Ah, yes. She was catching on, just doubtful enough of his answers that she was becoming untrusting of the environment, but not himself. He was only the messenger, after all; it’s never the messenger’s fault, is it? He is only the vehicle, not the cause.

Well, in theory. In reality Dustin was making all this shit up. Several halls over there was a full-blown WWII illusion trapping a good portion of the crew that was still alive and awake. No doubt their screams of terror and agony were wafting through the transport tubes as they spoke, muffled by the ambient murmur of the newcomers and the clones that were keeping them distracted.

“Training, of course,” the doppelganger answered calmly and readily, unfitting smile never once wavering, “The AI seems to have our releases timed to some sort of internal clock of hers. When she deems us prepared to handle the situation and further build upon it, then she releases us. Otherwise our minds would be overwhelmed by the sheer complexity of the vessel within which we’ve awoken.”

Though far too polite for his personality, that was indeed something the real Dustin would’ve said. It was even a theory he came up with for the more random stasis releases—one of many, naturally. He was always postulating something new.