July 1st, 2039
Richard had long since stopped attempting to entice Brenda away from the all-consuming vortex of her research. Her indifference to music bordered on disdain, and she viewed his project - into which he had invested his blood, sweat, and the last 18 months of his life - as an extravagant squandering of his talents. Yet, Richard harbored hope. He was convinced that as the larger vision of his endeavor unfolded over time, Brenda would inevitably recognize its value.
The heat was unseasonably oppressive that day. Casting an eye towards the old-fashioned, wall-mounted hygrometer that he cherished, Richard noted it displayed a stifling 28°C coupled with a humidity level of 93%. Stepping outside into the sun felt akin to stepping into a downpour; he was drenched in sweat the moment he exited the shelter of the building. Not that it was much better inside, but the sun pounding on him made it worse. In response, he quickly shed his outer layer down to his sleeveless T-shirt, harboring a half-serious wish that he could as easily divest himself of his jeans. The relentless heat encapsulated the day, mirroring the intensity of Richard's frustration and the fervent hope that lingered beneath.
Richard's mind was a whirlwind, caught between the discomfort of the day and the turmoil of his personal life. As he sought solace in the shaded parts of the courtyard, his attention was diverted towards a crucial task he'd been postponing. It was time for the first real-world test of his project, a milestone that marked both an ending and a beginning. Richard knew he needed someone fresh, untouched by the biases and preconceptions that came with in-depth knowledge of the project. In the lush hues of the courtyard, under the unforgiving sun, he hoped to find that someone green to the endeavor, an initiate who could look at his creation with new eyes.
He discovered Anáa Conchi in the courtyard, basking in the sunlight, clad in a vibrant cornsilk-yellow two-piece bathing suit that seemed to capture the day's glow. The outfit modestly covered her bottom, but the bikini top revealed considerably more skin, hinting at even more.
She was engrossed in a tome on German syntax and semantics, the paperback's edges worn from frequent use. Intrigued by the promise of an auditory adventure, he persuaded her to temporarily abandon her linguistic exploration and accompany him to his work lab.
It was hard for him to believe that it could be viable. What had begun as a complex idea to make his music library accessible to anyone on their intranet with a keyboard had evolved, with Magnus's influence, into a concept of delivering music to anyone on the Starlink backbone - by voice alone.
As they entered the lab, he began explaining the details to her. However, he was immediately struck by a musty odor, one he had previously become nose-blind to until his brief time outside cleared his nostrils. He was about to comment on it when she interjected.
"So, I just tell it what I want to hear?" Anáa asked, seeking clarification.
"Just?" he said, in a way that signaled a speech was coming. She did not care; she loved his accent and would happily listen to him read packing invoices. The hot room suddenly felt warmer to her.
"Not 'just.' Your voice is sent via Starlink to the Massive Multilingual Language Processing system in Perfectland. It is converted to Root Language, Forstå, and that is processed to the likely meaning. The needed related info is retrieved from Gagnaský in Iceland. And the music and command to announce and play are sent back here."
Richard and Anáa stood in the glow of the workspace, the silent Dot between them like a dormant oracle awaiting questions.
Anáa wiped condensation from her eyes, glancing at Richard with evident curiosity. "So this language thing—it's like NLP but for every language? That sounds... complex."
Richard chuckled, hitching up his jeans and leaning against the workbench. "Yeah, that's putting it mildly. The Great Dane had his team cook it up in Perfectland. I don’t dive much into the technicals; I'm more about figuring out which music best suits the mood of the day."
Anáa adjusted her bikini top slightly, her amusement clear. "So, it understands everything you say, finds the root language, and then... what? Performs magic?"
"It might as well be magic,” Richard conceded with a grin. “But essentially, it preprocesses commands into a universal root language. That's the crux; it's like... simplifying everything into a common dialect that the system grasps perfectly.”
“Making it simpler for us to get what we want, from tunes to data, regardless of language,” Anáa noted, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s pretty ingenious. And it’s all getting tied into Starlink for worldwide access?”
“Very astute. You've already gleaned the next stage. It’s like a Trojan horse to get the interface into as many homes as possible,” Richard explained, enthusiasm lighting his eyes. “Just imagine—the potential for education, for deeper connections, for sharing music. No barriers, no misunderstandings. Just unfiltered... communication, making the leap back to a world ripe with accessible knowledge, minus the steep learning curve.”
Anáa smiled, a playful edge in her voice. "But for now, it offers us tunes to dance to in your lab."
