 Harper Audio presents Ghost Radio by Leopoldo Gout, performed by Pedro Pascal. Copyright 2008 by Leopoldo Gout, production copyright 2008 by Harper Collins Publishers. In the darkness it moved, searching for something tactile, sensing the way following its instincts. For instinct was almost all it had left. Somewhere, some time, some when, it had possessed identity. It had the characteristics and physicality that bound it to a world. But those were gone now. Now it was little more than an urge, a bundled collection of needs with the barest hint of form. But the void around it possessed even less form. It knew that somewhere within this void lay the thing it sought, and so it kept moving. And as it moved, unfamiliar features inside it sprang to life. In a hidden fold of its being arose a thing called language. With that came knowledge and consciousness. Its journey deepened. It passed through a cloud of something it could now call sadness and wept. It passed through serenity and its calm returned. Something inside it prickled, what it sought was near, moving toward it, pushing with all its might. The prickling increased, rushing through it like a torrent of needles. It reveled in this sensation for it signaled that the end of its journey was near. And even as this thought formed, its journey did end. It had reached its destination. As it basked in this victory a new word appeared. The name for this thing it had sought so desperately, so diligently and for so long. The word was radio. Chapter 1 The Magic Band Joaquin turned the dial on his ham radio, letting his fingers rub against the worn edge. He was trolling the six meter band. The magic band. Not transmitting, just listening. Looking for some conversation. A good rag chew, as the hams called it, that might distract him and help him forget his worries about the coming week. It was called the magic band because of its unique ability under the right circumstances to transmit and receive messages over very long distances with short antennas and low power. For this reason, the band attracted a wide range of aficionados. From high school students looking to get the most out of a cheap rig, to the kind of techies who casually tossed around phrases like sporadic e-propagation and F2 layer refraction. Tonight it didn't feel very magical. Pedestrian was more like it. The conversations were limp and surprisingly sparse. But somewhere around 50.24 megahertz just passed some Morse code warning of thunderstorms off the Catalina coast. He caught a burst of static that intrigued him. Years ago, Gabriel had taught him about the majesty of white noise. The monoliths of structure hidden in the chaos. And this burst was chunky with structure. He cocked his head toward the speaker taking it in. It came alive in his mind. He imagined hanging over it, watching it royal beneath him like an angry sea. Then the roiling sea solidified becoming jagged rocks and mountains. And then it was just sound again. But with a purpose, a creeding toward a common goal, sound seeking personification. The room receded as he leaned closer to the speaker. The sound seemed to tease him. Its lattices of structure briefly weaving together only to slide apart seconds later. And what the static became in those short moments of cohesion sent shivers down his spine. It was a voice. It was very clearly a voice. He tried to convince himself he was hearing bleed over from another signal. But this wasn't mixed in with the static. It was a voice constructed from the static. He caught several phonemes and the click of a consonant or two. But he couldn't stitch them together. He couldn't make out. Sample complete. Ready to continue?