"Tiamat?"

"Yes, Dustie?" She called me by name, not rank. Right then I wished I'd grown up with her instead of inside Glaucus' gleaming metal hull. "Did you need something?"

"Am I... am I out of ATT?" I left the other question, whether I was still Middle Grade Cadet Captain, unspoken.

"Why would you be?" Genuine surprise laced Tiamat's voice. Surprise is a condition of the mind, and AIs were just as prone to it as humans. The ambient light in my section of med bay brightened a little.

"I had a fit during my first class with the Captain. My first flaming full immersion sim, and I cluttered it up for all three of us." I couldn't make myself care enough to keep my language clean.

Tiamat synthesized a tooth sucking 'tsk' of disappointment, but her response came slowly. "Hmm... I rather think you didn't. The other two are in sim now. They'll be there a while. The Captain didn't listen to me about Quick and Delnot."

"Go on?" I knew I was fishing for gossip, but I soothed my conscience by telling it I needed to know about them both, since I hadn't been officially relieved of command. Yet.

"Oh, by the objective scores, Delnot scores a good margin higher than Quick, but a good chunk of that is Tomas' distaste for combat. I think the tests favor combat veterans as well, but that's another story. I told the Commandant they were evenly matched, but she set up a situation where Cadet Quick has all the advantages. He's defending a mobile resource he can command, and he's got a larger force base to work with. Delnot's got nothing but the aggressor's advantage of timing."

"How's it playing out?"

"How do you think it will play out?"

The answer flashed into my head faster than conscious thought. "Quick, complete victory, over pretty quickly."

"Interesting. Why do you say that?"

Explaining myself always took time. I never quite remembered the details of my analysis after I'd done it, but I could still puzzle it out if I tried. "Quick is careful. He's got numbers, he's on the defense, and if she really had it in for Guy, she told Quick what Guy has to work with. He'll keep a heavy reserve back to smash Guy when he commits.

"Guy is flashy and impulsive. He'll feint to draw Quick away, but since Quick knows what Guy has, he knows what's a feint and what's not. He'll wait for Guy's main force to show and... smash it." I petered off, uncertain of how much Tiamat wanted from me.

"What if Guy sees the hammer falling?"

I rolled my shoulders. "Won't change the outcome, will just delay it. Depending on how fast Guy is, he could drag it out a while, but... no change."

"You'll be back in ATT at the next session."

Hope surged, but I wouldn't let myself get hurt again. "Doesn't the Commandant make that call?"

"I just forwarded her your analysis. She's not happy about it, but at this point it looks like you're absolutely right." Vast amusement filled Tiamat's statement.

"Quick won? And... why am I back in the class if she's not happy?"

"First, you were never out of the class. Medical isn't enough reason to drop you from ATT. Second, I know you two haven't hit it off, mostly because your mother pulled that colossally deranged stunt at Deep Stand, but..."

I couldn't help it; my knee-jerk reaction interrupted her. "Clone-father's wife. Ma'am."

"Yes..." Tiamat drew the word out to three full syllables. I hid my wince. "As I was saying, the Commandant is a professional. It's her duty to train you, and she'll do her duty. Last, Quick hasn't won yet. That sneaky little... Delnot is faster than I thought. He's making Quick pay heavily for each casualty."

Despite myself, the scenario drew me in. "Heavily enough?"

"I don't think so. Four to one, but the initial force imbalance Commandant De'Lann presented was seven to one. Quick will..."

The situation flashed through my head again, and I spoke without thinking, "Delnot is going to win."

"Are you going to make a habit of interrupting me, young lady?"

My face burned so hot my head spun a little. "No, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."

"Why did you change your mind?"

"He's fast enough to make that four to one ratio stick. He's sneaky enough to fool you about how fast he is. He's feeling out where Quick allocates the object he's defending and wearing down his reaction force. When he's got it figured out, he's going to hit it with everything he has left. Capture or destroy?"

"Capture if possible, destroy if not."

"Oh. Quick's got one chance. If Guy gets stuck on capture, Quick might retake the objective before Guy destroys it. Other than that? Guy. Probably before he loses fifty percent of his force. He's going to lose all of it one way or the other, though, if the Commandant doesn’t end the scenario when the objective is destroyed."