Richard laughed, instinctively taking a slight step back, the sound blending with the eager hum of anticipation surrounding them. "For now, yes. And who knows about soon? The world's vast. With this little gadget, though, maybe we're a step closer to making it feel a bit smaller.”
"And it has all the music?"
Richard chuckled, "Not even close. Guesstimates range from 1 to 2 billion songs across various performances and languages have been recorded. I've managed to collect 2.7 million, and most of those are English language-based. I was proud of that until they told me how many song recordings they thought existed. However, we keep finding more daily."
As Anáa's gaze shifted from the device back to Richard, a question seemed to dance in her eyes. “What about copyrights? How does that work in this world without money?”
Richard couldn’t help but let out a laugh, the sound carrying a mix of astonishment and humor. “Copyrights?” he echoed, shaking his head. “That’s a relic from the past. In the world as it stands, those old rules don’t apply—not like they used to. With everything that’s happened, we’re all just trying to piece humanity back together. For now, music, like most things, is just digital files we find wherever we can.”
He leaned back slightly, a contemplative look crossing his features. “As for new music, that's a different story. Maybe in the future, we’ll need to figure out a new system, but for now…” Richard trailed off, his hands spreading in a gesture of uncertainty.
Anáa nodded slowly, absorbing his explanation. “So it’s all just about sharing? Helping each other out?”
“Exactly,” Richard confirmed, with a firm nod. “Scientists from around the world, through Starlink, are exchanging information freely. It’s all about getting humanity back on its feet—music included. No strings attached, just pure exchange and collaboration. Without government interference and the help of so many unguarded minds to tap we can soon enter a new golden age.”
The brief, shared silence that followed seemed filled with a mutual recognition of the vastness of their endeavor—to rebuild, to reconnect, and to rediscover not just the lost music but the essence of their shared humanity and a return to safety and comfort.
Anáa bent over suggestively, placing her lips a few centimeters from the device and whispered, "Alexa, 'Time of Your Life' by Green Day."
"You have to say 'Nina' to get its attention."
"But it's an Alexa," she said pointing to the round Echo Dot mounted low on the wall.
"It is built into its case because we got a ton of those in trade because nobody needed them, and it had a lot of the circuitry we needed for transmission and processing a wake word, and just a lot of the infrastructure we were able to cannibalize. Amazon's collapse made reconnecting to their cloud service impossible."
"Nina," she expected the familiar blue ring but was greeted by an ominous red one, which spun around at the processing of its name. "Play, The Carpenters We've Only Just Begun."
The red ring spun faster. After about five long seconds, Richard said, "This is, of course, a prototype. We will be speeding up the wait time significantly as we perfect it."
Richard stared at his watch. At 11 seconds, "Playing We've Only Just Begun by The Carpenters, copyright 1970 A&M Records, remastered 2001-01-01."
Richard quietly let out the breath he'd been holding in.
"We've only just begun to live
White lace and promises, a kiss for luck and we're on our way
Before the rising sun, we fly
So many roads to choose, we start out walking and learn to run" filled the air.
They stood in silence until the song ended.
"How very fitting. Don't feel bad about you switching from Green Day at all."
"The sound was amazing."
"We could make much better speakers, but it was so much easier to use what was already in there, and it's pretty good."
"Nina, can you find 'We Fell'?" Anáa asked with a mischievous grin.
14 seconds later, Nina said, "Playing 'We Fell' by A Rising Tide, written on May 7th, 2031. No performance information available."
Anáa clapped and jiggled, her barely covered bosom bouncing distractingly as a sonic blast of bass guitar and rapid-fire drums bounced off the white tiled walls.
"You spent, then borrowed, stole, just made it up
You sold our futures, over and over.
If we complained, just lock us up.
When the dominoes fell, vanished like a pleasured lover," assailed them at 160 beats per minute.
After it was over, the final whisper of "fight back" hung in the air. Anáa gushed, "I can't believe you have music from after the fall!"
"Not much, but some. I hadn't heard that one. Thank you."
"How do I get this in my room?"
"That's the response I've been waiting for. We have about 30 units built, and I can make more relatively easily. I can install one this evening."
She clapped then hugged him. As he felt her braless breast press into his arm, he realized how his words had sounded and he regretted leading her on. Thankfully, the humidity broke up the embrace quickly. She hummed as she left the room.
Richard sat at his keyboard and transferred the information on how to modify existing models of Echo Dots onto the data-sharing forum on the Starlink system. Anyone with the skills could now tap into the music system. If they had the infrastructure to be on the Starlink system, they had everything they needed to connect to music. Others would improve the system and post their modifications—doing a lot of his work for him.
