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All Wo-rk and No Play: An Abyssal's Trials in the Job Market (KC)

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Interlude: Interview 1
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    • Operation Absolute Railway was cursed.

    Every time they'd thought they were about to catch the "Fugitive Princess," as the rank-and-file was starting to call her, she'd suddenly change her tactics, forcing General Hudson to twist his plan this way and that. If this happened in an exercise, such twists and turns were expected, but every extra person he had to bring in, every new asset he acquired, meant their coverup got shakier and shakier. It was like they always had just under enough resources to actually catch the bitch.

    The first sign things were going wrong is when the Rangers followed the Carrier's trail south to the Queets River. A carcass wasn't particularly alarming, although the small hope the Abyssal would starve in the woods was eliminated. What the Rangers found noteworthy, however, were other tracks they'd spotted nearby: Human boots, and there was more than one. There was no guarantee they'd put the dots together, but it did not bode well for keeping things secret.

    Beyond that, following the Abyssal through Olympic National park had been fairly straightforward. Only one with an Abyssal's superhuman abilities could leave a trail as obvious as the abyssal did. She tended tended to walk through underbrush rather than around it, and more than one tree hadn't survived her passing. By estimating her speed from the tracks The Abyssal left behind, Colonel Walton guessed they'd catch up with the monster long before she ran into any small towns.

    Then, the Abyssal left the Olympic Mountains and started to run. In the rough mountains, a skilled soldier with good boots could outpace the superhuman but clumsy Abyssal (or Nashville herself, she was sure), but on flat, even ground? The 2nd Ranger Battalion found itself choking on the Wo-class's waterlogged dust. The fact the woods were a little too thick for proper four wheelers didn't help any.

    Still, the General was an adaptable man. Additional aircraft and drones were introduced into the operation, in the hope that a faster monster would be easier to separate from the general wildlife of washington, but sadly there was no luck there. A handful of prototype exoskeletons were acquired, allowing the Rangers to match the Monster's brisk pace. If Nashville had an ounce of tracking skill, she certainly would have been deployed immediately.

    It didn't matter, though, because the Carrier's trail veered east and ended at a road leading into the small town of Shelton, Washington.

    What now?

    Asking the Rangers to follow the Abyssal into the town wasn't… ideal. Issues with tracking someone over asphalt aside, searching a town with Rangers jeopardized the objective of secrecy somewhat. Second, trying to avoid the notice of the regular civilian population along with their query meant the traditional methods of tracking someone were no longer viable.

    Still, there weren't many better options, so elements of the 2nd Ranger Battalion changed into civilian clothes and entered Shelton. An airstrike was no longer a good option, but aircraft were kept on station. The narrowed search area should help, at least. Since a softening strike was out of the question, Nashville had to admit she couldn't take the capital ship in a one-on-one fight. Thus, General Hudson gave the Navy another call. Another ship was on its way, probably fresh from the convoy that had recently returned from Japan.

    What was the Abyssal doing in there, anyways? Just hiding? She might have realized the noose was closing in, jumping to the nearby town as a shield. Except when she'd used the fishermen as hostages, she'd been very open about it. So far, it seemed she was keeping her head down. The town wasn't showing any signs of abyssal occupation, that was for sure.

    Except it had, and the good folks in the Shelton Police Department had known about it for Hours.

    So, here she was, riding along with Lieutenant Murray in a government SUV. The pair drove in silence, road noise rising and falling as the ONI officer passed vehicles.

    At least they weren't flying.

    "So, let me get this straight." Nashville started, interrupting the dead silence between the two. The pair hadn't slept while the 2nd Rangers quietly searched the town, and the long night hadn't left either in the mood for small talk. "The Shelton Police department gets a call. Woman warns them about an abyssal knocking over her store. These hicks get their hands on security footage, review the obvious video of an Abyssal ransacking their retail store, and decide we don't need to know about it until working hours?"

    "They thought the Alpha-Sierra was one of ours." He replied, the Lieutenant's eyes focused on the highway. "They were waiting for our NCIS office to open."

    "That thing's a shipgirl?" The cruiser almost shouted, the expensive cup of coffee shaking enough to slosh against its plastic lid. "Last I checked, white skin and glowing eyes weren't our traits!"

    It was insulting, in a way. To think one of her comrades would stoop so low! Pretending to be an Abyssal? Had anyone even thought of that?

    "Normally, yes," He replied, taking a sip from his own coffee. "But the fine folks in the SPD think that's more likely than the alternative. If you weren't wrapped up in all this, you'd think the same, correct?"

    Nashville, stubborn as ever, surrendered the point. It felt dirty, throwing the reputation of the Navy's Shipgirls overboard to keep her own failure a secret, but the flagship part of her knew there was too much else at stake.

    "Good." He replied. "If anyone asks, that's the Navy's official stance on the incident."

    The GPS interjected, and Murray pulled the SUV off the highway. Even after three months in the future, The cruiser still found the screen addiction everyone seemed to have unnerving. She'd known they were starting to catch on when she'd been scrapped, but no one in the 80's (besides perhaps George Orewell) would have suspected they'd reach such prominence.

    Conversation between the two slacked as Nashville focused on the road. She wasn't nearly as susceptible to carsickness as airsickness, but the twists and turns the Lieutenant took required her full attention.

    It wasn't long before the pair had reached their destination. Tucked into a cul-de-sac in the heart of a middle-class subdivision, the one-story house sat in the center of a small lot, nestled between bushes and out-of-season flowers. With it being fall, the two dormant trees had started blanketing the front lawn in a quilt of red and brown leaves.

    If not for the man raking and bagging them, Nashville wouldn't be sure what path to take to the front door.

    Mister Clarke was a man in his later years, a floppy hat obscuring his face in shadow as the SUV came to a halt. Nashville was the first out, her focus on looking professional overwhelming the instinct to fall behind her superior. At the Cruiser's approach, the civilian's eyes widened, showing he wasn't that old, but they almost immediately narrowed again.

    "You're not NCIS."

    "I'm not," She replied, failing to suppress a smirk at the man's Clint Eastwood impression. Making a note to actually watch one of his movies in the future, preferably with one of her sisters, the Cruiser heald out a hand. "USS Nashville, Office of Naval Intelligence."

    Now, Murray was just behind her, and was certainly more qualified for speaking to civilians or… humans in general, but she saw an opportunity here. Sure, it would be awkward if she walked up to the civilian, then abruptly stood aside and let the driver do the talking, but it was more than that. She was pretty sure she knew everything about this incident that her self-assured partner did, and it wasn't like they were planning on doing anything too complicated here anyways. She might not be able to sink anything worth a damn, but she could pick up a civvie without someone holding her hand, right?

    Ugh, calling herself a spook. She'd have to wash her mouth later.

    "ONI? But that would mean…" The man trailed off, his suspicion replaced with a quiet horror. If it hadn't mirrored the general attitude of Nashville and the rest of the Navy, she would have enjoyed the man's abrupt change in attitude.

    "The police might not believe her," Murray finally spoke up, taking his position next to Nashville, "but we don't like taking chances when Abyssals could be involved."

    "I see." He responded, turning away from the pair. "I'll check to see if she's awake. Come on in."

    As the man waved them in, Nashville caught the Lieutenant's questioning look.

    "Looking for a transfer?" He whispered, and Nashville flushed.

    "At this rate, I think you might be the commander for longer then the Admiral." She gripped, not quite deflecting the question.

    "Don't worry." He added, giving Nashville a light pat on the back before entering the house. "I'll make a spy out of you yet."

    It took the cruiser a few seconds to follow. Her, a spy? But Lieutenant Murray was just some intel weenie, not some secret agent! What, did he expect her to paint herself white and sneak up on Abyssal Installations? Weren't submarines for that?

    How was he always catching Nashville off guard?

    This one's a little short, getting this full interlude done is taking longer than expected. Since this first part should work without seeing the rest, I can't think of a good a reason not to publish it now. Enjoy while I hammer out the rest
     
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    • Interlude: Interview 2
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    • Elizabeth Clarke was a woman who clearly hadn't had enough sleep. Nashville knew a sleep-deprived watch officer when she saw one, and while she didn't look anything like one of her old crews, the signs weren't that different. The large… drink (She wasn't sure something with that much cream and sugar could be considered coffee) they'd grabbed on the way back to Lewis-McChord had helped, but judging by the way she was nursing it the drink hadn't finished its job yet.

    According to the police report, Elizabeth had the store's late watch. The old woman probably wasn't used to waking up this early, even when she hadn't lost sleep to a close encounter an eldritch abomination and the local police. Could they count on her remembering last night's events accurately?

    They didn't have a choice, though. The fact that the Abyssal now had access to a human wardrobe had already been passed down the 7th Infantry's command structure, but with how much of a bitch tracking the monster was proving to be, they needed this information… last night, actually.

    "That help?" Nashville asked, motioning to the cup. The nod she got in reply was slow and lazy, but it was a reply. There wasn't much else to do in the featureless interrogation room, so the Cruiser pressed on.

    "Glad to hear it." She started, The Brooklyn's mind reviewing possible avenues of approach. Nashville wasn't supposed to be interrogating her until Murray returned, but she had been told to keep an eye on the woman. Nothing crazy had happened to the crew of the Pacific Lilly, such as slow descents into madness or horrible transformations into abyssals themselves, but their target was full of surprises. If being prepared for something as crazy as that made the Navy look paranoid, then…

    They probably were. Look, you can't fight eldritch abominations becoming a little loony yourself, alright?

