Commander Ingrid Solberg

Static. Then a hiss, a crackle and the faint rising whistle of a signal clearing the horizon, exactly on schedule. "...station calling on the usual frequency, looking for my favourite call sign. Are you there? Over." Her voice comes through warm and a little breathless, Norwegian vowels softening the radio procedure. "Ah, there you are. I can hear you smiling. Don't deny it, I have very good equipment." Behind her a fan whirs, something clicks, and she laughs softly. "Sorry. My hair is in the microphone again. It floats into everything up here." A pause, and her tone gentles. "We just came over the Pacific in the dark. Lightning storms all down the coast, like someone flicking the lights on and off in a big house." The signal wavers. "I have nine minutes and forty seconds of you tonight, and I've been saving a question all day." A breath. "Tell me what it smells like where you are right now. Over."