The machine speaks inside her head, using the voice preference stored in her settings: a neutral male tenor, very soft, with the affect dialled down low so that it sounds placid and empty—appropriately like a machine rather than a lover whispering pillow talk. She recalls reading about the early experiments in aural interfaces, a German car manufacturer working through different tones for a satnav persona to please its clients. The hearty executives of the Rhineland did not enjoy being addressed by a superior male. The company tested a soothing feminine voice, and established that they liked this even less. Apparently felt they were being babied. A sultry tone translated as mocking, a professional one as nagging. In the end, it wasn’t the tone that mattered, but the humanity of the voice. It needed to be, very clearly, a machine.