    "I hear you had a hell of a night."

    Elizabeth finally looked away from her coffee, unshadowing the bags under her eyes. She took a deep breath, letting it out before speaking up.

    "You could say that." She hedged, before her face hardened. Suddenly, Nashville found herself on the receiving end of an interrogative glance, all signs of the woman's drowsiness replaced with a cold suspicion. "You knew, didn't you?"

    It would take a lot more than an old lady with a stern expression to cow the Cruiser, but Nashville would admit her sudden change caught her off-guard.

    "Uh, you mean about the Abyssal?" At her nod, Nashville leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. They weren't technically interrogating her, so instead of the uncomfortable fold-out chairs that normally furnished the interrogation room they were enjoying seats poached from the nearby office. "We didn't."

    That's how you lie, right?

    "There's a lot about this incident that doesn't add up." The light cruiser continued. "Despite the fact we've been fighting them for years, we still know next-to-nothing about these things. Is this a new Abyssal tactic? A Renegade? We don't know." Nashville shrugged, transitioning to another falsehood. "Hell, we're not even sure the suspect is an abyssal."

    "She is." Elizabeth asserted. "I wasn't that tired."

    "We'll find out, I'm sure." Nashville replied. "The Lieutenant should be back any time now."

    As if on cue, the door to the interrogation room swung open, and a laptop-bearing Murray entered.

    "How's your morning been, Misses Clarke?" He said affiliably, laying his laptop on the table.

    "Early. I usually get up around this time, but normally I get to sleep a lot… earlier…" Elizabeth's reply trailed off as the Spook placed a sheet of paper on the table, sliding it over to the civilian.

    "It's an NDA." He clarified, handing the woman a pen. "You can read through it while I get set up, but the gist is this: We may disclose sensitive information during this interview. By signing this, you are agreeing not to talk about the events of this interview. In return, you can expect compensation once this matter is resolved." At her nod, the spook returned to his work, folding the laptop open.

    "That's a pretty big college fund…" Elizabeth murmured, drawing Nashville's attention away from her colleague. The Cruiser leaned over, skimming the legalese for any big numbers, and recoiled.

    Maybe her sense of money was stuck in the 80s, but the sum the contract stipulated seemed obscene. What, did Elizabeth have twenty kids? Sure, effectively bribing civilians would do a much better job than relying on them to do their patriotic duty, but if everyone the Abyssal ran into needed this much hush money the cost was going to add up quickly.

    Wordlessly, Elizabeth scribbled her signature across the bottom of the page. Murray accepted the contract with a nod before turning the laptop screen so all three- and the wall of one-way glass behind them- could see it.

    "Now, let's get started."

    The screen bore the grainy image of a parking lot, sparse street lights lighting a lonely car. At a tap of the laptop's space bar, it sprung to life, the darkness surrounding the vehicle crawling with… static? No, that wasn't the term for digital video. What was it called again? Something artifacts?

    Nashville's wandering thoughts were refocused as a woman entered the camera's field of view. Even with her head facing away from them and the poor quality of the feed, Nashville immediately recognized the civilian that shared the room with her. As the woman made her way towards her vehicle, another appeared.

    "There she is." Nashville commented, the Abyssal's massive cape and unkempt hair recognizable anywhere. Due to the camera's angle, Nashville couldn't determine how she'd entered, but even in the darkness she must have been visible long before entering the feed.

    "She was just walking behind me." Elizabeth murmured, "I must have been more tired than I thought."

    "When did you notice her?" Murray asked, and Elizabeth pointed.

    "Around… here." She said. "She grabs the car's door after I get in."

    Really? They were practically on top of each other by that point. Were civilians really that blind? Granted, Elizabeth couldn't rely on her watchmen to prevent someone from getting too close, and they did get tired faster than ships like her, but…

    The three watched the Abyssal standing there, Murray walking the Civilian through the unheard conversation and her thoughts.

    "Food?"

    "That's what she's asked about." Elizabeth replied, "She wanted to know if there was food in the store." Hesitantly, the woman added. "Since she could just walk in, I told her the truth."

    On the feed, the Abyssal abruptly turned, revealing her face as she approached the Fred Meyers building. In the video's low quality, her eyes were nothing but blue-and-orange orbs. Almost immediately after, Elizabeth hopped out herself.

    "You followed her?" Nashville asked, but the Lieutenant piped up before Elizabeth could reply.

    "She's being coerced." The Spook announced, and at the Civilian's affirming nod continued. "Even being next to an Abyssal is a threat of violence."

    "Yes." Elizabeth added. "Good thing, too. Otherwise she would have destroyed my store trying to get in."

    Except that meant the police would have arrived a lot sooner. Nashville added, but only to herself. She had no doubts as to the chances the lightly-armed cops would have in a firefight with a Wo-class carrier, even with Ranger special forces nearby. It would have been bloody, to say the least. Even if it meant they eventually caught her, would the chaos and destruction have been worth it?

    Guess that depends on what she plans to do.

    "How did you stop her from damaging your property?" Murray continued, unaware of his partner's inner turmoil.

    "Warned her about the alarm… here." Elizabeth responded, as the abyssal abruptly stopped and turned again. The camera feed had changed to one of the store's back entrances, and the woman was just barely out-of-shot. "After that she demanded my keys, so I went back to get them."

    After the three watched the conversation in silence, the feed changed again as Elizabeth ran back to her car. She leaned over, her search obscured by the vehicle's roof. Half a minute passed in silence.

    "Did you lose your keys?" The Lieutenant finally asked. Apparently, he wasn't alone in his thoughts, as the Abyssal soon re-entered the camera's point-of-view.

    "I was trying to call 911, as well." Elizabeth admitted, and winced as the Abyssal almost casually leaned over the human's shoulder.

    "You lived?" Nashville asked, not sure if she was incredulous or just confused. "Did she not know what a cell phone was?"

    "She thought I was contacting the Navy-er, you."

    "She learns pretty quick, then." Lieutenant Murray leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple in his first breach in composure that day.

    "She did." Elizabeth confirmed, using a tone of voice that implied nothing good.

    This was going to be a long interview.

    - - -

    "This is what a happy abyssal looks like, huh?"

    The Alpha Sierra's demeanor had completely changed. As the Abyssal in the feed cleared the store's aisles, last night's Elizabeth weakly following behind her, Nashville felt… conflicted.

    The way the monster would dash between aisles, picking items from the shelves and ogling sweets, portrayed a sense of naked wonder. Nashville was familiar with the feeling, like when she'd watched a 3D printer work or entered a movie theater for the first time. She was reminded of the warship's flustered negotiations with Lieutenant Murray, although the fact she'd ultimately escaped tempered the impression of naivety.

    She had been told that abyssals were nothing but creatures of hate and destruction, but reflecting on it the focus had only been on their leaders, The Princesses. The rank-and-file, like the Wo they were chasing, were just obstacles, a threat if underestimated but never strategically influential on their own. Finding one to be relatable was… a little jarring.

    It didn't really matter, though. History taught that even the most benign people were capable of terrible damage. At the end of the day, it didn't matter who the Fugitive Princess (and didn't that nickname suddenly feel out of place?) was, but what she was going to do. Even her little romp through the supermarket had caused measurable harm, while public knowledge of her whereabouts could be disastrous.

    When the Wo suddenly lingered in front of a fruit stand, Nashville's thoughts were refocused.

    "What's so important about those Pineapples?"

    "Perhaps she's based from a location where they're rare." Murray replied, thoughtful. "That would narrow our origin candidates quite a lot."

    "Actually…" Elizabeth interrupted, shrinking in on herself when the two Navy personnel looked at her. "She'd started wondering about the price tags."

    There was a brief moment of silence as the two mulled over that statement. In a way, it made sense. A former steel-hulled ship, having been launched, sailed, and sunk in a world of trade, would have a good grasp of money. However, what reason was there for a princess to pass that knowledge to their underlings?

    "I can see that." Murray allowed, watching the Abyssal turn to address the CCTV's Elizabeth. "She asking about it now?"

    "Yes." The civilian replied. The two Navy personnel watched the conversation unfold as Elizabeth walked them through it.

    "Get a job?" Nashville added, her tone implying she meant to add 'Really?'

    "What else was I supposed to tell her?" Elizabeth defended. "My safe is in the back, don't hurt it to much?"

    Nashville groaned, leaning back in her chair.

    "Well, It's not like there's any chance she could get one, anyway. Too obvious." Who in their right mind would hire someone with glowing eyes, anyways? As confirmation, she switched her attention to Murray, only to feel her boiler pressure spike. "Please tell me no one's that stupid."

    That was not the face of someone who agreed with you. Following the Lieutenant's gaze, the Light Cruiser found herself focusing again on Elizabeth Clarke.

    "Actually…"

    - - -

    "She can turn the eye glow off?"

    Even the unshakable Lieutenant Murray was sounding defeated. There was something about his question that undermined his confident persona, a hint of the resignation that was seeping into Operation Absolute Railway at every level.

    This time Nashville was expecting Elizabeth's nod, because of fucking course she can. Just like she obviously had to raid a supermarket with clothes and makeup instead of a mere grocery store.

