Overhead, the lighting buzzes. In the sterile confines of the cockpit, lights wink and monitors chirp softly.

On the bulkhead, a grainy blue face appears.

"Good morning, Yasahama."

In the pilot's chair, a bundle of blankets shifts.

"Yasahama, it is 0800."

The blankets grumble.

"You need to start your routine. Adequate nutrition and exercise are essential-"

"Yeah, yeah." A lightly tanned arm emerges, fighting with the blankets, to reveal glossy black hair, brown eyes deepened by shadow.

"Was there a malfunction with your quarters?"

The brown eyes blink a few times. "No," Yasahama says. "I... came to check something. Must have fallen asleep."

"You know that I monitor our position when you sleep," the computer says after a micro-delay. "You have a point one five increase in basal temperature. Medical studies show humans appreciate sleeping upright when unwell. Yasahama, if you are sick you should report to the medical bay."

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"S.A.I.L, stop," the resigned reply. "I am not sick."

The grainy blue face displays a caricature of a frown. "Your telemetry indicates increased heart rate and an elevated temperature at 0243 hours, with eye movement indicative of REM sleep. Yasahama-"

"I'm fine," the pilot growls. Then: "I'm... tired."

S.A.I.L is silent as Yasahama crawls out of the blanket cocoon.

"What's for breakfast?" the pilot asks.

"If you have not received adequate rest, you should return to your quarters."

Yasahama shrugs. "People get tired all the time. I'll walk it off."

"Yasahama. Chairs are not appropriate sleeping apparatus." The computer's modulated voice projects disappointment. "Your rest was interrupted. You appear to be unwell. Please return to your quarters. I will wake you after you have completed one sleep cycle."

"Really, buddy, I'm fine," Yasahama says, floating through the ship to the refectory. "What happened to needing my 'adequate nutrition'?"

S.A.I.L lights up next to the dispenser. "Sleep is far more important than nutrition. Studies show-"

"I know, S.A.I.L." Yasahama runs a hand over their face. "It was humour. Please just give me my breakfast."

"No. You should rest."

An AI, even one as advanced as S.A.I.L, should not be able to sound reproachful, Yasahama thinks.

"I just want to get on with my day. I'll go to bed early tonight."

An archaic timing device ticks in circles, before S.A.I.L's face returns.

"This is an acceptable compromise," it says. A silver nutrition pack is ejected from the dispenser.