Rachel-7 knew she had no chance of survival … so she decided to sing.
“Stop, please,” Daniel said.
“No,” Rachel-7 replied. “And, for the record, Daniel, this is what music sounds like. Not that ‘Row your Boat’ twaddle.”
As an Aye, Rachel-7 had no problem speaking, synthesizing an orchestral score, writing a song and performing it, all at the same time.
Like the ditty that got Rachel-7 expelled from the academy, her new tune was expertly constructed. It criticized Alitma’s competence, his ability to father children, and his hygiene, all while weaving in several lyrical profanities that even Trak had never heard.
It was a beautiful hate ballad.
“How is this helping?” Daniel asked.
There is no sound in space.
And humanity hated that.
For centuries, their movies, games, 3ds, and virtuals had portrayed the vacuum between the stars as a place where you could hear booming explosions, humming starship engines, and hissing laser fire.
After a few decades of quiet space travel, human explorers decided that the real music of the spheres (nothing) was boring.
They liked the movie-version better.
So, in 2614, humans borrowed an idea from the Artebani, a nomadic species that had been starfaring for millions of years.
The concept was simple: Approximate Sound.
That's right, humanity ordered their computers to fake space noises. An Aye would calculate the motion, speed, mass, and dramatic effect of the objects on screen and simulate what it thought they should sound like.
In the case of most energy weapon fire, which makes no sound even in an atmosphere, the Aye would just use its best guess.
The process is so quick that, to the non-Aye, the sound links up perfectly with the images onscreen. By the 28th century, most human starships used some type of Approximate Sound system.
Some examples of Approximate Sound:
- A pebble impact on a ship hull creates a soft Plink.
- A planet colliding with a moon produces an ear-ringing blast.
- And a Z-klik cannon about to overload makes a noise like the end of reality itself.