I stared at my bed. It seemed a shame to ruin the perfectly tucked corners, fluffed pillow, and smooth coverlet. I turned to my desk, pulled out the integral chair, and flipped on my workstation. Before I could sit Tiamat interrupted.

  "Is there a reason you're not getting ready for bed, Dustie?"

  I spun the chair to face my bed, flopped into the seat, and pulled my workout pumps off. "I am. See? This is me getting ready for bed."

  My closet door slid open, the hanger carousel rotating to display my pajamas. I took the hint and stripped off my workout gear, grimacing at the char-edged hole in the left calf of my sweatpants. I dropped everything else in the hamper chute and held up the pants.

  "Should I do anything special with these?"

  "That's up to you. A few of my graduates keep collections of uniforms they've destroyed in service, almost like warriors used to collect scars."

  I held the things away from me with two fingers. "Uh, no. No thanks. I wanted to know how to send them for recycling."

  "Just drop them in the laundry. You haven't done recycling duty yet or you'd know. I keep forgetting how recently you've arrived."

  "You? Forget?"

  A very human sounding chuckle trickled through the room. "Just like anyone else, I only have so much active memory. Every datum I've ever received is stored somewhere, but I only keep the things I'm likely to need active. You've fit in so well; I don't normally need to think about how new you are." She paused, and before I could respond, muttered, "Glaucus got something right, at least."

  I smiled, tossed the destroyed pants in the hamper chute, and reached into my closet for my pajamas; really an old set of sweats too worn to trust in the gym any longer. Behind my comfy pee jays lurked a frilly nightgown. I'd never seen it before, so I pulled it down to take a closer look. A variety of nightwear that made my eyes pop and my jaw drop filled the slots beyond.

  "Tiamat," I squeaked when I finally found my voice again, "I think I got someone else's laundry by mistake."

  Another chuckle, this one less restrained. "Don't you remember turning eight? Or did Glaucus mess that up too?"

  I thought back to my eighth birthday. No party that time for me; Grace left long before, and I didn't get interested in command until partway through my eight Middie years, so I wasn't Junior Cadet Captain. I'd gotten a few presents; a tailored dress uniform from the captain, which stopped fitting when puberty hit, a photo of my Junior classmates dutifully signed by each of them and presented by my physical education teacher, and a box of new undergarments from Glaucus himself.

  "I got some clothes and a pic of my Junior classmates. Why?"

  "Because you're supposed to get a new wardrobe, with access to all the on and off duty clothes you're authorized for." Another mutter, "I am so going to clean his clock when I see him next."

  I pulled the worst of the supposed sleepwear from the closet and held it up. The petite buckles jangled, and the faux leather creaked where my grip bit into the shoulder. "I need authorization to wear this?"

  That prompted a full-throated laugh. It went on for an endless half minute, at the end of which Tiamat apologized and continued. "No, silly. You're authorized to requisition that now. These are just samples until you get an idea what you like." She went silent, but I still sensed her looking in. After nearly a full minute's pause, she continued, all humor gone. "Normally at least one of a Cadet's relatives is on my crew. They explain this kind of thing to neoincarnates. Reincarnates already know."

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I stood, teeth grinding, staring at the leather monstrosity dangling from my hand, wondering why none of my relatives showed up for me. The answer came almost immediately; the Empress didn't want me, and none of my father's people had the stones to defy her. Saline trickled past my lips as Tiamat's kindness drove home my family's neglect yet again. Salt on my tongue sparked a fire in my gut as something in my depths rebelled. I didn't know if it came from me, from my father, or from Grace, but just at that moment I needed a fire to warm the aching cold chasm within.

  I deliberately pulled at the memories I pushed away so often, seeking memories of human warmth. Visions flickered past, barely glimpsed. Blue strobed in the corner of my eye, and Grace's face danced before me, angles softened by the deep, abiding heat making up the bulk of the memory. I basked in the glow, and when I saw my own face in the mirror beyond my vision of her, I knew why so many people mistook me for Grace. Her face, the angles softened, presumably by the influence of my father's genes, duplicated my own almost exactly.

