She turned away from the terminal for a moment, shooting Delilah an attempt at a charming grin. “You’re in for a treat.”

It didn’t take Iris long to key in the commands - have the automatic record player she invented select the correct record, bring it to the turntable, broadcast it through the lab. But it was a mechanical processing once she sent the order, so it was a solid forty seconds before the speakers crackled to life with the snare drum opening of the song.

“See?” Iris said, twirling around. “They’re great.”