    "So, let me summarize." Nashville stated, feeling a need to vent as the feed's Abyssal took her leave from the cosmetics stands. "We have an Abyssal, with access to beauty products to cover her skin, knowledge of basic human behavior to keep her head down, and enough clothes to give all of seventh fleet a new outfit?"

    "Yeah." Elizabeth nodded feebly.

    Defeated, Nashville sighed, leaning back and allowing Murray to take over completely. What more was there to know? The population of Washington was… big, and the Abyssal now looked like a good portion of it. How the hell could they stop her now? All they could really do was get a description of her clothes and pass it along to the grunts on the perimeter. Otherwise, she was out of ideas.

    Unless…

    "If she tries to get a job, it's going to create a paper trail, right? Some kind of form we can find?"

    Murray shook his head, and the Light Cruiser suddenly got the sense that she was being patronized.

    "We don't have the resources to go through every application in the Washington Department of Labor, and even before the war a large amount of employment was undocumented. With the refugee crisis? Unless the NSA has a secret technique to finding people I'm not aware of, she might be gone for good."

    The Spook cupped his face in his hands, muttering to himself. "Hell, it might take weeks to convince NORTHCOM to let a domestic intelligence agency to get involved, and by that point she could be anywhere in North America."

    Shit. Guess they had to hope the 7th infantry got lucky, didn't they?

    When the Abyssal abruptly stripped in front of the camera, Nashville couldn't even summon the energy to rib Miller about it.

    "She has an Essex's lines, that's for sure."

    It was a weak joke, and Murray treated it as such.

    "Twelve Dual-Purpose 5-inchers." The spook replied, his voice grim. "Hundreds of Bofors and Oerlikons. Just under a hundred aircraft. Location unknown."

    That had to be the most polite way of saying 'we're screwed' Nashville had ever heard.

    - - -

    So here's the rest of the interlude! I had another scene planned after this, but it relied on the idea that the ship USS Brooklyn had better quarters for VIPs, but my last-minute research couldn't confirm that so I scratched the scene.

    As for potential NSA involvement, I'm not entirely sure. Option 2 for Murray is contacting a private investigator to help track down the Wo, which would need less bureaucratic red tape and allow him/her to get to work faster, but I'm not sure if that's realistic.

    Anyways, I hope you enjoyed!
     
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    Crusader Jerome - Wo-chan and the Nutjob
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    • Okay, I did it. This is an experiment in original characters, which was inspired by both this story and...a few other things.

    I can write more of this, if anyone likes it.

    Wo-chan and the Nutjob​

    "So at that point, he told me to get out of his house." The bearded man pushed up the brim of his tweed cap. "While it may not have been the wisest decision on his part, due to the aforementioned hallucinogenic bird, it was not unwarranted. After all, I did come in through his roof without asking."

    In hindsight, when Trinitite asked for directions to the library, she should have waited to find someone who was busy and, thus, more likely to go away after giving said directions.

    This man, dressed in a leather jacket and short pants with far more pockets than could be really useful, was actually escorting her to the library while giving her a complete account of his activities of the past few days. While humans weren't supposed to have logbooks like ships, she could believe that this one did.

    She had told him, quite firmly, that she did not need his help to find the library after he had requisitioned its position from some other passer-by. With equal gravity, he had informed her that he had nothing better to do, liked libraries very much, and also needed the exercise.

    "At that point, I gave up. The fellow obviously liked being able to see without corrective lenses, which meant there wasn't much I could do." The man shrugged and began to stroke his chin. "After that...ah, yes. I had just enough time to return the sledgehammer when my cousin called me and asked if I could do some field research for her on fairies."

    For all she had been trying to tune him out (and it was much more difficult to tune out confusing words when they weren't on the radio), Trinitite found herself listening at the mention of the first familiar word to come out of the man's mouth. Might this part of his story be useful?

    "Of course, I told her I couldn't trespass on a Navy base with nothing but an unconfirmed rumor to go by; I need evidence. Just look at Area 51! That mass raid only proved me right--there weren't any aliens." He punctuated the last phrase with a finger snap.

    "You...wouldn't want to get in the Navy's way anyway, right? Because of the war?" Trinitite offered. It was the first thing she had said in the last two miles.

    He waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, I'm not concerned about any of that. Onshore, those ship girls are just people. And none of them act like adults, from what I hear. Just imagine trying to impose military discipline on preteen girls!" He shuddered. "Besides, they're a known element. I deal with mythical beasts that aren't common knowledge."

    So the existence of ship's fairies weren't common knowledge? Trinitite wouldn't have mentioned the subject on her own, but it was helpful to know nonetheless.

    "Now, documentation on fairies is rather scarce, but I have several reliable sources. First..." The man led off into another undecipherable monologue. Trinitite let her head slump a bit. Just as it seemed this human might have something valuable to say! It was almost as disappointing as the radio. "...which leads us to--okay, I'm sorry, but I have to say it; your make-up really doesn't cover the machine oil smell. I don't think I'd mind if it were just the oil, but I don't have a good time with the scent from skin chemicals, in general."

    Trinitite blinked. And stopped walking. "What?"

    The man sighed, burying his forehead in his hand. "Usually, I'm against makeup because most people look all right without it, but wearing it over every inch of exposed skin is somewhat excessive. The smell doesn't bother me all that much, but the combination with the oil produces this strange effect...I mean, I've never heard of a mechanic who wears makeup on the job. Or someone who would wear makeup without washing up first."

    Trinitite could hear alarms going off in her bridge. It was a trap! This cunning human had detected a weakness in her disguise and had purposely told an irrelevant story while he confirmed her identity!

    Why was he telling her, though? Wouldn't he pretend not to know so he could escape and call the Navy?

    The man leaned closer and, in a conspiratorial whisper, said, "Don't panic. I won't tell anyone that you're a cyborg."

    Her thought process ground to a halt. "What?"

    "Why are you surprised? There's no law against being a cyborg, and I'm sure you have a good reason for hiding it."

    Trinitite gave the appropriate response of confused silence.

    "That's why you mentioned the navy, isn't it?" he continued. "Because of the metaphysical conceptual connection between cyborgs and shipgirls as machine-human hybrids."

    Trinitite decided to take a small risk. "...What's a cyborg?" Better to look odd in front of this human now than in front of a more suspicious human later.

    He snapped his fingers. "A person with prosthetics so advanced, they're indistinguishable from the rest of the body. In other words, mechanical parts."

    ...Well, Trinitite's rigging was a collection of machines that constituted part of her body, so she the cyborg label technically fit, she supposed. "That is an accurate description of what I am. Please don't tell anyone."

    He adjusted his hat. "As you wish, m'lady." He resumed walking toward the library, and Trinitite followed suit a moment later. "By the way," he said, "we haven't actually introduced ourselves yet. Could I get your name?"

    Trinitite paused. Should she...yeah, might as well. "It's Elizabeth."

    He nodded. "Elizabeth. God my oath. It's a fine name; I should know, I'm acquainted with several Elizabeths." He stroked his beard thoughtfully, and continued, "Call me Romulus. That's not my real name, but I can respect your decision to give me a pseudonym."

    "You...what?"

    "You paused. That's how I knew."

    "Oh." Her face fell. She thought she had acted normally enough, but apparently some people weren't as easy to fool as the State Police Car driver. She would have to remove all hesitation from her instroductions in the future.

    The man laughed. "That was halfway a joke. I didn't expect you to give up and admit I was right!"

    Trinitite decided that this human was annoying and rather insufferable, and that she liked Elizabeth much better. She was already looking forward to reaching the library, if only to be rid of him.

    ------------------​

    The little girl opened her door and gave a squeal of delight. "You came!" Her face morphed into a pout. "You're late."

    The bearded man laughed. "Oh, cousin, that's just like you. Sorry about the delay; I had to do some library research, since I didn't have any leads on fairies already."

    The girl tilted her head. "But I thought they took your library card away."

    "No, that was my Canadian library card. I had to register for a new account with the Seattle library system, and that's why I took so long," he said, ruffling her hair. He took off his leather jacket to remove a small backpack, which he hefted into the girl's waiting arms. "You didn't tell me which kind of fairies you wanted, so I got all the books."

    She opened the pack and glanced over the titles. "This one is about shipgirls."

    "Well, you see, there's a rumor that shipgirls have fairies. I haven't been able to verify it, but for now, it stands as the only way I know of to distinguish shipgirls from other varieties of cyborgs." He suddenly gripped his beard as a thought struck him. "I should have asked her if she knew anything about fairies. I've missed out on some primary source research. Come to think of it, if she were a shipgirl, that might explain the overdone makeup."

    ------------------​

    Sequestered in the furthest corner of the library, Trinitite sneezed.

    ------------------​

    The girl sighed overdramatically. "You are so weird."

    "I know," he admitted. "Anyway, we've got some studying to do!"

    In response, the man's young cousin attempted to prepare herself for a ten-minute monologue on the glories of cryptoacademics.

    It didn't help.
     
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    • 16: Road Trip
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    • "How about now?"

    The petty officer took a few steps backwards, admiring his detail's handywork, before looking down at the binder of photos cradled in her hands. After a few seconds of leafing through the binder, and to the Wo Class's growing consternation, she gave her head a decisive shake.

    "Hey, hey hey."