He was suddenly hungry. He walked to the Manor to the room he thought of as the mess hall. Literally a hallway with a long line of Sterno heated servicing trays kept full by rarely seen hands. The rooms off the hall had assorted tables and chairs. People ate when hungry - often for the laborers, infrequently for most scientists. Richard lifted several lids to find what he thought of as rum figgy pudding until he located it.
He took a seat just vacated. The room was packed with farmers, millers, and builders that needed the recently fallen sunlight to work. He ate slowly, relishing the dish he ate whenever available. Nobody talked to him, and he was fine with that.
Checking outside, the light was still on in Brenda's lab. After a two-hour nap, he checked again. Bingo.
Near midnight, Richard found himself at the threshold of Brenda's lab, their recent argument still echoing in his mind. Their disagreements had become more frequent, yet neither of them was ready to let go. This night, however, Richard sought to bridge the gap between them, armed with nothing but a small Echo Dot and a hope to touch Brenda's heart with a gesture that transcended words.
The lab was shrouded in darkness, mirroring the uncertainty that lay between them. Richard carefully pushed open the door, his actions fueled by a blend of apprehension and determination. The lab, usually a place of rigorous scientific inquiry, felt different at night—almost like a sanctuary where the clutter of their lives could be momentarily forgotten.
Richard’s plan was simple, yet deeply personal. Brenda, with her roots firmly planted here in Mittenwald, had often shared with him snatches of her culture. Though Richard's understanding of German was nearly nonexistent, he hoped that a song, chosen with heartfelt intention, could convey what words could not. "Lieblingsmensch" by Namika was his choice—a term of endearment, he was guessing meant loving man, that he hoped would resonate with Brenda since it was the only song he could ever remember her actively listening to.
Given Richard's limited understanding of German, he would have been thrilled to know it actually meant "favorite person," a term of endearment that perfectly encapsulated what Brenda was to him. His guess about its meaning added a layer of personal risk to his gesture, magnifying the emotion behind his choice.
Choosing "Lieblingsmensch" held a deeper resonance as it was the only song he could ever remember her actively listening to. This detail knit together the threads of personal history and the current moment, imbuing his actions with a significance that words alone could not achieve. It was his way of speaking directly to her heart, reminding her of the joy and companionship they had shared.
Aware of the lab's layout, Richard moved stealthily toward an outlet he had previously noted, near where Brenda often worked. The stillness of the lab enveloped him as he reached into his bag for the Dot, its compact form cool to the touch. He plugged it in, and the device sprang to life, automatically seeking out the ubiquitous Starlink public hub to establish a connection.
The anticipation weighed heavily on Richard as the Dot's light pulsed, signaling its readiness. The technology was intuitive, designed to seamlessly integrate into the growing network that Starlink provided. Still, the moment felt intimate, as if he were about to share a part of himself through the song he had chosen.
Positioning the Dot discreetly among the myriad of lab equipment, Richard made sure it was within earshot of Brenda’s usual workspace. The song, he hoped, would gently fill the space around her, a subtle reminder of their shared moments and the bond that still lingered between them. "Lieblingsmensch" was more than a song; it was an olive branch, an invitation to mend the rift created by their pride.
With the Dot in place, Richard lingered for a moment, lost in thought. The lab, with its familiar sights now cloaked in shadows, seemed to hold its breath. Richard's gesture was a leap of faith, leaving a part of his vulnerability in the care of technology, entrusting a machine with a message of reconciliation.
In the quiet solitude of the lab, Richard addressed the Dot, "Nina, play 'Lieblingsmensch' by Namika on loop at volume level 2."
It took over 30 seconds before a quiet voice confirmed, "Loop mode on. Playing 'Lieblingsmensch' by Namika." An energetic female pop singer then crooned, what to Richard's ears sounded like gibberish, into the night—a hopeful beacon in the darkness of their misunderstanding.
As Richard made his way back, the uncertainty of Brenda’s reception loomed large. Yet, the act of reaching out, of trying to connect in a language not his own, offered a glimmer of hope. In the hours to come, as the catchy strains of the song filled the lab, only time would tell if music could indeed mend what words had frayed.
Entering the Manor and en route to his room, he suddenly remembered he had forgotten his promise to Anáa. But he was tired, and there was no way he was going to be alone with her in her bedroom after midnight. He'd sent her enough mixed signals for one day.