She was kneeling before the Sacrament when it happened. Fog clouded her vision, and she opened her mouth to cry out, but managed only, "Jesus...!" before slipping from the prie-dieu and falling to the metal floor. She curled into fetal position before the fog took her sight entirely...

She was in Billings - how she knew that, she didn't know - and she was watching a group of boys at play. No - not just boys. A girl easily-mistaken for a boy, shorter than the rest, was there, and arguing with the largest of the boys. As Marian watched, disbelieving, the girl hit the boy in the stomach and climbed up a tree. (That happened to me - but I grew up in Butte, not Billings!)

She was on the shuttle, but none of the children were her launchmates. And one girl was the smallest of them all, and her emerald-hued eyes glared at them, daring them to break her isolation. (That happened to me - but those are not my launchmates!)

She was a little older, in Manticore colors, striving to gain the attention of a commander - but this commander was a boy, and distant, interacting with his army only at practice and battle. And then she was transferred to Tiger, and then to Hound, and Marian marvelled at the crudely-drawn moon on the ceiling as herself-not-herself tipped back her head, half a dozen other Hounds around her, and let out a bestial howl. (I have never seen Hound barracks and I know none of those boys but that was me - that was me, that was not me - in Manticore barracks!)

She was in the infirmary pain pain pain her knee and her head and her knuckles. She was being scolded by a beloved commander. Not Augustine, someone named Angus. And, later, he was praising her for her shooting ability. (I've never done anything to my knee!)

She was full of resentment at being traded and she was fighting in the hallway and she was fighting in the kitchen and there was blood, her blood, not her blood, her neck was cut, no, it was her ear. (I was never traded! Was I?)

She was a toon leader for the first time at eleven and she was harsh and sadistic with her soldiers and her friend-hero-beloved was scolding her. She was kneeling in prayer and he was awake and her knee ached as he drew her to her feet. (No! At eight, not eleven! And I've never abused my toonies!)

She was graduating from Command School and accepting a mission to go to the nearest of the Buggerworlds and her husband was going too and so were her brothers. (Davan?)

And then the fog cleared and she was crying softly as an older woman shook her. "Lt. Kaminsky? Ma'am, can you hear me?"

She looked up into the woman's eyes. "Uuh? I don't know what happened." Marian accepted the woman's help in getting to her feet, her knee filled with spikes of pain.

"There, sit in the pew," the woman instructed. "When you think you can walk, go right to sickbay."

Marian smiled weakly. "Thanks, Sergeant. I'll do that."

She was kneeling in her quarters when it happened. Fog clouded her vision, and she opened her mouth to cry out, but managed only, "Jesus...!" before falling forward on the metal floor. She curled into fetal position before the fog took her sight entirely...

She was in Butte - how she knew that, she didn't know - and she was watching a group of boys at play. No - not just boys. A girl easily-mistaken for a boy, shorter than the rest, was there, and arguing with the largest of the boys. As Cheyan watched, disbelieving, the girl hit the boy in the stomach and climbed up a tree. (That happened to me - but I grew up in Billings, not Butte!)

She was on the shuttle, but none of the children were her launchmates. And one girl was the smallest of them all, and her emerald-hued eyes glared at them, daring them to break her isolation. (That happened to me - but those are not my launchmates!)

She was a little older, in Manticore colors, striving to gain the attention of a commander - but this commander was a girl, not as distant as Angelo, and winning far fewer battles. And then she was accepting leadership of a toon, far too early, but she was the youngest of the soldiers there, and at least one of them hated her. (I was transferred out of Manticore before I was eight and a half, and I certainly didn't have a toon there! And that's not Crow, that's a girl, who is that?)

She was in the brig, pain streaking along her cheekbone, staring fretfully at her feet. Another Manticore is picking at the blanket on the other bunk. She was being scolded by a beloved commander. Not Angus, someone named Augustine. And, later, he was praising her for her shooting ability. (I never had any friends in Manticore - never even knew anyone once I was traded...)

She was full of resentment at losing her toon, and she was writing a paper with a Rat and she was distancing herself from him out of fear. And she was fighting in the game room and there was blood, not hers, all over her hands. (I never lost my toon once I got it! Did I?)

She was a commander and her brother was a commander and she was kneeling in the gate in surrender to him. She was a commander and her toon leaders were praying with her before a battle. (Davan?)

She was going home on leave and receiving the Sacrament on her tongue and being anointed with oil and going to pre-command feeling as though an aura of blinding white light shone around her. (I didn't receive until after Command School, when Serzhya and I went landside to get married before we left...)

And then the fog cleared and she was crying softly as a man shook her. "Cheyan! Cheyinka, can you hear me?"

She looked up into her husband's eyes. "Uuh? I don't know what happened." Cheyan accepted his help in getting up and lying down on the bed, though her knees felt healthier and less creaky than they had in years.

"There, lie down a while," Sergei instructed. "Do you need me to take you to the infirmary?"

She shook her head. "No, I'll be fine," she said, and smiled weakly.