  I'd never met him, but at that moment I knew with absolute certainty he would have loved me. I held no illusions; he might not have been a perfect father, and if he hadn't died, I would never have been born. He loved Grace, though, and anyone with that much love must have had some to spare.

  But he'd died before Grace gave birth to me. HIs warmth died with him. The frozen wasteland within me swallowed the memory of heat whole and laughed, icicles shattered by grinding glaciers. A sudden surge of fiery heat flared, and my father's face, the one I'd only ever seen in pictures and my mother's memories, hovered before my eyes, bathed in the glow of strobing pink light. I shoved the vision down and away, fury heating me more than inherited memories ever could. One thing I hated more than any other; Grace sought freedom from her inner demons as much as I ever had.

  Doctor Andrew's hints about me becoming my mother or my father terrified me more than I cared to admit to anyone, probably more than I even admitted to myself. Filled with fear of dissolution, I hung my pajamas carefully in the closet and pulled the leather... thing from its hanger. I stared at it, trying to force something like it from the memories I'd inherited. Despite my efforts, my vision remained stubbornly clear. A grim smile played across my face, gallows humor in the face of sleeping, never to wake. Grace had never worn anything quite like this. My father certainly hadn't.

  It took me a few minutes to figure it out. My father's genetic tinkering had forced me to appreciate the support offered by a good bra, but despite all the frippery it had more in common with a dance leotard than a proper bra. Once I figured that out, I slipped into it, snugged down the various straps and buckles, and then closed my closet and tapped the manual controls to turn the wall display into a mirror.

  I didn't look half bad. I certainly didn't look as trashy as I thought I would. The leather was simply a black undergarment. The softened suede lining made it surprisingly comfortable; I thought I might be able to sleep in it.

  If I lay down to sleep and Grace woke up in my place, at least I'd make her blush. For some reason I couldn't name, I didn't fear my father replacing me, but if he did, he would know I wasn't his lost Grace.

  I turned off the mirror and sat on the edge of my bed. I stared at my workstation, wondering if I ought to leave some kind of message to whoever woke up in my place. Eventually I decided against it; let them wonder as I wondered now, if one evening they would lie down to sleep, and the next morning wake as a stranger.

  I lay down on my bed, contorted to squirm under the covers, and reached out to turn the lights off. Before I touched the switch, I spoke to the person who'd first shown me what caring meant.

  "Tiamat?"

  "Yes, Dustie."

  "I just wanted to say... Thank you. For everything. In case I don't wake up." I had so much more to say, but the words jumbled themselves in my throat, choking me.

  "If it helps, I think you will. I think you always will."

  I slid my finger along the light controls, lowering them until pitch darkness enveloped me.

  "Why?"

  "I knew your mother."

  Despite myself, curiosity tickled me. "Really?"

  "I've known all of your aunts and uncles. The Empress sends them to the Dragon right around your age, and... I get them. It was tradition by the time Grace turned sixteen."

  "Why does that make you think..." the words choked me; I could admit them to myself but saying them out loud tore at me.

  I am not a coward.

  "Why will I wake up instead of Grace?"

  "You're stronger than she ever was. Go to sleep, Dustie."

  Despite myself, a smile crept across my face. "Thanks, Tiamat."

  "You're welcome." After a moment, the sense of her presence returned. "Loosen the third and fourth buckles. Just a little."

  I did so even as I asked 'why?'

  "Sleeping with one of those pulled tight makes some people feel like they're suffocating. You have enough to worry about without that particular problem."

  "Thanks again."

  "You're welcome again. Good night, Dustie."

  "Good night, Tiamat."

  With that, her presence faded, leaving me alone to face my parents' unwanted nightmares.