“We’ve got another coaster,” said Captain Emily Riviera grimly as the pulsing phosphorescence of the emergency lights bathed the bridge in a red glow. It was the end of what had been a long and uneventful shift, so naturally the songs had been terrible and Riviera was tired and ready for a few hours in cryostasis where there would at least be silence.
“What do you think, Matthews? Should we help them?” asked the captain. It wasn’t really a question; protocol demanded that they took action even though their shift was technically over.
“I suppose we have to, captain,” answered Lieutenant Matthews unenthusiastically. They both watched the ship drifting aimlessly across the biolens viewscreen.
“The coaster’s moving fast, so we’ll need something upbeat. Maybe a hint of urgency too…Do you think ‘Beds Are Burning’ by Midnight Oil would work, Lieutenant?” It was a good fit, but Riviera hoped it wouldn’t work. After such a long day, she didn’t want to lose such a good song.
“We played that song last month. You seriously need to review the logs more often, captain.”
“I’ll run over the list after cryo. What other options do we have?”
Lieutenant Matthews quickly scanned the shrinking list of songs that would fulfill the requirements. “What about ‘Take on Me’?” he asked not meeting the captain’s eyes.
“The original by A-ha?”, Riviera asked incredulously.
“That’s the only version left, captain.”
“Not a chance. That song is too upbeat if anything. Damn these over-selective N-Drive systems.” The song wasn’t really too upbeat, of course, but it was one of Riviera’s favorites and she had been planning to use that song for a New Year’s celebration with the entire crew.
“Well—there is ‘Major Tom’ then. That ought to cut it.”
Riviera paused for a moment, but made up her mind. “Do it,” said Riviera, “The crew won’t be happy about it tomorrow when they find out, but it can’t be helped.”
“Which version should I use, captain? Any of them will work.”
“I don’t care, just not the original.”
“Shiny Toy Guns it is then,” said Matthews. He reached carefully into one of the compartments at his station. Inside were layers upon layers of small gel beads, each separated by thin, oily film. He pulled out the appropriate sheet and selected one of the beads. With a look of both anticipation and sorrow, he placed it carefully into a small receptacle labeled, Audio N-Drive 2078 G2085. After a few seconds, the song began playing over the ship’s vibrational membranes and Riviera and Matthews briefly exchanged glances before returning to the viewscreen. As the baseline kicked in, the ship began accelerating smoothly and rapidly as it arced toward the drifting vessel.
The two savored their few minutes of enjoyment, but the song playback in the bridge was cut short in the middle of the second refrain when an alarm sounded.
“What is it now, Matthews?” demanded Riviera, annoyed that they had been denied their last chance to hear the song.
“The life signs of the coaster’s drive system are failing. If we can’t find a song to take us adjacent to their ship within the next four minutes and forty-eight seconds, we won’t be able to stabilize it.”
“We’ve come this far; we’re not giving up now. Run it through the biocomp this time. We need a perfect match and we can’t afford any error for this maneuver.”
“Aye-aye, captain.” Matthews entered the parameters into the ship’s computer and began the necessary frequency and pattern recognition algorithms. Riviera waited stone-faced, fidgeting slightly in her chair. In less than a minute, she saw a light glow on Matthews’ terminal indicating that the calculations were finished. Riviera could tell from the expression on Matthews’ face as he looked down at the readout that the news wouldn’t be good.
“Do we not have a match?” she asked with trepidation.
“No—we do…” answered Matthews apprehensively. “It’s just that there’s only one match, and it’s ‘Take on Me’.”
“Damn—this is just not our day. Are you sure it’s the only match?”
“Yes, and it’s not even perfect. Harket is off key slightly and I don’t have time to auto correct the pitch so it will have to be manual.”
The two locked gazes for seconds that felt like hours. Riviera weighed the decision: On the one hand, fourteen lives could be saved, on the other one of the greatest songs ever written—and Riviera’s favorite—would be lost, possibly forever.
“Do it,” she said finally. “But on the condition that you split the auditory cortex inputs and play it over comms for the entire ship.”
Matthews looked at Riviera in disbelief. “Do you not realize how dangerous that is? We could lose the entire auditory cortex if we send that much power through the system.”
“This isn’t up for debate, lieutenant,” answered Riviera resolutely, “Do it, and that’s an order.”
Matthews hesitated, but slid open the compartment again, selected another gel capsule and dropped it into the N-Drive system. This time, however, he increased the power flow to the ship’s comms systems and activated the binaural splitters. The entire ship would hear the song—if it didn’t overload the arterial network first.
With its drive system fully healed and its supplies restocked, the saved ship maneuvered carefully out of the docking canal. After moving a few hundred meters away from the ship, it accelerated, and with a flash, disappeared leaving behind nothing but a trail of warp fluid.
“Thank God they were grateful enough to give us their copy of ‘Take on Me’,” said Riviera, as she joined Matthews on their way to the cryostasis bay.
“I’m a bit surprised they still had it, captain,” said Matthews, “There can’t be many copies left at this point.” Riviera slid into her cryostasis pod, but before activating the gel seal, Matthews held up a hand and said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to give the song another listen as we drift off.”
“Fine by me, who knows how many more opportunities we’ll have.” Riviera’s pod sealed with a squelch. As she settled down for a much-needed rest, and the song began to play, she thought that the vocals were taking a little longer to kick in than when they had played it the day before.
“Oh no,” was Riviera’s final thought as she was swallowed in unconsciousness, “this is the karaoke version.”
24-bit eggplants 