    Trinitite suppressed a groan, glaring at the fairy as she puckered her lips. When the Aircraft Carrier had asked her paint-and-chip detail to apply the cosmetics she'd commandeered, the Wo-class hadn't expected to spend two hours lying face-up in a ditch. The perfectionist little bastards would spend a good minute experimenting with one product, seeing what it did to one of her hands, before removing it with a fire hose and trying to apply it to the Wo-class's growing disguise.

    As a Carrier who'd spent the majority of her time guarding convoys, Trinitite considered herself a patient ship. Lying down for a few hours wouldn't normally be an issue for her. The paint-and-chip detail was learning a new skill, after all, and the rest of her crew had time to perform more repairs, but this was the fourth time they'd asked her to do this. She just needed red lips! They couldn't mess it up that badly, could they?

    Once again, two of her crew hoisted the container of lipstick, a third popping removing the cap and darting to the side. Resting the container on their shoulders, the two eased forward, dragging the product across Trinitite's mouth. Again.

    "Are you done?" The frustrated Wo queried as the two withdrew. The seconds dragged on as the fairy studied Trinititie's face, before he finally nodded.

    "Hey."

    "Thank the deep."

    Trinitite stayed in place for just long enough for her crew to reboard, before hopping back onto her feet. She needed to shake herself of a few dry needles, but the grass she'd found in a forest clearing ensured her clothes weren't too dirty. Her skin, however?

    She couldn't be sure. Peering into a nearby pond revealed a… tan face, but a nearby brook left the surface of the pond in just enough turmoil that the Abyssal couldn't get a good reflection.

    She'd have to trust them. If they spent more than an hour on just her face, they had to have done a good job, right?

    She could check later. Some of the food she'd picked up in last night's raid had a reflective enough container, and the vehicle she'd stepped into had plenty mirrors to get a good look.

    More importantly, she needed to recover her bearings. The ride she'd gotten last night was useful, but it left her a little unsure as to where exactly she'd been left. The "road map," a collection of more detailed charts in a fairly large book, was secure in her chartroom, but with the lights in her island out she couldn't get a read on it during the ride the State Trooper gave her.

    The cloud system she'd followed into The States had finally passed on, leaving the sun to batter her skin and flood into flight control. Still, The Abyssal's chart room remained aphoticly dark. Trinitite's disguise was proving more inconvenient than she thought. Some battle lanterns would solve the problem, but at this point…

    A short request left the road map in her hands, the sun allowing Trinitite a better view than any flashlight would. Let's see, when Trinitite had been picked up, she'd been… here.

    Shelton.

    From there, the State Trooper had driven largely south-east, on this road labeled 101. That road lead to, uh…

    The carrier turned the page. No road 101. She turned to the page before it. No road 101. The carrier flipped back to the front of the book, to a map which displayed all of… Washington, the title said. Wasn't she in the United States?

    Ahh, 'States.' Plural. She'd have to look into getting more of these 'Road maps' in the future.

    Trinitite placed her finger at her last known position, flipping back to the map she'd started at. So far, so good. That would mean she'd gone through the map on this page, then this one.

    Road 101 abruptly turned south and split in Olympia. Trinititite didn't remember the Trooper's vehicle doing any abrupt moves northwest or directly south, so she must be near there. After that, she took a nap in that patch of trees, before moving out of the town as dawn approached. That would put her… Somewhere southwest of Olympia?

    Well, she had a rough bearing. She could walk until she ran back into a highway, then check her map. At that point, she could follow the highway to the major port she'd spotted on her charts.

    "Seattle..."

    Situated deep in Puget Sound, the city was an amazing anchorage. However, looking more at the map Trinitite could pick out seven or eight other towns that would be good candidates for a search. Who knew which ports the Navy had set up in? Would she have to check all of them?

    Several of these candidates where to the west of her, however, and doubling back into the military's search area didn't seem like a particularly good idea. Maybe, if Trinitite couldn't find her princess in other US ports and her enemy had been given the time to focus on other matters, she'd return there for a more thorough look.

    Should she be heading to Seattle at all, or go to a farther port?

    Trinitite shook her head, folding her map back up and starting northwest. Her recent raid had gotten her plenty of supplies to recon Seattle, but it certainly wasn't infinite. If she was in Puget Sound that that city would be the best to check, and if she detoured Trinitite knew the possibility would eventually become unbearable.

    How long was that going to take? The Abyssal hadn't been able to put much thought into it when she was attempting landfall, but it had taken her four days to cross 80, maybe 90 miles, and a portion of that was with assistance from a ground vehicle. Trinitite was used to distances like that taking three hours to cover, at worst. She never thought this would be easy, but Trinitite's mission was growing increasingly daunting.

    With a grunt, the carrier pulled a can of beans from her inventory, tossing the tin can a good foot into the air before catching it again. The sun filtering through the trees caught the metal lid for just a moment, sending a concentrated beam into Trinitite's bridge. The Abyssal flinched, allowing the food to tumble into the grass below.

    The carrier tightened her jaw, scooping up the can of food and tearing the lid off with her teeth. Complications were going to happen, new information would force her to reassess, and her plans were going to flounder more often than not, but she would keep going. It wasn't like she could give up, even if she wanted to.

    CFS Trinitite leaned back, allowing cool mix of salted meat and… something to pour down her mouth. Unless she was sunk- no, destroyed, as sinking into the soil she was standing would be impressive- no distance, fleet, or power above and below water would dissuade her. It might take a month, it might take a year, but Trinitite would find her Princess. She had nothing else to do, after all.

    - - -

    "Does that actually work?"

    The human on the side of the road hadn't grabbed Trinitite's attention, at first. Like many of the humans she'd seen while traveling through Olympia, a spattering of short hairs dotted his chin and cheeks, while the hair that did poke out from his maroon hat was short and regular. A loose coat, presumably for the rain, was tied around his waist. If not for the sign the man held in front of him, he would have gone unnoticed.

    NEED GAS TO REACH FAMILY. ANY MONEY HELPS.

    Trinitite had been trying to act inconspicuous. The Carrier stuck to the side of the roads like the other humans, crossed at the designated areas everyone seemed to be using, and had managed to avoid talking to anybody until now. However, the man's sign had baffled the abyssal so thoroughly she couldn't keep to herself. You could just ask for money? What did people expect in return?

    The human had sparred Trinitite a glance before she'd spoken, giving the Abyssal a polite smile, but was looking elsewhere when she asked the question.

    "I'm not sure." He shrugged. "You got anything that can help?"

    Trinitite shook her head. She wasn't giving the man any of her food, but if she did, could he use that to trade for money? Now wasn't the time to think about that, but...

    The maroon hat he was wearing came off, and the human wiped his brow. "Yeah, I thought so. So far? It's been two hours and no luck." He replaced his cap, sending Trinitite a thin smile. "If you needed money, I'd suggest getting a loan from your parents."

    'Parents?' As in, more than one? How did that work? Of course, she wasn't going to voice her concerns here, but she made a mental note to investigate that in the future.

    Instead, the Carrier replied with a non-committal "Ah."

    That should have been the end of it. She'd learned what she'd wanted, and interacting with the human had been a bit of a risk. Before she could leave, however, the human just had to keep talking.

    "So how's your day been?"

    The Abyssal froze. She was supposed to keep talking? How were you supposed to answer that?

    "I've, uh… It's been normal?"

    Yeah, normal. Average, like any other human's day.

    The response seemed to work well enough, as the man nodded.

    "Take care, then!"

    She wasn't sure what to say, but she'd already started walking away. How did you end a conversation with a human? 'Fair Seas?' 'Good luck?'

    Yeah, that one should work. She'd turned to tell the man that, but by that point she'd already put too much distance between the two. The embarrassed carrier had to settle for a simple nod.

    Not the best way to end a conversation, but She would get better. Trinitite could still remember when her crew couldn't even work her boilers properly. Learning how to talk to people couldn't be that hard.

    - - -

    She was listening to human's transmissions again. When the Carrier had first thought to do so, she'd felt a muted sense of dread, but Trinitite could only watch so many cars passing her before her morbid curiosity reasserted itself.

    "Some folk dances from Hungary, arranged for orchestra. This was Slovácko Verbuňk, performed by the Hungarian National Philharmonic."

    With how far she'd gotten, several of the transmitters she'd originally listened in on had passed out of range, while a new set of transmitters had entered into her range. Just as well, she hadn't been impressed with the last set. The same could be said about the new radio stations, with one exception.

    "Up next, we have a much slower but perhaps more recognizable piece: Antonín Dvořák's Largo, from his New World Symphony."

    This frequency was starting to grow on her. Advertisements weren't an assault of noise and shouting, but instead simple thanks for people who helped keep the transmission going. The music wasn't interrupted by somebody shouting about love, scary hotels that trap you inside forever, or whatever other nonsense the Abyssal couldn't extract meaning from, no matter how much she wasted time contemplating it.

    With nothing to distract her beyond the passing cars and music, Trinitite found herself focusing on her radio as she walked. She didn't know humans well, at all, but she couldn't help but feel for whomever built this music. Now that she wasn't trying to figure out what someone was trying to say, she could tell the sound itself was conveying something deeper. There was a meaning there, a sense of wonder, maybe? The abyssal could only guess as to the creator's true meaning, but she could certainly find her own.

