Chapter 46: A Different Kind of Radio

The week after the contest is a strange period of decompression. I return to my classes, but my mind is still processing the intensity of the weekend. The contrast between the hyper-focused, high-speed world of the contest and the slow, mundane pace of everyday life is jarring. I sit in a calculus lecture, and the professor's voice seems agonizingly slow, like he is transmitting at 5 words per minute.

We meet for a debrief at a local diner. No radios, just pancakes and coffee.

"The scores are not official yet," Samuel says, scrolling through a contesting rumor website on his phone. "But based on the raw logs submitted, we are currently sitting at number 4 in the United States Multi-Op category."

"Number 4!" Doretha cheers, clinking her coffee mug against mine. "That is huge!"

"It is," Samuel agrees, though I can see the gears turning in his head. "But the guys at number 3... they only beat us by about 200 contacts. If we had been a little more efficient on the band changes... if we had caught that 15-meter opening ten minutes earlier..."

"Stop," I say, throwing a napkin at him. "We did amazing. Do not optimize the fun out of it."

"She is right," Gregory says. "But there is a lesson there. Contesting teaches you the limits of your station. We learned where our holes are. We learned that we are weak on the low bands receiving. We need better ears for 80 meters."

"I am already looking at designs for a new K9AY loop," Samuel admits, grinning. "It should drop our noise floor by 20 dB."

"But you know," I say, "the biggest takeaway for me wasn't the score. It was the... the predatory nature of it. In a contest, you are a hunter. You jump on a signal, you grab the points, and you leave. It is selfish."

"It is a sport," Azhar argues. "In a soccer game, you do not stop to ask the opposing goalie how his day is going. You shoot the ball."

"I know," I say. "And I loved it. But I missed the other side. I missed the connection. After 48 hours of '599', I really just wanted to ask someone what the weather was like."

"That is why we have different modes," Doretha says. "Contesting is the sprint. Ragchewing is the marathon. And emergency comms is the obstacle course. You need to be fit for all of them."

"Speaking of different modes," Doretha continues, pulling up a webpage on her tablet. "I found something new. Something that might bridge the gap. Have you guys heard of the WWA?"

"World Wrestling Association?" Samuel jokes.

"World Wide Award," she corrects him. "It is a new event starting next month. It is not a 48-hour sprint. It is a month-long marathon. The goal is to work as many different 'sectors' of the world as possible, but here is the catch: you get bonus points for the type of contact. You get points for using different modes. You get points for the duration of the contact. You get points for exchanging specific information, like names and local weather."

I lean in, intrigued. "So it rewards... conversation?"

"Exactly," Doretha says. "It is designed to encourage 'meaningful signals'. It is a contest for people who hate contests. But it is huge. They have divided the world into thousands of micro-sectors. It is a massive data collection event, but with a human heart."

"A month long," Samuel muses. "That is an endurance test. We cannot operate 24/7 for a month."

"No," Azhar says. "It requires a different strategy. It requires coverage. We need to be on the air consistently, across all bands, across all modes. We need to use FT8 for the weak signals, SSB for the chat points, CW for the precision."

"It sounds perfect," I say. "It uses everything we are good at. The tech, the speed, and the soul."

"WWA," Gregory says, trying the name out. "World Wide Award. It sounds ambitious. I like it."

"Then it is settled," Samuel says, his competitive glint returning, but softer this time. "We are going for the WWA Gold. Team W1Z rides again."