"What," came Rebbo's voice over the suit radio, "is this dreadful noise I am listening to?"
"Music. I'm playing music from the library computer over the open comm circuit. Too loud?"
"It is confusing."
"Con—" Mays pulled up his core-sample tool, leaned on it, turned to look across the frozen surface of the moonlet to where Rebbo was working nearer the ship. "You don't have music? Your people?"
"We have music. It soothes, calms. It aids in slipping into the trancelike state we use to allow subconscious problem-solving." There was a pause. "This music seems designed for exactly the opposite."
"It's mostly for dancing. You know, dancing?"
"I have seen it done."
"You want I should turn it off? Maybe switch to a different playlist? There's classical, and… the ambient/minimalist category is probably more your speed."
"I do not wish to interrupt your enjoyment if it is assisting you in your work."
"It's fine. ELLE, play the man some Eno. Or something like that."
"Music For Airports, volumes one through four. Album mode."
Mays continued his work, taking more samples before heading back to the ship. He found Rebbo sitting cross-legged at the base of the ship's ladder, fast asleep.