“Alright, kid, make it safe and put it on the bench.” The firearms instructor says to me, like a cop to an armed criminal.

I jerkily hit the release and struggle to lock the slide back as my hands have gotten sweaty. I’ve got two weeks left until I’m supposed to go to field training, but as soon as we start the practical pistol course my brain starts trying to escape and fight my way out of the loud enclosed space. Stationary target shooting I an effort in controlled breathing and strained focus. When I have to break that single minded focus onto movement and positioning and staying in cover and pieing out to take a shot, I just get jumpy and then my breathing breaks and then the flight response starts going into anger.

When I notice things are getting out of hand, I have been trying to do what my instructor just told me, but he’s been preempting my behavior early so that I don’t fumble and wave a loaded weapon around.

“I can’t say that I’ve seen someone improve so much on target shooting, and then have these kinds of problems when we get to the motions, but unless Fontaine has any ideas about how to get through this . . . mental hurdle, all I can suggest is dry fire repetition—which won’t help much in the field when conditions are dynamic.”

I nod at that and grab a sport drink from the table while I try to calm myself down. “I think she’s got something in her back pocket. Decided not to use it when meditation seemed to be working.”

The man comes over, sits down next to me on the bench, while careful not to touch me. “You have been making improvements, like I said, but right now I can’t recommend you deploying with a side arm any place you’d be in the thick of it. I could clear you for long-gun work, but that’s not really what you’re training for is it?”

I shake my head. “I appreciate your being patient with me, and you know, letting me train with weapon at all after the whole doctor thing.”

He chuckles at that. “Renfroe’s a good doctor, not so great person. Post war, we gotta take the good with the bad while we pull society back together again. But that’s big picture stuff that you can learn once you’ve got the system, gotten your Track and maybe by your 18th, become a citizen of the Empire.”

“Wait, I thought we weren’t part of the Empire?”

“Heh, fine. Short history lesson. Empress Astoria gave the nanites to Earth because the world leaders couldn’t stop arguing about who would get it, so she gave it to everyone. She also agreed to let them manage their world, countries, etcetera; as she had newly claimed the title of Empress and had another planet to run. So, she gave Earth a special status, and gave us enough rope to hang ourselves with. After five years or so, we were pretty sure she wasn’t coming back to prop us up, sure she’s been back, or so the rumors say, but never to pull Earth into the Empire’s government control. That said, there are things that are hard coded into the system for the whole Empire, like the initialization no earlier than 14 thing, that all humans are subject to. One of those is expanded access to the Exchange and fundamental rights as a Citizen at the tier 1 upgrade, or level 16. Granted, regional authority set the self initialization age to 16, so we all operate under that for orphans, but it is what it is.”

“You know that raises more questions than it answers right?” I say tiredly, sipping continuously on my salted sugar drink.

He chuckles at that. “Yeah, that hasn’t really stopped for me either. Anycase, you’ve got thirty minutes until I have a group of other field eligibles coming in. Use that time to dry fire the course, then after, you need to have a hard conversation with Miss Fontaine.”

“Thanks Mr. Kenneck.” I watch as he takes the magazines and can of ammo away from my station, hells, he picks up the ammo on the line and pulls it back into the vault that the guns are kept in. I’m pretty sure that was the casino’s money vault at one point.

I go through the course eight times before my time’s up, and while it does help with my comfort with this scenario, it’s not the same without the noise and the pressure not to fail as the steel targets stay silent. After turning in the 9mm, I head to the gym to get my light route finished and spend another hour exhausting myself on the heavy bag and speed trainers.

I drag myself up to the suite after a long shower, most of which I just sat under the hot water, wishing it could sluice away my troubles along with my expended minerals. Bell isn’t home, which make me sad, no hugs for me yet, but maybe some of her leftovers would be like a hug from the inside until she returns. I tuck into yesterday’s orange chicken and spicy chow mien, feeling better as soon as the memory of making this with her last night floods my thoughts. As I’m cleaning up, I hear a trio of knocks at the joining door between rooms.

“Hey Marcella. Did Mr. Kenneck message you?” I say without looking up.

“He did. Told me what happened in the practical course too.” She sighed and slumps into the seat across from me at the small table. Her reaction to the news doesn’t give me much hop. “So what do you want to do?”

“What?” The implication that I had control over the situation throws me for a loop, as I’m at a loss for what to do, and I say so. “I just feel so crippled by my brain and my trauma, and the therapist says these things take time, but we don’t have time. I’m getting overwhelmed by the volume and concentration of things I can’t control while I’m on that course, and my trainers are right to think that it’ll be worse in the field.”

“Hey, Kimber,” she reaches over and takes a hand I was gesturing with and begins rubbing her thumb over my knuckles and it anchors me from flying off into a helpless panic. “there are some things we can try, but they’ll probably mess you up in other ways and maybe force you to take some steps back in resolving your past trauma.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Being vague isn’t helping, Marcella.”

“You’re right. But they’re levers you have, such as this familiar contact thing that Bell instinctively uses to comfort and calm you down. I’m doing it right now and it seemed to let you focus a bit better.”

I nod at that. Usually I don’t like prolonged contact, but I guess Marcella isn’t just some person kicking my ass and training me, hasn’t been for a few months now. The touch is actually comforting and it surprises me now that I’m thinking about it.