Tiamat went silent for a while, but the sense of her presence never receded. I took comfort in her continued attention and tried to forget what was coming next. Lying there in the warm comfort of the med bay, protected by the Mother of Dragons, I let myself drift off...

...back into my hand-me-down nightmares.

***

"Dustie, are you awake?"

I'd been drifting between nightmare-laden napping and fatigued contemplation of the ceiling. A woman's voice teased me from my fugue. She'd asked her question more than once. This time I answered.

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"Yeah. Mostly. I think. Are you planning on killing me?"

"I had no plans to. Why do you ask?" This woman had ice water in her veins, despite the warmth in her voice. Even in an Empire ruled by a madwoman killing didn't enter casual conversation, but she took my question in stride.

"Then I'm awake."

"Do you dream of dying often?" I wanted to look at her face, but sitting up took effort, and my limbs ached from lack of sleep.

"Only when I sleep. Or black out. Okay, it happened when the Commandant started the sim. Oh, God, how am I going to do ATT without the sim?" Despite everything, wakefulness found me, and with it came awareness and worry.

"Just a moment." My worries froze solid in my head, leaving me nothing to fret over. Except maybe my blackouts, and a rival for my job I knew nothing about, and a First I couldn't look in the eye.

"I see. The Captain left the three of you dangling in limbo while she tweaked the sim. It's not unusual for a Cadet to have some negative side effects from exposure to sensory deprivation, although your case was rather extreme. I've placed a note in your medical file; she's not to do that again until we've got you sorted out."

Curiosity over someone who could issue orders to the Captain of an Imperial ship overcame my fatigue. Forcing my aching limbs to obedience, I propped myself up on my elbows. A nondescript woman sat in a chair beside my exam table; pretty, but not strikingly so, neither heavy nor svelte, dusky skin, dirty blonde hair cut in a short bob typical of a soldier who spent a lot of time in armor and didn't want to be washing accel gel out of a huge mop. She wore unmarked workout gear, typical off duty clothing at a school, but it told me nothing of her rank, or unit, or specialty.

"Good Morning, Dustie. I'm Doctor Andrews." That explained it. Not med tech Andrews, but Doctor. The person I'd been avoiding for eleven nights of hell had me pinned to a table. She would take my head apart and put it back together without me inside.

"Dustie." Just one word, but my panic froze as solid as my earlier worry. I stared at her with dawning horror as I realized what she'd done.

"Get out of my head."

She sighed, then scooted her chair closer. When I could reach out and touch her, she stopped, leaned back, and spoke.

"We need to talk. If you're having a panic attack, you won't be able to talk. All I'm doing is preventing you from losing control of yourself. If you were bleeding, a med tech wouldn't let go of the wound just because you told him to, would he?"

Despite myself, I could see her point. "So. What did you want to talk about?"

"We can talk about anything you like, this first session." First session. I didn't have time for sessions. I had work to do. "I'm going to let go now, all right?"

"Yeah. Go ahead." Before the words fully left my mouth my gut clenched, and my heart raced. Irrational fear clawed at me, but without a line of thought to feed it, I fought it to a standstill. When I could breathe normally again, I looked at the doctor.

"You're a lot better than the other telepath I know."

I'd vaguely hoped mention of another telepath would disrupt her calm. By now I should be used to disappointment. "Guy is new to the art, and I don't think he'd make a very good doctor, either. He's got great potential if he keeps training, though. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You've got some talent. I could teach you if you wanted to learn."

A moment's thought highlighted the folly of her idea. I could be a telepath and a Blank? Think of all the extra social circles I'd be excluded from. "Ooh, where do I sign?"

Unperturbed, she smiled at me. "It's not as bad as you might think. The only people who want to be around me are those who are honest with me and themselves. Other than my work, I mostly lead a drama free life."

"So. I'm your work. I guess you're here to make me drama free."

She kept smiling, but she did roll her eyes. "Dustie, you're a particularly attractive young woman in a new school filled with healthy young men and women. If your life is drama free? You're not living it. My job is to see to it you can live it to the fullest, not wander around half dead from lack of sleep."

