Six to one.
Rethik Myrvalis sat at the geographic center of the Halvern Exchange. The copper-banded walls vibrated. The floor hummed against his boots. The harmonic resonance of five hundred distinct wireless receiver banks cycling through frequencies with mechanical violence created a continuous, deafening roar.
Fifty-five years ago, a message from Ashenveil to Halvern required two days by horseback. Thirty years ago, it demanded four hours by wired telegraph. Today, it arrived before the sender finished exhaling.
"How many this morning?" Researcher Aven asked. She stood by the primary output chute. She refused the heavy ear protection the floor operators wore. She let the noise hit her, watching the paper strips spill from the brass slots like snow. Her Review Board pin caught the harsh light of the phosphor bulbs.
