Turn down the help

"I can handle the sleep pod," she cut him off. She'd already accepted too much of his help today.

He inclined his head. "As you wish. Though you might want to run a full diagnostic first. The pods seal hermetically, and the environmental systems don't always work well in isolation from the central system."

When she'd initially commandeered the vessel, she'd intended to give him the least comfortable sleeping quarters on the ship, but unfortunately, the quarters he was already using were the only ones big enough to accomodate his frame, and the rules on treatment of prisoners were quite strict about not making him sleep on the floor, like he deserved. For herself, she'd reserved one of the four labeled sleeping pods in the ship's schematic. The sleep pod, when she found it, looked almost inviting - far more luxurious than the utilitarian bunks she was used to on military vessels. A waist-high hatch lead down into a nest-like sphere, suffused with soft, ambient lighting. The entire bottom half of the sphere was made of conformal padding, which looked impossibly plush, almost as if eager to cradle a body.

Kira turned on the holoscreen by the hatch, which happily proclaimed the pod to be a Kukum-Chaebol RelaxerPod . She was impressed despite herself. Kukum-Chaebol was a brand name she was familiar with only in the sense that she knew her monthly paycheck wouldn't cover a pillowcase in their showrooms. Of course, the fact that this had been bought with slaving money somewhat ruined any excitement she felt about trying it out.

Kukum-Chaebol fortunately appeared to be much better at making interfaces than whoever had designed the ships's navigation, and she managed to find the diagnostic routine with relative ease. While it ran, she explored the rest of the interface. There was an absolutely overwhelming array of options, covering everything from temperature, to atmospheric makeup, to even the color of the fabric padding— when she twisted the corresponding dial, the fibers below smoothly cycled through a myriad of colors. That fabric alone had to be a thousand credits a meter, not that she was any judge.

Nothing seemed obviously wrong - oxygen levels normal, temperature regulation optimal, recycling systems functioning. There were some oddly named submenus with a myriad of settings, including "neural comfort calibration," "circadian harmonization," "deep-cycle restoration", each of which came with a fantastically useless blurb description in the system. She considered turning all of them off, but given how tired she was, she could use whatever high-tech sleep aids the Kukum-Chaebol gurus had come up with. When she exited the final menu, the hatch slid open, the interior lighting dimming to a soothing deep orange. As she climbed in, the padding conformed to her body perfectly, supporting every curve with gentle pressure. It was like sinking into a cloud that knew how to give you a hug. The hatch closed with a soft hiss, sealing her inside.

To her dismay, the scent of the ship was stronger in the enclosed space, making her head feel slightly fuzzy as she tried to settle. There was a second holodisplay inside the pod, and she tracked down the air filtration settings and put them to max, filling the space with a soft humming noise that unfortunately set her teeth on edge. Objectively, she knew she should have gotten back out of the pod and done her usual bedtime routine, but the plush pod seemed designed to make the idea of leaving as uninviting as possible. She'd figure it out in the morning. As the lights dimmed around her, she realized that she was absolutely exhausted. Even undressing seemed like too much work in the moment. She closed her eyes.

Despite the physical comfort, true sleep refused to come. Her mind kept returning to the day's events, the way she'd finally caught up to the bastard, how close he'd gotten to getting away, that infuriating call with her superiors where she discovered she was going to have to treat him like a star witness rather than the scum slaver her was. The padding shifted subtly beneath her, as if responding to her restlessness.

After an hour of tossing, she **** herself to sit up, and accessed the pod's comfort settings. If the musky ship smell was still present, she'd gotten used to it, so she shut off the filter. A menu of sleep aids appeared, including several white noise options. She selected "deep ocean submergence," and the pod filled with what sounded like gentle waves. The sounds of the ocean seemed to wobble oddly around her, as if there was something else pulsing between the notes. Frowning, she double checked the settings, and cycled through a few more options.