Maybe it was fatigue, maybe the emotions I'd been damming up for so long just refused to be denied any longer, but words bubbled out of me. "I wish it were mine to live."

"What makes you say it's not?"

The dam was cracked now, and I could no more stay quiet than stop breathing. "Everyone expects me to be living my clone-father's life. Not mine. Okay, some of them think I should be living his wife's life, but still..."

"Why would they do that?"

"You've seen my files, right? They didn't... You must have..." I petered off. I wanted to say it, but I couldn't bear seeing those kind, accepting eyes turn hard and fearful.

"Yes, Dustie. I've seen your full medical records."

A weight lifted from me. I glanced at her, eyes narrowing, but she just stared at me, bland kindness the only thing betrayed by her face. I frowned as I poked at the inside of my skull, but it didn't feel like she was manipulating me again. She knew, though. I could say it.

"Then you know why. I'm a..." I steeled myself, forced the word through my lips, "Blank."

I tried to look away, but her eyes held me, warm and brown and completely free of any fear or accusation. "Part of being a Doctor is acknowledging the potential finality of death, Dustie. We're the last profession to really do so. Failed resurrections don't scare me. You're not a monster."

Her eyes lost whatever hypnotic quality they'd possessed, but she'd held my gaze long enough for me to see the truth of her words. She accepted me, problems and all. I had only just begun to suspect Tiamat had no prejudice against me for what I was, but I knew without any doubt that Doctor Andrews would support me and protect me until I could survive on my own.

"Are you messing with my head again?"

"No, Dustie. At this moment I'm not modifying your thoughts or emotions at all."

"Then why do I trust you?"

"I'm letting you see my emotions. Do you trust me?"

The word started to slip from my mouth, but I clamped my lips shut on it. I'd said it often enough before; the Imperial Marines are big on team building and trust exercises. You have to know your squad has your back with absolute certainty if you're going to fight effectively. This was an entirely different level of trust, though. If my teammates let me down, I might die, but in the Imperial services death was an inconvenience. Reincarnation was part of the medical plan, even if you did wind up staying an extra hitch or two to cover the cost.

I trusted any Marine, anyone in the Imperial Service with my life. Doctor Andrews was asking for more than that. She was asking me to trust her with my mind, with what made me... me. She was asking me to trust her with my soul.

Reclining on the exam table, contemplating the nature of trust, my weary eyes slid shut. The abyss yawned beneath me, millennia of death and pain awaiting me. Flames dried my skin, heated my uniform until even the recalcitrant fabric smoked.

Dustie!

Doctor Andrews' voice snapped me back to consciousness. I jerked myself upright, clutching my knees to my chest to keep myself from slipping down to the table again. More than anything I feared what would happen if I lay down. I feared that more than death. I feared it more than anything Doctor Andrews could do to me. It might not be trust, but it was the next best thing.

"Sure, Doc. I trust you."

Her lips twisted up in a wry grin. She knew without a doubt I was lying, but if I was willing to play along, she would as well. "Okay then," the grin dropped from her face, and from her voice. Suddenly serious, she said, "I'll try to live up to your trust in me."

"Don't worry about it. I'm used to disappointment."

"That's part of the problem, I think. We'll see, though. For now, why don't you get some sleep?"

My eyes shot open, and I shook my head convulsively. The word 'no' kept dribbling from my mouth no matter how much I tried to stop it. Doctor Andrews laid one hand on my wrist, and the panic dropped away, ice subliming in vacuum.

"Nightmares?"

I nodded once.

"We'll have to deal with those eventually, but right now you need sleep. I want you to lie down and close your eyes."

I couldn't help myself; my head shook of its own accord and my litany of 'no' started up again.

"Trust me, Dustie."

I turned my head and stared at her, looking for any sign of deceit in her face, her eyes, her body. I found nothing. She sat completely at ease, waiting for me to do what she said. I forced my head to stop shaking and nodded once. Doctor Andrews reached out and cupped the back of my head with one hand. I lay back, letting her lower me gently to the surface of the exam table.

I fell asleep before my head touched steel.