“Oberon, please tell us your real name,” he said.

Oberon sang his name. It really was beautiful.

“Does your whole language sound like that?”

“Yes, very much like it,” said Oberon. “The words, the syllables, carry meaning, and so does the pitch of each syllable. I understand it is a little different from tonal languages here on Earth, because the absolute pitch, rather than the relative pitch, is what’s important. But I have not studied any tonal human languages, so I’m not sure.”

“You have perfect pitch?”

“I do, of course. In the Otherworld, not to have absolute pitch would be quite a serious disability, like, perhaps, a severe hearing impairment. A person would have great trouble communicating without accurate pitch.”

Ángel encouraged Oberon to describe his project. They talked about the criteria he used to choose which music he’d send back to the Otherworld, and Oberon admitted that, while he took artistic and cultural significance into account, his final arbiter was simply what he liked.

Throughout their conversation Ángel kept his eyes focused on the window, away from Oberon, just listening to the smooth, deep voice. It was fluent, easy, warming sometimes with humor. A charming voice.

This is going to work.

“So why do this?” asked Ángel. “Why do the people of the Otherworld want to know about our music?”

“The Otherworld is . . . We love to study. We love to learn new things. When I was a child I began to devote myself to learning music, to learning about other people. And so when the opportunity arose to travel here, naturally I was excited to come.”

“If that’s true, why are you the only envoy who’s ever come? Wouldn’t others like to come and learn?”

“Oh, yes,” said Oberon. “The Otherworld would like to send other envoys, to learn more about this planet’s life forms and chemistry and history, but it takes an enormous amount of energy to send someone across the veil. I am not a master spell-caster, so I cannot explain this—there was only enough energy to send one.”

“How did you get the job?”

“I was selected from among many candidates. It was a competitive process.”

“And they chose you—a musician, rather than, like, a scientist—because the Otherworld wants to know about our music that much?”

“Among other things, yes. Very much.”

“Why? Why go to all this expense to send you here, so that you could send back music? It seems kind of frivolous.”

“Do you think so?”

“Maybe,” said Ángel. “I mean, I love music. I make my living playing music. But for most people, it’s just entertainment. There are people who think you’re actually here to find out everything you can about our military defenses, so that the Otherworld can invade us and steal our resources and—I don’t know—eat us. You say you’re really here for the music?”