“So, my ‘idea’ is conditioning at two ends of the spectrum. First is a jump on training you will get anyway: Enhanced interrogation resistance. I don’t know if you ever used a mental escape at the orphanage. It’s easy to escape boredom, it is hard to escape pain, and hardest to temporarily escape trauma.”

“Uh, yeah. I can do the boredom thing, I usually plan out what I have to do in the future to like, minute detail, or pick some silly idea to plan in detail so that I’m not bummed when it comes to nothing.”

“Okay, yah, focusing on minutiae is a solid step in a lot of management techniques. Another well-used method and with a combination of conditioned responses and that kind of management, I think we can reign in your panic and anger enough to keep you in control through the course, and with fine tuning, I think we can give you the right tools to deal with those emotions in a more stable way than what we’re going to start with.”

“There doesn’t seem to be any down sides? What’s the catch?”

“Bell and I will be attempting to train you like a pet, and you have to trust both of us not to be embarrassed about it.”

I blush immediately at the thought of Bell scratching the back of my head and telling me I’m a good girl.

“Yes, that is exactly what I’m talking about, but also with treats or sounds so that I don’t look like a predatory lesbian to the other trainers.”

I snort at that. “I mean, you are a predator and a lesbian . . .”

“Ew, don’t be gross. The long pole in the tent of the ‘reward’ portion will be to find a snack or a treat that you can have whenever Belle appreciates what you’ve done, tie it to appreciation and affection, and get that treat to link with a pleased serotonin rush instead of embarrassment. I will be doing something similar when I think you did something worth being proud of. Think of something you like, but hardly ever get and is portable. You will always have them on you, but are to never just randomly snack them if this is going to work.”

“Like a caramel chew or something? Or a piece of taffy?”

She beams a smile at me, “Yes, exactly like that. And since I have never seen those things around you, those are great candidates.”

“Isn’t that going to be super degrading for me to be rewarded with snacks at the gym in front of the others?” I can feel the embarrassment already.

“That’s why I said that it would only work if you trust us completely, and believe that we love you and are trying everything to help you succeed.”

What did she say? It’s horrible that a single word can hit me so hard in the feels. “Do you really mean it?” I feel so fragile right now. I could have kept on pretending she was a big sister, not expecting her to feel the same. Even after what she said after I beat the shit out of myself, I don’t know if I ever really believed it fully.

“Belle and I would do anything to help you succeed? Of course we would.”

Tears well up in my eyes, bidden by what feels like a let down, and laugh sadly, “No, not that. How could someone like you love me?” I start sobbing and curl in on myself in a full breakdown that I haven’t experienced since just after I started remembering again.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay Kimber. I’m here, I’ve got you.” I didn’t notice being collected and cradled in a sitting position on the floor, but Marcella has me all wrapped up in arms and legs and is rocking me gently. “When I told you that you reminded me of my sister right away, I wasn’t kidding. What I guess I didn’t say is that even though you are a troublesome pain in the ass, you’re also a good person, and a fierce friend. But even when I’m mad at you, I still want to eat dinner and bicker about stupid shit with you. You wormed your way into my shriveled up heart, and I will stuff you in the musty used towel bin if you repeat this, but I think I need this little family of ours just as much as you do.

“So yeah, I love you twerp. And for making me say it, you’re doing five burpee laps around the arena tomorrow as your warmup.”

As my heart swells at her admission, my mind shrieks at the thought of tomorrow’s warmup. I wrap my arms around her in a fierce hug and mutter, “I love you too asshole,” into her shoulder.

***

I don’t do many solo adventures in the kitchen but I haven’t heard anything from Belle tonight. Marcella says that since she initialized now, they’ll be broadening her training, shadowing professionals and trying to progress her through skills to level three.

“In fact, if she’s been incommunicado for this long, she might be recovering from a Module download. Some skills can be . . . data rich enough to put someone into a protective coma for a few days.”

“A few days!?”

“At the outside, of course. But this early on, it is very unlikely to get something that impactful.”

“Way to make me panic, jerk.” I’m making chicken noodle soup, and if a nugget of carrot just so happened to fly at Marcella’s head in my inexperience, I’m calling it an accident. “So I had a major breakdown before you could finish explaining your plan. The part about resisting interrogation?”

“Ah, yes. I have some people to contact to see what kind of help I can get. If do this myself, it’ll impact the other training we’re doing. So, essentially, someone is going to work you over while asking you personal information. Low-level telepaths are common enough, so schooling your thoughts is also worth attempting.”

“And this is when I should try the distraction and escape mentality methods?”

“Ideally, but then again, you are way too calm about me telling you I’m going to hire someone to tie you to a chair and beat your ass for a whole week.” She stares at me to see how I react.

I shrug. “I know what you’re saying, and that it’s going to be worse than losing a fight, but is having the attention of that kind of professional something I can really understand before it happens?” I stop chopping and look over to her, “Plus I do trust that you’re trying to help me with my goals, so I’ll try to take it as it comes, right?”

“Yes, but maybe?” she sounds unsure, “What’s going on in your head right now?”

“Not a lot, really. The things you’re telling me, I know they’re going to be important as soon as tomorrow, but right now, I’m tired from a rollercoaster of a day but after realizing that I have a sister and a girlfriend that love me, and believe in me, what does the rest of it matter?”

“Memorize that feeling, Kimber, store it somewhere secure. You’re going to need it.”