    Contemplating the piece was pleasant, until the roar of jet engines reminded Trinitite of her situation. A military aircraft roared over her head, so low the Carrier could count the individual bombs slung under its wings. Deep, there were a lot of them, and was that thing on the front a gun?

    The flying cross would only be moving that low and slow if it was trying to land.

    That meant a lot of things, each of varying importance to the Abyssal: The aircraft she'd seen a few days earlier must also have been loaded like this, meaning they certainly had been looking for her.

    More importantly, though, was that anywhere something like that wanted to land wasn't where she wanted to be. The Abyssal adjusted her speed, her inconspicuous walk becoming a brisk jog.

    Sure, she was disguised, but cruising this close to an enemy airbase? Best not to test her luck by lingering.

    Here's another part, and a PyrrhicSteel classic "half a chapter whose word-count ran away from the author." So, here's some minor Trinitite shenanigans before the bottom really falls out for her in Seattle.

    Not much to say beyond that, however, as the staus quo didn't change much. Next chapter, however? It's happening.
     
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    • 17: Not as Planned
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    • By the time Trinitite had entered the area her map designated "Seattle", the day had drawn to a close. The sun had set, but night never really seemed to fall around here.

    This was especially true for Seattle. The sheer volume of light the city put off was stunning. Light shone from every building Trinitite saw, every vehicle that passed the Abyssal, and even a mind-bogglingly large amount of posts that lined every road and walkway! From there, it reflected off the roads, nearby trees, the clouds that had recently rolled in, and even the oily-smelling fog that cast the town in a glowing aura.

    How did they keep this many lights active. It must have required an army of maintenance ships to keep replacing so many bulbs. Were they even incandescent?

    The city was so radiant the Wo had trouble drawing parallels to the ruins she was familiar with. Was Seattle smaller than Jakarta, or five times as large? Maybe if the Carrier could launch a scouting aircraft in the daytime, she would know, but that was obviously out of the question.

    It was all so overwhelming.

    In an effort to stay inconspicuous, the Wo-class had tried to stick to crowds, which remained thick even at this hour. That, too, had surprised her. She could comprehend a crowd, ships weren't known for being spacious, after all, but the sheer variety of humans was left her off balance. There were men and women, of course, and Her Princess had prepared her for that much, but their size! Some were tiny, escorting larger humans around the city (or was it the other way around?), while others seemed so bloated she couldn't understand how their underpowered human legs could carry them! Others were wire-thin, their skin covered in wrinkles and small hairs, while others had lost their hair entirely!

    And the colors! Hair, skin, clothes- Elizabeth had told her there was a meaning behind what someone wore, but what about their hair? Trinitite never paid much attention to her own, but it looked like a lot of these looked like they required a lot of maintenance. Why? What about skin? The Abyssal was proof that one could change their skin color. Was that a statement, too?

    Trinitite tried very hard to ignore these questions, but they continued to nag at her while she focused on more important topics. The chances Mother- or the thing that use to be her- was in Seattle was pretty slim, but it certainly felt most likely. Now, how was she going to search the city?

    Trinitite took a step away from the foot traffic, opening her road map directly under one of the large street lights. Let's see, she'd folded the corner of all the charts which included the city itself. The fact that there was more than one was a little daunting, but she didn't need to check everything, right?

    There were a lot of piers in this city, but she probably only had to worry about the military-owned ones. Trinitite doubted determining if something was truly Navy would be particularly difficult. They seemed like the kinds of people who'd slap their name on everything they did.

    Hmm, 'Harbor Island' looks promising. It wasn't too far, either. Maybe she should start-

    Surface contact, 500 yards!

    Something stirred in the corner of Trinitite's vision, and all her questions were immediately forgotten.

    There, practically on top of her, was a transport, two- no, six destroyers, a light cruiser and an Escort Carrier!

    The Abyssal froze. Had they seen her? No, they were too busy talking and laughing with each other. That was going to change, though, and soon!

    Uh… hide! She needed to put something between them and her, like a smoke screen or a squall or something. Frantically, Trinitite searched the area around her, before her sight focused on a gap between buildings. There.

    Before she'd even realized it, her feet were carrying her towards the gap, a human in her path letting out a surprised yelp as she narrowly avoided a collision.

    The Wo-class cursed she continued down the alleyway, weaving around bins and jumping over a human slouched against one of the buildings. If they hadn't noticed her already, her sudden dash- and the commotion it caused- made sure they did. Why did she have to panic!

    Stupid, stupid W-

    The Abyssal was so busy chastising herself she didn't notice the Chain-Link strung across her path until she'd rammed into it at flank. The thing gave away with a yelp and a series of snaps, her foot caught in the collapsing fence for just long enough for the Abyssal to lose her balance. She tumbled forwards, sliding across the concrete until she came to a stop against a vehicle parked in front of her.

    The Abyssal groaned, rolling onto her back. Things were going to get much worse, and soon. Especially if the ships she'd spotted had decided to give pursuit.

    The thought was enough to get Trinitite on her feet and running again. What she'd just witness had a lot of implications, but she couldn't afford to consider them until the Carrier had shaken her pursuers.

    Again.

    - - -

    Akatsuki… wasn't entirely sure what she'd just witnessed.

    The football game had been loud, crowded and confusing. The Destroyer never liked sailing alone, but there must have been thousands of people there, all shouting and jumping…

    It was exhausting, but Akatsuki guessed she could see why it had taken off, even back home. If she hadn't made such a fool of herself during the halftime show, she might have enjoyed herself.

    The Destroyer's cheeks flushed at the memory. How was she supposed to know a football was that fragile? So unladylike…

    "The crowd, the combat…" Akatsuki's division leader gushed, drawing the destroyer away from her embarrassment. Tenryuu laughed to herself, swinging a dark blue thunderstick around her in excitement. "That was great!"

    "Would have been better if the Refs were on our side…" The American destroyer in their group groused, Fletcher adjusting her Giants cap and sending the other Americans an exaggerated pout.

    The Destroyer's accusing glare seemed to be ineffective, however. The Liberty Ship Robert E Peary returned it with a smug smile, while Ommaney Bay was much more vocal. The escort carrier's voluminous red hair and oversized jersey shook as she laughed.

    At least someone had enjoyed the game.

    Akatsuki's attention had returned to the rest of her division. Inazuma, despite being as overwhelmed as Akatsuki had been, seemed to be as excited as the Americans were. Ikazuki was a lost cause from the beginning, clad in as more football memorabilia than Akatsuki thought possible. Hibiki, however-

    Capital Ship, about four-fifty meters west.

    Huh? Who could that be?

    The Carrier- and looking for herself it seemed obvious- was frantically searching the road around her, a gigantic booklet of some kind clutched in her hands. Even for a fleet carrier, she seemed massive, bigger than any CV Akatsuki had seen in her old life. One of Intrepid's sisters, maybe?

    Before Akatsuki could ask, however, the ship broke into a sprint, narrowly avoiding a pedestrian as it dashed into an alleyway.

    One moment passed, as the Destroyer realized the group had fallen into silence.

    "Anyone else see that?"

    Akatsuki wasn't the only one who'd spotted the mysterious carrier, as almost half of the impromptu fleet replied to Peary's question.

    "Anyone know her?" Tenyruu, of course, was the first to ask the obvious question.

    "No…" Fletcher replied, before continuing. "But I haven't seen all of the Essexes. Maybe she was part of the Seattle Express with you guys?"

    With Abyssal installations at Wake, Midway, and Dutch Harbor, keeping a link between Japan and America's breadbasket had become harder and harder. DesDiv 6, along with a good portion of both nations' navies, had an almost permanent job of protecting the massive convoys required to punch through abyssal territory. The specifics were beyond the destroyer, beyond the fact her Admiral wanted her watching Football games and exploring American cities "to build comradery."

    Still, the convoy's screen was massive, and try as she might Akatsuki couldn't remember everyone she'd sailed with to get here.

    "Shangri-la" Hibiki murmured, and the group's Carrier lit up.

    "That's right!" Ommaney Bay exclaimed, bouncing some more. "She's a part of your convoy, right? I heard the ONI grabbed her right after she made landfall!"

    Akatsuki nodded, although she'd never heard the rumor. Ommaney Bay's home was Everett, so she had to be more in tune with the local rumor mill. It was an exciting thought, though. What would ONI want from a carrier?

    Something stirred in Akatsuki's mind, another rumor from a previous life.

    "She's the one that did the raid with medium bombers, right?"

    Silence. Akatsuki spared a moment to look at the three Americans in their group, shrinking a little at their questioning look.

    "Doolittle?"

    "Ohh…" Fletcher finally replied, removing her hat and taking a moment to fix her hair. "That was Hornet. The President called her Shangri-la because he didn't want you guys to know the real Carrier who did it."

    "But what did-" Tenryruu asked, cutting herself off as realization dawned. "Ohh, so they named her after a fake ship, who was named after a fake country?" At Fletcher's nod, the Light Cruiser broke into a grin. "That's pretty badass, actually."

    "Well, regardless of her name, I hear she's a little… loopy." Peary spoke up, restarting their walk. "Why don't we get back to our parking space and let her continue doing… whatever she was doing."

    "Agreed." Tenryuu added, although someone as familiar with her as Akatsuki was knew she didn't, really. "Let's go, kids."

    "Hai."

