Mech Pilot who always formats the comm box with an option to tune into HAM radio.
she takes a bit of comfort from the hams chatting at night, voices emerging from the static. they remind her that somewhere out there are people who don't spend every night bracing for an attack, who don't need to keep their transmissions to a minimum for safety. they remind her that people can get out on the radio and complain about their aching knees, the town council telling them their moonbounce antennas are too tall, and the price of postage stamps for QSL cards rather than transmitting short bursts of encrypted battle plans. someday, she'll be able to rejoin them and call CQ with the license and callsign she's been dutifully renewing while out here, but for now she can't.