, smiles, and the feed cuts. The camera was found out of service, 15 feet up, with no ladder to speak of.

It's bullshit. Kovech hates this typa thing, but he's gotta brief the 'team'. They've got an actual, real, fucking psionic serial killer on the loose.

He took a hit from his flask- Maker's Mark, he's treating himself today. Not only had he been able to find the right evidence, about what was going on, last night he had been fully able to suppress his shame. Of course that did mean he was having trouble keeping control of his pants today, but it was going to be ok, he could feel it.

Roger Odenkirk was still missing. No spouse, no family to speak of. All his friends were centered around the Contra Costa Amateur Radio Club. There was blood splattered all over his office, his tools were still out, and the only other person in the store at the time was the girl in a collared shirt and overalls, who shut off a security camera with her mind.

Det. Kovech ran a hand over his stubble. Who the fuck was she? The AI face match tool turned up a bunch of white girls in the area, but none had the piercing gray eyes of the psionic. He grumbled, throwing the video file into Ring Alert, for processing. At least he'd get pinged every time she passed a Ring doorbell now.

Creasing his forehead, Kovech leaned back in his cheap office chair, barely ergonomic enough for the long days he put in doing research.

Ok, means, method, opportunity, go. Means- She can pop human brains like a bug, that one was easy. He leaned forward, and began scratching this on a scrap of paper. Motive- Why a lonely 32 year old loser and then a radio store owner? Testing powers out on a rando no one will miss, and then getting revenge (or edging out a competitor)? He picked up his Irish coffee, and blew to cool it. That didn't make good sense. Opportunity- Approached Odenkirk as a shopper (but that would mean Odenkirk was not aware of the psionic), Jones Was killed in a locked room, though.

Huh. Kovech sipped his Irish. None of it really added up.

Wait, if she had to come in person to kill Odenkirk, than she had a range in which she could kill! That meant she should be some form of neighbor to Jones. Unless she needed Odenkirk for something? It was probably worth a check.

Kovech called up every Real ID record listed for the apartments address. It was part of a development that was a mix of townhouses and apartments by the old ship yard. Too bad paging through the faces didn't show anyone even close to the psionic.

As a final crap shoot he plugged in every address in the development, and the video clip to the AI "looks like" function of the Real ID database. A man came up on screen. A man who looked very much like the psionic, save for the brown eyes, and being a dude.

"Clarence Lovelace." Kovech said with relish, "We're gonna have to have a long talk about your sister." He polished off his Irish.

FriendlyPastoralist

The cool thing about Yugoslavian computing was the fact they shared (often proprietary!!) software for free on HAM radio broadcasts. Roger is a fan. Honestly its probably a more sustainable way of sharing software then storing it all in giant energy intensive server banks. but I'm just a humble electrician so what do I know.

Anyway this chapter is dedicated to two of my special interests Yugoslavia and Radio Science.

Check out my other works:

Darla Darling Dearest

The Thing In The Abyss

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