    Akatsuki wanted to have to ask about the strange carrier later, but sticking her prow into other ship's business wasn't all that ladylike, was it?

    Besides, Tenryuu had promised them ice cream after the half time debacle, and she still hadn't decided what flavor to get. The odd Essex would have to sort out her own problems.

    - - -

    She needed a new plan.

    The ships she'd seen didn't have their rigging out, weren't wearing a uniform and certainly didn't seem to be acting unusual, but she'd still instantly identified them. She'd seen directly through their disguise, meaning they'd probably done the same. This was devastating!

    Enemy ships on the water would have no problem picking her out on shore, while every nearby city would be crawling with unwitting patrols. How was she supposed to reconnoiter any of the enemy's naval bases? Since her disguise now was significantly less effective, Trinitite would need a new approach. Could her scouting aircraft get a good enough view of the base, or would that be risking hell divers for nothing? How did submarines do this?

    She could only panic for so long, however. It still wouldn't be impossible, just more difficult. Already a new plan was forming, although at this stage calling it a 'plan' would be generous.

    Of course, every operation was built on logistics. Maybe Trinitite's view of strategy was tainted by her experience guarding convoys, but without a fresh source of supplies her options seemed much more limited. Sure, her earlier raid bought her a lot of flexibility, but those supplies weren't going to last forever and the navy was probably going to be ready for another raid.

    Luckily, the human's supply system was perfect for streamlining logistics. Trinitite didn't need to negotiate separate deals for constant food, raw materials, and fuel, but only needed a source of this 'money'.

    A job, then. If almost every human had one, how hard could it be?

    First off, Trinitite needed to distance herself from Seattle. The city on the opposite side of Lake Washington might still see the occasional naval outing, but it was a far away from Everett (which, judging by the map, seemed to be the primary naval station in the area) as she was willing to get.

    "Welcome to Panda Express, what can I get for you?"

    This building, located behind a runway filled with vehicles, seemed entirely dedicated to serving cooked food. Since a new day had dawned, it had just opened, but it still seemed to be crawling with activity. When the Abyssal had entered, a peculiar smell filled her bridge, and her attention was drawn inexorably towards the cafeteria-style bar not too dissimilar to Trinittite's own mess. The food was… unfamiliar, but Trinitite recognized the white pellets from the fishing trawler. Could this food be just as dangerous?

    It didn't matter.

    "I saw your help wanted sign."

    Like a switch had been flipped, the woman's countenance changed from an empty politeness to cold assessment. Instinctively, the Wo flinched, as her gaze wouldn't have looked out of place on some of the more dangerous Princesses.

    "We do all our applications online." She started. "You should be able to find them at panda-careers-dot-com, but googling 'panda' should get you there without an issue. Just fill out the application, upload your resume, and we'll email you when we've looked at it."

    By this point, Trinitite thought she'd gotten used to unexpected aspects of human society. With the sheer scale of Seattle and the destroyed cities she'd seen, it would be surprising if she didn't encounter human vocabulary, sayings, and methods that she didn't understand. This, though? This was an order of magnitude more confusing than she'd prepared for.

    Where could she start decoding that statement? On what line? Where was dotcom, and how did goggles help in finding it? Was she supposed to have this 'Resume' pre-prepared, or did every human already have one? What even was email?

    The human had said it so matter-of-factly, too! Was everyone supposed to know this stuff?

    The overwhelmed Abyssal felt her cheeks flush as she met the Human's expectant gaze. Eyes behind her were boring into her back, and suddenly the Carrier felt dangerously exposed. Again.

    "Ah."

    "Anything I can get you?"

    She'd lost this one. The human's question was a dismissal, plain and simple.

    "Uh… no." Trinitite replied, backing out of the line.

    "Have a nice day!"

    And with that, the Human's attention shifted to the man behind Trinitite. She'd been merciful enough not to dwell on the Wo's failure, but Trinitite could feel the gaze of several other humans as she retreated from the building.

    Getting a job was going to be harder than she thought.

    Surprise DesDiv6!

    In all honesty, I hadn't planned for them to be there. I wanted an east coast ship and a west coast ship, but the idea of googling Japanese ships Fletcher had encountered popped into my mind and after a little research I had to add them. Tenyruu seems more like a hockey fan, though. Hope I got their characters right, as a last-minute addition of minor characters I didn't spend too much time trying to get their feel down.

    I've never been a huge fan of football, but this seemed like the best way to put a bunch of ships in the middle of Seattle late at night.

    On the topic of our unfortunate Wo, however, I gotta say I'm pretty hyped to start with this. Before we begin any real workplace shenanigans, she needs some proper job-finding skills. For that?

    We're gonna need a montage.
     
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    • 18: Friendly Advice
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    • How did the enemy's society function at all? Given the amount of success Trinitite had seen so far, everyone should have collapsed from exhaustion long before getting a job! The Carrier didn't have much of a problem walking so far, and her supplies were fine for now, but she started five hours ago!

    Online this, online that. When the frustrated Abyssal finally asked what online even meant, the woman at the front of the desk laughed her out of the building!

    At least she'd learned something from the experience. Passing up the Microsoft Fleet's other buildings in Redmond saved the Carrier a lot of time. There were so many of them, Trinitite was starting to think they owned this town!

    Thinking further on the topic, avoiding those buildings was probably for the best. If such a thing as a Microsoft Princess existed, she would be here, and if Trinitite's encounter with the enemy's ships were such a disaster she couldn't imagine how catastrophic meeting a hostile princess would be.

    Again, if she existed at all. It didn't feel like there was a Princess in Redmond, but with humans? Who knew?

    That was a question to look into later. Maybe when she found a building with a library she'd look for a manual on the subject. That, along with what happened to her princess. Or, what exactly "Online" was. Deep, a guide to getting one of these elusive jobs would be welcome, too!

    She was sure she'd run across one eventually, but going out of her way to find one didn't seem wise. For now?

    "A brewery, huh?"

    Obviously Trinitite didn't know what that was, but it had a help wanted sign, so it interested her. Not everyone used this strange line, right?

    - - -

    This was worse.

    The bench sat at the side of the road, shaded from the sky by a metal overhang. A few hours ago and the structure would have been a welcome respite from the sun's glare, but another cloudfront had obscured the sun and rendered the roof redundant.

    The defeated Carrier pouted, her rangefinders boring into the set of papers resting in her lap.

    APPLICATION FOR EMPLOYMENT

    She'd been prepared for the oddity of two names. That was about it, though. Address? E-mail address? Telephone? This was the first section, barely a quarter of the first page, and Trinitite was completely stumped! On top of that, what Trinitite could understand she knew she'd have to fake, but the Abyssal had no chance of doing so convincingly. They wanted contact information of the last people she'd worked for, except she didn't even know what a proper address even looked like, let alone what salary or supervisor she'd had. What even was a salary, let alone a convincing one?

    To add insult to injury, Trinitite was certain those 'Online Applications' she'd been pointed to were going to be just as complicated.

    The task of finding a library was becoming more important by the hour.

    Trinitite sighed, stowing the paper and stepping back into the open. Almost immediately, she was greeted by the periodic pinprick of rain against her hull.

    At least this place had the weather going for it. A light storm was nothing compared to her Mother's mist, but it kept the sun away, and didn't overwhelm her with wind and noise like she'd seen around many Abyssal installations. She'd remove her hat so she could enjoy the rainfall fully, but her camoflauge didn't seem particularly waterproof.

    The humans around her didn't seem to agree, huddling in on themselves as their paces quickened. Apparently they weren't such fans.

    Whatever. She had so much to worry about already that acting like the rain, the only thing she was actually enjoying, bothered her? Let them be suspicious. It didn't seem like they were paying attention, anyways.

    She had a library to find. Trinitite would keep fumbling through jobfinding, but it was starting to get more apparent that this wasn't going to go anywhere.

    - - -

    The town had seemed to be coming to an end, and Trinitite was considering turning around, before the buildings around her suddenly thickened again. That a town would suddenly thicken didn't surprise the Abyssal, given how close Seattle, Redmond, and other towns in the area were, but the sudden change in architecture certainly did.

    With the possible exception of central Seattle and some of the destroyed cities she'd seen, human structures appeared to be fairly spaced out, the stone and concrete of the large buildings separated by enough space to park her hull between them. Even in the large cities, the underlying architecture had a certain sturdiness to it, the base supports hidden under decorative plaster or stone.

    Not true for these new buildings, however. Businesses were crammed together like enlisted bunks, colorful signs displaying more languages than Trinitite knew existed. The buildings themselves were rickety conglomerations of lumber, concrete and plaster, giving Trinitite a strong impression of "good enough." Even the motor pools set in front of the businesses seemed hurried, cars and young trees sharing space with the prefabricated structures she'd occasionally seen towed behind larger vehicles along highways.

    The Wo-class hadn't realised she'd gotten used to anything human, but to Trinitite's surprise, the sudden change in architecture seemed off putting. Different.

    Perhaps that was a good thing?

    Trinitite recognized the language on a lot of these signs from south-pacific ruins she'd passed. Were these run by humans who'd retreated from abyssal territory?

    The regular American fleets clung to their applications and regulations, refusing the give Trinitite any more attention than was absolutely required, unless she had some of that money everyone was obsessed with. These might not have found the procedures the Americans used as alien as Trinitite had, but there was a chance they wouldn't cling to them as ridgedly.

