I meant my left, Middie.

As words to wake up to, those left something to be desired, even if the voice delivering them could intoxicate a half platoon of Marines. I briefly considered ignoring him, pretending to be asleep, but if he was talking to me, he knew I was awake. I still wasn't up to putting my thoughts into any kind of coherent order, though.

"Which is why the words 'port' and 'starboard' were invented."

"Okay, then, which direction is 'port' on a jump capable ship?"

I looked at him, trying to figure out if he was joking or not. Of course, I completely lost track of why I was staring at his eyes, but thankfully my mouth kept talking, preventing me from looking like a complete idiot.

"Starboard is toward the primary pocket emitter, which puts port toward the primary reaction thrusters."

"Doesn't that make port the same as stern?"

This was one of the oddest conversations I'd been in, but I'd never had a 'normal' conversation with Guy. This counted as improvement.

"Yes? And?"

"So which direction should I have said?"

"I'm not sure, but since I jumped west and got tagged, you probably should have said east."

He frowned but didn't ask about east and west. At least I didn't have to explain things to him he should have learned in kindergarten. "Oh. Yeah, probably. Glad I didn't, though. I misjudged the splash."

"No, you didn't, Cadet Delnot. I deflected most of it away from Dustie. Unfortunately, the first gout hit her before I recovered fully from jump disorientation."

"Thank you, Tiamat." The ship's revelation reminded me of something I'd realized as I drifted, while my essie and the med techs patched up my leg. I sat up and opened my eyes, looking around the now familiar med bay. I twisted to face the nearest pickup. "Could I have an open line to Middle Grade Cadet First Officer Quick, please?"

"The line is open now."

"Hey, First, how goes?"

"Not bad. How are you feeling, Captain?" His reply came immediately, and I heard plasma welders whining and spitting in the background.

Before I answered, I tried an experimental stretch, working everything from my toes to the tips of my fingers. I arched to work a few kinks out of my back from lying there so long. Nothing hurt, everything worked the way it should, but a sudden hiss of indrawn breath snapped my gaze to where Guy leaned against the wall beside the door. He doubled over in a coughing fit, ignoring my glare.

"First day with the new lungs, Delnot?"

"Must be that, Captain. Sorry to interrupt your call."

"Don't you have classes?"

"No ma'am. It's the middle of third. I'd normally be asleep now, but I wanted to make sure you were all right." Oddly, he sounded serious. If he were anyone but Creepy Stalker Guy, I'd think he had a thing for me. I brushed off the comment and glared until he met my gaze.

"Thanks for your concern, but I'm fine. I'll see you in ATT."

"Yes, sir." He took the hint, saluted, turned, and left.

"Sir? Are you still there?" Quick's voice reminded me I'd left him awaiting an answer. Tiamat hadn't relayed my conversation with Guy. Curious, but not uncommon; Captains often needed to talk with more than once person at a time.

"I'm here, First. I'm doing fine. Better than I have in a while, thanks. How are you feeling?"

Confusion touched Quick's reply, "I'm fine, Captain. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Wasn't that you I saw fighting the Hullborer?" I might have been mistaken; I hadn't spent enough time in the bay to identify everyone's armor at a glance.

Quick chuckled his reply. "Yes, sir, that was me. You can't think I'd get hurt on a Hellborer, though."

"You closed with it..." I left the statement dangling.

"Yes, sir."

He ignored or didn't understand my confusion, so I spelled it out for him. "Standard Imperial practice is to stand off and pick them off beyond their effective engagement range, like lancing a boil. Why didn't you follow that?"

"Sorry, sir. Standard Imperial doctrine was written by Marines and Commanders. I'm an Armorer. It just feels wrong to shoot at my own ship. I can kill it a lot cleaner up close."

"You can also get killed up close."

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Sir, I built this armor with Hellborers in mind. I need more power to engage in aerobatics, and with all that power I might as well have the shielding to shed 'Borer acid. I... I know it looks dangerous, sir, but I had it under control from the moment I clamped onto it. Really, there's nothing a 'Borer can do to my armor once I've powered it up."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself, First."

"No, sir. Just... trying to make sure you're not worried. You've got enough on your mind without me being a loose cannon." At least he sounded sincere about that. Too bad he was right.

"What if it latched onto you, treated you like a ship?"

That caught him flat footed. After a few moments with nothing on the channel except the hiss of plasma and dead air, he replied sheepishly, "I didn't think of that, sir. I mean, I'm not a typical target for them, but if they can penetrate a ship's shields, I'm guessing they could penetrate mine."

"Keep it in mind if you're ever facing one out in the great wide open, First."

"Will do, sir. Anything else?"

I'd almost forgotten my reason for contacting him in the first place. "Actually, yes. That armor you promised me, when's it going to be ready for fitting?"

"It won't need too much fitting, sir, but I can have it ready in... maybe a week?" Uncertainty colored his voice.

"I'll meet you in the bay in five days to take a look at it."

"Ah," he squeaked, " I'd better get working then. If I may?"

