Drew Reinholt had Shepardsport Pirate Radio tuned in on his computer while he was going over the latest materials on comm upgrades. Not very loud, not just because he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, but also because disco wasn’t exactly his thing.
But he had it just loud enough to form a pleasant background to shut out the ever-present random background noise. Less the white noise of the ventilation fans than the intermittent thumps and bumps of people moving equipment through the corridors of the Roosa Barracks, talking a little louder than they should’ve, particularly when they were right on that edge of where they should switch from hollering to using their radios.
Drew had been concentrating just enough that he hadn’t really noticed when the dj’s announcements suddenly took on a much rougher quality, as if the guy had switched from a pro-grade broadcast mic to some random headset he’d found lying around in a tool locker. But once he realized the quality had really dropped, he started listening in earnest.
Yes, there was something wrong with their broadcast quality. However, it didn’t seem to affect recorded material, just the live announcements.
Most of Drew’s formal experience with audio transmissions related to comms on spacecraft, not broadcast standards. However, he’d helped Brenda with her broadcast training enough that he had a fair comprehension of the equipment they were using over at Shepardsport Pirate Radio. Given how much of it her dad had put together, since it wasn’t exactly practical to be bringing pro-grade studio equipment up from Earth, and the man did enjoy geeking out about his work, Drew actually knew a fair amount.
However, it was just enough to suggest several possible faults that could degrade on-air performance, but not enough to narrow it down to any one or to suggest possible fixes. Drew glanced over at his phone. Should he text Brenda and let her know there was a problem at the station?
Heck, would it be better to go straight to the source and text his father-in-law? As head of Engineering, Ken Redmond would be the guy who would marshall the necessary personnel to get the problem fixed.
On the other hand, if it had been some time since the problem cropped up, they probably knew about it already. For all he knew, the whole team was already hard at work rectifying the problem, and his texting would only serve as a distraction.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to send Brenda a little text of encouragement. If she was already working on the problem, she didn’t need to respond until she got some slack time. If she wasn’t, it would be a heads-up.