    Trinitite turned, leaving to road to approach one of the businesses at random. She wasn't entirely sure what every sign said, but one's display was mostly English.

    "Luzon Blues."

    The building was further labeled a 'Filipino Market' by text set at the bottom of the sign, but Trinitite could already guess to it's nature. In her two years on the oceans, She'd passed the island of Luzon more than she could count, sailing offshore during supply runs for the Depot Princess and the other Fleets that lived and bickered around the Philippines.

    As such, she knew the island well. The dark but calm Manilla bay, a maze of structures ashore flooded by permanent storm surge. The Crane Princesses's former abode in the Casiguran Sound, the base of the bitch who threatened her mother calm, now the enemy had sunk her for good. The turbulent currents of the San Bernardino Strait, several Princesses's unique storms crashing to create eddies and currents no one could predict.

    That wasn't the Luzon the shop owner had known, was it? The abyssal felt a tightening in her chest as she approached, the pressure in her running boiler rising slightly. She wouldn't say she felt guilty, as neither she nor her fleet had participated in the taking of the island, but the Wo could already feel some form of connection with whomever dwelled here. The war had driven them out of their home, just like it had done to her.

    The building's windows were cluttered with sheets of paper, displaying text and images about one fleet or another. She could recognize one for the Navy, of course, but that of others as well. Apparently the nations which used to occupy Abyssal territory hadn't died with their cities. Above the mass of paper, three stars had been placed against the window. Two silver, and one gold. More importantly, a pair of signs hung against what little space on the windows was available.

    "Come in, we're OPEN!"

    "HELP WANTED."

    She'd seen those before, and they always signaled an available job. With a moment to collect herself, the Carrier opened the hatch.

    No sooner had the door opened than a bell chimed, the tingling noise catching the Carrier off-guard again. Many of the buildings she'd entered had this kind of alarm attached to it, but it's suddenness still caused the carrier to jump.

    Outside, the soothing rain served to keep people occupied. The light downpour had kept them looking downwards, and almost no one had given Trinitite a glance, let alone detailed scrutiny. In here, the sudden noise, combined with her startled reaction, meant every pair of eyes in Luzon Blues were focused squarely on her.

    Trinitite froze.

    One of the women smiled.

    "Welcome! Anything you're looking for?"

    The Abyssal jerkily returned the woman's smile, her eyes darting over the Market itself. It was like the Fred Meyer's Warehouse in microcosm. The front of the building, where the human who'd greeted her stood, was crammed with food, vegetables and fruits piled like shells in a magazine. Glass-topped refrigerators filled the store with a low buzz, pink and red meats lit by the machine's internal lighting. Even some ice cream was visible, while further back several canned goods and less glamorous MREs were displayed. Beyond that, several T-shirts were hung against the walls. Besides the sigils of several nation's navies, most displayed symbols and phrases whose meanings which were one again beyond her.

    "And if this world runs out of lovers,

    "We'll still have each other!

    "Nothing's gonna stop us,

    "Nothing's gonna stop us now!"

    The Abyssal suppressed a wince as the faint music echoed against the crowded building's walls. Did humans actually like this stuff?

    Trinitite suddenly realized she was still standing in the doorway, the Human still expecting an answer.

    "Oh! Uhh, yeah." The Wo replied, stepping out of the entrance as the door drifted shut. "I saw your help wanted sign."

    "Ahh!" The human exclaimed, turning to another woman in a store uniform. To the Abyssal's shock, she started barking out commands in an entirely different language.

    It shouldn't have been, as the multitude of signs decorating the new set of buildings were in all sorts of languages, but the store owner was speaking exactly like the Supply Depot Princess. As a security precaution, Her Mother's occasional ally forced her fleet to speak in Fillipino while tending to the Princess's warehouses. As the language was almost unique among the predominantly English and Japanese-speaking fleets surrounding her, any ship trying to steal her precious goods would be found out as soon as any member of their fleet tried to talk to them.

    Trinitite had always thought the move unnecessarily, as the Paranoid Logistician's fleet was small enough everyone should have been able to recognize each other, but if the Wo-class regularly told Abyssal Princesses how to run their own fleets, she would have sunk a year ago.

    Still, the way she spoke almost mirrored the mannerisms of Trinitite's occasional commander. She even had braided hair! It was like she was looking at a more subdued version of the Abyssal, excluding her dark skin, human clothes, and black hair.

    She turned, directing a smile at Trinitite. Come to think of it, if she'd added a pair of glasses…

    "Follow me. Let's get you an interview, eh?"

    A what?

    Well, she'd find out soon enough. Trinitite nodded, following the human to the rear of the shop. So far she wasn't facing the same kind of failure, so had she made progress?

    Taking an unassuming door between a rack of dresses and several necklaces, the two found themselves in a much smaller backroom. Mysterious lights were set into the ceiling, releasing a buzzing noise almost quiet enough for the carrier to ignore. Several storage lockers were set alongside the top of a counter, with a few mysterious devices and what Trinititie was starting to recognize as a human refrigerator.

    "I'm Ineng Palad. I run this place." She turned, raising a hand and letting it hang in front of her.

    The first person she talked to was their commander? That was convenient.

    "Elizabeth." Trinitite replied, some long-absent confidence making a resurgence. "Elizabeth Groves."

    The Carrier wasn't sure what made a good human second name, but unlike things like email she actually knew what one looked like. Her fleet's destroyers had been given human names, the name 'Groves' in particular was one Trinitite wasn't going to forget.

    Only one destroyer had sailed between Trinitite and a torpedo, after all. Using her name to help in the search of their lost Mother wasn't the finest honor the Carrier could give the late abyssal, but she wouldn't have taken offense.

    The woman was still holding her hand out. Confused, the Carrier matched her, holding her hand out in the same manner. After another half-second's pause, Ineng suddenly moved. The Abyssal jumped, but not before the human's hand had wrapped around her glove. There was a brief shake, and the contact was suddenly released. The Wo's reaction must have caught the human off guard, as she lingered for a moment after releasing her grip.

    "Take a seat." The human offered, motioning to one of the metal chairs scattered across the room. After the Abyssal did so, the oddly familiar human slid another chair in front of her. With several feet between the two, the human folded her hands in her lap.

    "So, Elizabeth. Tell me about yourself."

    "Alright…" Trinitite nodded, internally rehearsing the story she'd constructed over the past few days. "My name is Elizabeth Groves. I used to live in the Marshalls, but with the war…" Trinitite shook her head, allowing the human to finish her sentence.

    "Pardon me for saying this," She nodded understandingly, "but you don't look like an islander."

    "My mom's from New Jersey."

    "Ahh." Ineng nodded. "You ever held a job before?"

    "No." Trinitite admitted, fighting down a sudden rise in boiler pressure. She knew so little about jobs in general that pretending she knew what she was talking about was picking a battle Trinitite had no chance in. Still, admitting she had no experience might sabotage her chances.

    "I can see that." Ineng nodded solemnly, before smiling. "Well, it's everyone's first job at some point, right?"

    "Yeah." The Carrier nodded back, forcing a laugh. Unlike an Abyssal Princess, this human couldn't snap Trinitite's stern if the Carrier made her angry, but sucking up a little couldn't hurt too much.

    "So," the human continued, "why do you want a job here?"

    "Well," Trinitite started, unsure of the question. Wasn't it obvious? "I need one, and I saw your sign."

    Ineng's face fell, and she leaned back in her chair. The Abyssal's shoulders stiffened as her own seat suddenly felt much less comfortable. Had she done something wrong? That was more likely than not, but in this case she had no idea how her response couldn't be correct. What kind of answer was she expecting?

    "Have you ever been here before?"

    'Uh…" Trinitite's mind raced, but try as she might she couldn't think of any response besides the obvious. "...No."

    "Alright." The woman brought her hand to her head, absent-mindedly wiping her forehead. "I hate to say this directly, but you deserve to know: I don't think you're a good fit for my market."

    "What?"

    The abyssal felt like she'd been struck. She hadn't thought she'd set high expectations, but with how well things had been going, she was feeling some hope that she'd realize when things were going wrong, and at least have a chance to perform damage control, but her conversation had gone wrong so quickly.

    "First: you don't seem fit for a service job. You didn't talk to a lot of people growing up, did you?"

    The Abyssal fought down her resurgent pride, shaking her head.

    "Yeah. If you need a quick job, I hear a lot of warehouses need hands around here. They don't need social experience, and you can develop some while you work."

    "Okay." The Wo replied, remembering the last two warehouses she'd checked. She really needed to figure out this online stuff.

    "Second: Practice doing interviews with a friend. There's a few programs in place in Seattle, they should help walk you through the process."

    She nodded, remembering the State Trooper's advice. Where were these stupid libraries, anyways? Everyone talked about them but she hadn't seen one so far.

    "Third: Lay back a little on the makeup. You're trying to accentuate your features, not paint new ones, and people can notice if you're obvious."

    That caught her by surprise. Had her paint-and-chip detail messed up again? That was the second time! From now on, they focused on her hull. No more, no less!

    Hey!

    "Oh." Trinitite responded, hesitantly pointing towards her face. "Anywhere I can re-do this?"

