Cleopatra is a bustling metropolis, lights shine, buildings tower, the streets flow with its skies filled. Surrounded by forests of slow moving wind turbines, dotted with geothermal plants. “Don’t all the geothermal plants make it even hotter?” Pasne inquired.
“Yes, they might, but we also extract carbon-dioxide from the air which cools down Venus” she patted her nano-carbon shell demonstrating, Pasne had a titanium alloy shell by contrast. “Probably be at least a few more thousand years before we have to worry about the carbon-dioxide shlute (supercriticial-fluid) ocean levels.” Brunji explained, while hailing a floating cab.
“Admiration, flying is so common here.” Pasne noted, on Mercury it was only saucers and rockets.
“Yep, high air density, low wind-speed and plenty of updrafts, work together to make some of the best flying in the solar-system, can get you some wings for our tour” Brunji chirped, sizing him up with echo-location.
“Embarassed, my audio nets still need some practice.” Pasne admitted flashingly.
“Empathy, I’ll use both for your benefit” Brunji flickered and chirped simultaneously as their floating cab arrived. “To the Orchestra!” She whistled as they got in.
***
The jets spun and they were flying. To the east Pasne saw the sun slowly receding, as the vast shlute ocean faintly glimmered. “Beautiful isn’t it?” Pasne marveled.
Brunji glanced over at him, “Oh you and your Mercurian eyes, always searching for something to look at, open your ears, hear the sounds of Venus, we are a musical planet” she remarked. “Though yes, I guess it does look pretty.” she squeezed his hand in acknowledgement.
A little saddened, Pasne tried to listen, but all he heard was noise, so much sound, so complicated, it was easy to get lost in the sounds of the city. A song flittered here and there, through a chirping field of crickets, with the whirr of motors and plodding of feet, hardly perceptible over the cabs purring turbines.
***
They arrived at the Orchestra and got prime seats as the instrumentalists warmed up.
“What are they made of?” Pasne asked, pointing to a musical instrument’s soundbox.
“porous geopolymers, they fetch a pretty price amongst the earthlings who admire our songs. Now listen!” The small ensemble began, swiftly setting into motion.
The notes danced and swirled, old memories triggered, reaching over the counter to the crater radio, softly lulling, gently relaxing, his whole body reverberating with the sound. “It’s Bach!” Pasne flickered excitedly.
“Smile, Yes” Brunji flashingly laughed back at him. “You’re from the Bach quadrangle, so figured it would be a treat to recognize something on a new planet with a new sense.”
“I heard it before on radio back home, but it was always, just a imagining, a thought to analyze, an odd picture of sound waves. But now that I can hear it, it moves me, my hand reverberate with the sound.” Pasne’s current surged as his processors flurried to integrate all the newness.
Brunji hugged him and nuzzled him with her forhead. “Smile, It’s good to listen.”
Ave Maria was next, but there was no singer, the instruments blended their sounds into formants, singing together as one ideal voice. Emotions welled to the point of bursting, this is what tears are for Pasne thought, overwhelmed he took a deep sip from his seat’s direct current plug.
When they left the orchestra, Pasne could feel the sound still resonating to extremities, his head spun with reprocussions.
Brunji guided him out the door, and looked up, many soared; “Lets get you flying.”