The Terran sank to the bulk head and staggered toward the bridge doors. Zzzphuttt!! OW!

"Give 'em the Barbershop tremolo wave, C! That'll phase right out of their cacophonous heads!"

He staggered through the iris-entry and made his way to the infirmary, seeking a B-12 Sobriety pack to restore his faculties. His expectations were thwarted as he entered the medical wing on C deck and found the head medtech and about thirty shapely interns, plastered on some custom brew based on rubbing alcohol, caroling drunkenly in the recovery ward, strumming on microzithers, pocket chord enunciators, banging lab tubes together in four four and weaving a sort of haphazard harmony to their favorite battle-song:

The arching sky is calling
Spacemen back to their trade.
All hands! Stand by! Free falling!
And the lights below us fade.

Out ride the sons of Terra.
Far drives the thundering jet.
Up leaps the race of earthmen,
Out far, and onward yet--

We pray for one last landing
On the globe that gave us birth;
Let us rest our eyes on the fleecy skies
And the cool green hills of Earth.

We rot in the molds of Venus.
We retch at her tainted breath.
Foul are her flooded jungles,
Crawling with unclean death.

We've tried each spinning space mote
And reckoned its true worth;
Take us back again to the homes of men
On the cool green hills of earth.

The harsh bright soil of Luna,
Silent and dead as the grave,
Holds not the souls of Earthmen
Whose lives for Earth's they gave.

The rust-red Martian deserts,
Her lonely wandering sands,
Are naught but alien visions
To who on her surface stands.

Let the sweet fresh breezes heal me,
As they rove around the girth
Of our lovely mother planet
And the cool green hills of Earth.

The boozy wailing was not about to be interurpted by a medical call, so he helped himself to the Sobriety B12 pack from a supply cabinet, pasted it across his forehead and pulled the activator tab.

With a swift hum, the self-powered pack did its job, and his head stopped aching and his vision cleared as he heard the repeated zapping hum of the Barbershop Tremolo sonic disrupter being fired broadside.

Thinking more clearly, he galloped back to the bridge.