"Be about it, First." Tiamat sounded a tiny chime in my ear to indicate the connection closure. I leaned back against the steel exam table, feeling a little drained after dealing with my First and my enigmatic wannabe Dragon. I'd nearly drifted off when Doctor Andrews spoke.

"Interesting. The ship is attacked, you survive at least two close brushes with death, suffer a major injury, and yet you're completely calm. Well, you were until I started talking." She rasped a little. I forced my tense muscles to unknot and rolled myself around until I sat tailor fashion, facing the chair Doctor Andrews slouched in. She'd changed into a fresh set of clothes, and her hair had a fresh braid, but other than that she looked like death warmed over.

"Are you okay, sir?"

One side of her mouth twisted into a mockery of a smile. "If I can get you to stop calling me sir I'll be as fine as I can be until I get you to where you can sleep on your own."

I frowned. "Why wouldn't I call you sir?"

"Because I don't outrank you?"

I blinked at that; my brain unable to sort out how she could order the Captain regarding ATT procedures yet not outrank a Cadet. My rank only applied to other Cadets, and then only to Middies and Juniors. I stared at her, completely dumbfounded. Her smile spread into something slightly more natural.

"I don't outrank you because I don't have a rank."

I could tell my subconscious was screaming at me by the strain on her face and the flickering images at the edges of my vision, but the thought wouldn't coalesce any more than the visions could take me. I was left with the painfully slow process of piecing it together. Every person in Imperial Service had a rank, down to the earliest newborn Junior Cadet. If you retired and mustered out after your term, you kept your rank in the Reserve, to be activated as the last line of defense between the enemies of humanity and the...

It all clicked. "You're a civilian?"

She chuckled at my tone. "You make it sound like I'm a unicorn or fairy or something."

"I've seen unicorns in one of my Junior sims, and one of my teachers on Glaucus had fairy wings. I've never seen a civilian before."

"Well, we're thin on the ground in the Dragon, and I've heard we're even thinner out on the Outer Rim. If you move into one of the other Core fleets, you'll see a few of us in support positions. Maybe a third of the Doctors, a few Armorers, some Research and Development types, and a few Protectors dealing with civilian-military interactions." She still looked beaten, but the conversation brought her back from death's door. I searched for something to say, but all I could only think of my scheduled appointment.

"So... did you want to talk to me today?"

"Whether I want to or not," she paused, heaved a sigh, and continued, "I need to. I can't sleep any better than you were until you've begun to progress. I'm really irked at this stupid, ill-timed 'Sect incursion. It can't help but have traumatized you further."

I thought about it, prodding my memories for any reaction. The thought of the Hellborer and its Hornets brought a slight thrill, a deep visceral desire to come to grips with them again, this time with my own set of armored claws. Even the memory of acid scorching my leg only made me wince a bit in sympathy for my former self.

"Doctor, I'm as ready to talk now as I have been since I got here."

She shook her head, rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. "I still wish I could give you more time."

"Do you go through this every time you treat someone?" I clamped my mouth shut, hoping I hadn't offended her by calling her abilities into question. I'd heard civilians were touchy about things like that.

"No, Dustie. I've never had this kind of trouble. Then again, I've never dealt with a telepathically talented patient with repressed memories from two separate telepaths, one a master class. You're..."

"A problem. So I've been told." I couldn't help the sour frown that slipped onto my face, Command training be damned.

"I was going to say, 'a challenge'. No one's ever treated a member of the Imperial family before." She paused, looking past me, staring at the wall beyond without seeing it. "The Emperor may have, but no one outside the Imperial family's ever gotten a chance."

"I'm not part of the Imperial family."

She shook one hand in a palsied parody of a throwing away gesture. "Your mother was Her Imperial Highness, the Princess Grace Evangeline Li. You've never been formally recognized by the Imperial Family, but..."

"She wasn't my mother." I tried to inject something into my voice; anger, denial, petulance, but it came out flat.

The edges of her lips twisted, the first sign I'd seen of displeasure since our sessions began. "You sprang from her loins. Your genes are a mixture of hers and your father's..."

"Clone father."

Her perpetual smile melted into a glare. "Dustie Dabig, I cannot help you if you insist on clinging to self-deception. Dustin Dabig is your male parent. As he died before you were born, I can accept you calling him your sire rather than your father, but you must, eventually, stop denying him... them, and through them, yourself."

I wanted to scream, to cry, to run to my cabin and hide in endless reviews of ship schematics and career recommendations. The haggard glare before me pinned me in place. My muscles wouldn't unlock, no matter how I screamed at them inside my head.

"Are you doing something to me?"

Her glare softened, and she winced. "Only continuing to hold back your nightmares. Which is becoming increasingly painful. Please, Dustie. I promise you now, as long as there is breath left in me, I will not let your nightmares take you. But I do not know how long there will be breath left in me at this rate. So... So strong. I need you to help me, Dustie. Please."

I'd seen the laughing rage of the mad Empress herself, felt the roaring surge of her daughter's battle fury. The doctor's anger couldn't begin to move me. Her pain, on the other hand, called to something deep inside me and wouldn't let go.

"Okay. I'll try. What do I have to do."

I could only hope and pray her pain was calling to a part of me.