[center][h2]The Morning News (Shore Leave, Day 2 Morning)[/h2][/center]


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“Yuri!”  A voice he knew…S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A, suddenly cut through the surrounding mayhem, the shock of realization lifting the nightmare veil.   “Are you alright?”


“Mmmmph,” he grunted.  “Yeah.”  He rose to his knees, then gave his head a shake to clear out the last of his mind’s phantoms.  “Looks like I rolled out of bed.”


His cortex reader glowed, orienting him to the darkened surroundings.  “You had the dream again.”


“Yeah.”  With a quiet moan, Yuri rose from the deck to sit upon the edge of his bunk.  “Same one.”


“Four nights in a row,” the AI reported.  “Each night, you become increasingly articulate.  The issue of your past is troubling you.  I’ve done some research…”


“Sort of creepy that you’re listening to me when I sleep,” the first mate rubbed fingers through his hair.  “What time is it?”


“Oh-five-thirty-two.  Yuri, Survivor’s Guilt is a very real condition.  Helpful therapies have been developed.  You can practice many of them on your own.”


“Can we talk about this later?”  He took to his feet, then fumbled in the darkness for the pull out urinal.  “So, who’ve we got aboard?”


Sam ticked off the list.  “Elias Reiman.  He’s on duty.  His cortex activity centers on researching parts salvage on Pelorum.  Sister Lyen Giu, Imani Ozuka, and Edina Wyman are still in quarters.  Edina has an oh-six-hundred wakeup call to serve coffee and breakfast by seven.  The rest are still planetside.”


“Even our youngling?” A pang of worry crossed Yuri’s brow.  “Has Abby checked in?”


“No,” the AI responded.  “Her cortex has pinged locations in the city’s ninth ward.  Activity centered on a diner listed as Vic’s Good Eats.  Should I contact her?”


He shook his head, the futile gesture reminding him that Sam didn’t have vid capture pickups in most of the boat.  “No.  She knows to call if things go sideways.  Let’s give folk a little privacy.  How about Captain or Alana?   Either one touched base?”


“They have not.”


Yuri closed the urinal before washing his hands.  “Well, I’m up,” he mumbled as he felt for the lighting control, then collected fresh clothes and his toilet kit.  “Anything on the schedule for today?”


S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A replied, “today is day two of official shore leave for all hands.  The galley scheduled breakfast for oh-seven hundred, and will have supper prepared for sixteen hundred.”


“Why so early?” he asked, his memory kicking in as the last words left his mouth.


“You and Edina were invited to the “Nineteen Forties Gala, located in the Aviation Pavilion, Museum of Earth-That-Was.  Your passes arrived overnight.  I took the liberty of forwarding them to your respective cortex readers.”


“Thanks,” he unearthed his bathrobe, another ragged find in the boat’s Lost and Found.  “Anything in the world I should conjure?”


“Seasonal weather,” she said.  “Afternoon showers followed by clearing skies and an average temperature of seventy-six degrees fahrenheit.  Negotiations have broken down between the New Iberia Tradeport management and the local Dockworkers and Longshoremen’s union.  The existing contract expires tonight at midnight, with picketing expected tomorrow morning.  Local law enforcement is considering a curfew, but advises all transient personnel to avoid the port or at least to  travel in groups.”


“That’s something you should pass along to our lost lambs.”  Now clad in his bathrobe, Yuri swung the ladder hatch open.  “I’m grabbing a shower.  Mind the boat for me a bit longer?”


“Of course,” the unseen intelligence replied.  “Would you like me to compile a document of the therapies I mentioned earlier?”


Sam made sense.  Sam always made sense.  But here in the early morning, her innate logic faced a wall of unvoiced excuses and fallacious arguments from the first mate.  [i]I really don’t want to mess with this,[/i] he mused as his feet touched the ladder.  “Yeah,” Yuri finally managed.  “I guess.”