    "Not yet." Ineng replied, before standing. "Elizabeth, I'm also a refugee. I know what you must be feeling right now. Getting let down is hard, but I'm chewing you out to help you, alright? Get some practice, talk to the Office of Refugee Resettlement, and things will get better, okay?"

    "Oh, okay." The Abyssal numbly replied. Office of Refugee Resettlement? She'd have to look into that once she reached a library, as well, although telling the United States where she was didn't seem particularly wise.

    "Alright." Ineng stuck her hand out. This time Trinitite knew to grab it, but to her surprise the woman instead pulled the carrier to her feet. "Restroom's over there, alright? If you need any help, let me know."

    "Aye aye." Trinitite responded, moving towards the hatch indicated. She wasn't entirely sure what a 'restroom' was, beyond this one bearing a label indicated it belonged to employees.

    Still, that ranked very low on her problems. This interview might not have been a success, but it certainly gave her a lot to worry about.

    Wait, this was just a head! Did humans have special words for everything?

    - - -

    Whooh, this took a little bit of time, for two reasons: One, college stuff, and two, dialogue is always difficult for me. I hope the conversation near the end came off as naturally awkward, rather than just stilted writing, as it was done in a lot of short bursts.

    Next one's gonna be another military interlude, while after that we're going to see some actual success on Trinitite's part. "And then she failed" is only interesting for so long, after all.
     
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    • Interlude: Revelation
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    • /File: Battle.jpeg

    Anonymous (ID: a8g4eB68) 09/14/22(Wed)13:24:26

    Hey all,

    I'm not used to the chans, but I've heard you guys love a good mystery, and sense the Media and the national parks service are being silent I think I should post this anonymously.

    I work at Kalaloch Lodge, a hotel just North of Queets along the cost. We run a few cabins on the beach, where people have lodging conveniently close to several bridges and the rest of Olympic National Park. Of course, we lost a lot of business after Pearl Fell, but as we haven't seen a West Coast repeat of La Palma business has been steadily picking back up.

    Anyways, this Monday, something really weird happened. In the afternoon, I heard a commotion, even though I was inside. Sounded like several thumps, as well as some kind of shrieking noise. Here's the video I took after rushing out: (https: //youtu. be/ EhqCC1tjSA6).

    I think there's some kind of battle here, but I'm not sure. Any ideas, /k/?

    - - -

    Nashville leaned back, rereading the… webpage? Post? The cruiser wasn't entirely sure what to call the thing on Murray's laptop, but it couldn't be good. There was a lot more text after this, but judging by the formatting it had been written by other people. The Cruiser turned her attention away from the screen, focusing on the stoic spook standing behind her.

    "Who wrote this?"

    At the question, the Lieutenant solemnly shook his head.

    "We don't know."

    What? That didn't seem right.

    "How don't you? This is a serious leak!" Everything was on the internet, right? What was the point of the Fleet Cyber Command if they couldn't track down some random civilian's webpage? "Can't we, like…" Her mind raced, grasping for an unfamiliar term "...triangulate where the page came from?"

    "Computers don't work like that, Nash."

    "Demand a list of everyone at the lodge, then!" Someone had seen their failure in the Battle off Kalaloch! This was a serious leak! A rogue abyssal was enough of a problem, but there was no way they could handle the information about her already bouncing around the internet.

    "Not our job." The officer replied, reaching into his laptop bag and producing a file folder. "Hook that thing into the projector, will you?" He didn't wait for Nashville's response, instead dropping the folder onto the table. Its contents poured across its surface, a deluge of images, freeze frames, and written reports.

    "We need to make something out of all this. If we can tell CINC-North where our Wo came from and what she wants, it's going to make finding her much easier."

    "You'll be able to keep your commission, too." Nashville added, busy fumbling with a cable. How were these supposed to go together? There was only one cable sticking out of the conference table, so this must have been what Murray wanted to plug into his laptop, but where? "This cable hooks into the projector, right?"

    No response.

    The Cruiser looked up to find the Lieutenant still, his gaze focused on files in front of him.

    "Shit, I said that out loud, didn't I?"

    "Nashville," The analyst sighed, looking looking up from his documents. "That doesn't really matter. Not when there are so many lives at stake."

    The cruiser pursed her lips, searching the man's face. He was technically correct, but the Cruiser had spent far too much time around sailors to know it wouldn't affect him. The shame for failing the Battle off Kalaloch still burned in her gut, and she couldn't imagine the human wouldn't be second-guessing himself as well. Still, if he didn't want to talk about it…

    "Sorry," Nashville relented, returning her attention to the laptop. "That was out of line."

    "Let's just focus on this, alright?" Murray replied, also returning to his duties.

    By the time they spoke again, Nashville had figured out the projector, their laptop surrounded by an array of reports and images.

    "So…" Nashville started, staring at the projection. "Is there a reason you asked me to project a random webpage?"

    "The post doesn't have anything new, but I haven't seen the linked youtube video yet." He stood, bumping Nashville's shoulder as he clicked on the blue text. To the cruiser's surprise, the view suddenly changed, and she was suddenly watching a film of the gun battle. One of these days, she was going to have to sit down and figure out this tech stuff. "There could be useful information here."

    On the wall of the conference room, a dark blotch sat on the horizon, the column of smoke trailing behind it barely visible against the overcast sky. Catching abyssals, or shipgirls like her, for that matter, on film was always a little tricky. According to a presentation she'd been forced to listen to during her recommissioning, a shipgirl in enough water to fit her hull existed in a dual state, simultaneously possessing the mass and profile of a humanoid and a steel hull. Shine a laser on her, illuminate her with RADAR, or point a camera at her, and you wouldn't know if you'd get the returns from a ship, a woman, or something completely incomprehensible.

    Such a state felt natural to Nashville when she was on the water, but watching the dark blotch in the film flicker in and out like a dying lightbulb was bound to give her a headache.

    "We're trying to figure out where she's from, right?" Nashville started, the echo of distant guns repeating in the room's speakers.

    "Yeah." Murray replied, ignoring the video as someone near the camera started speaking. "I was hoping for a hull number or flag, but this camera isn't nearly as good."

    "They have those?" Nashville replied, feeling a little better about being seen. No wonder the poster didn't know what she'd witnessed. This made the the spotty drone feed she'd used during the battle look like professional photography. Speaking of which…

    "You know, didn't the drone feed show a big hole in her deck?"

    "I think so." Murray paused, pausing the video and searching the table. "I think there's a good screenshot here, somewhere." In moments, he'd grabbed a frozen frame from the Drone footage, placing the image in front of the pair.

    Even if the drone's feed had properly captured the enemy carrier, it wouldn't have been a good shot. Smoke curled away from her funnel, obscuring nearly half her hull. What was visible, however, wasn't particularly useful. The Abyssal's silhouette was further muddled, as a good portion of the ship's bow seemed to fade away. The ship also seemed to be surrounded by faint duplicates, partially-formed sensor ghosts Nashville didn't think anyone had explained yet.

    "It's not terrible…" The spook mused, tracing the abyssal's hull with his pen. "We've got her flight deck here, with several AA positions visible below." The enemy ship was outlined now, a broad rectangle that trailed off in the smoke. "The island is here, while just to port…" His pen settled on the center of the carrier's hull. "This is what you noticed, right?"

    "Yeah." Nashville nodded. "Looks like half her deck caved in." It was impossible to judge the extent of the damage because of the ship's smoke, but it what they could see of the Wo's dark deck was clearly warped, several broken and jutting planks visible even in the distorted image.

    "That is some serious damage." Murray replied. "I'm not sure how it could happen, though. You're the ship, Nash. Can a deck just collapse like that?"

    "Not on it's own." Nashville replied. "It has to be pretty reinforced if you want it to survive the stress of landing aircraft. Either we're looking at the first Abyssal invalid, or a patch job for a lot of damage gave out."

    The cruiser let herself smile for the first time in days. At last, some good news. "She's going to need serious yard time before she's threatening any cities."

    Murray nodded, but continued staring at the printout. Or, more accurately, through it. Something was going on behind that distant stare, and once again Nashville wasn't privy to it.

    For once, that didn't bother her. What was he seeing? The Cruiser's attention drifted back to the image. Abyssals were strange by their nature, but if this image had him thinking so hard there must have been something particularly strange. The damage didn't seem like it was quite as bad as it had been on the Franklin, but that wasn't saying much.

    "She's supposed to have another elevator here, right?" She guessed, pointing port to the Abyssal's amidships. Was this what had him so distracted?

    "One of our Essexes would, but whoever's building the Alpha-Sierras likes to play around with their design." He traced his finger along the port side of the carrier's flight deck. "See how the deck's still standing along here? The Wo's hull where the elevator should be is solid enough that she probably didn't, err, come with one."

    "Why handicap yourself like that? That's going to seriously hurt her launch and recovery cycle, right?"

    Murray dismissed the question with a shrug, before turning to his laptop. In a moment, he'd minimised the video they'd been ignoring, instead diving into the laptop's more obscure settings.

    "I'm connecting to NMCI." The spook added, guessing the cruiser's still-forming question. "ONI maintains a database of known abyssals, using intelligence gathered from submarines. There aren't many Wo-Class carriers with a long-hulled Essex's form, is missing her port elevator, who also participated in a recent fleet action."

    As the Spook opened… some kind of program? An ensign had walked Nashville through this process when she'd first returned, but she'd immediately forgotten all of it. "That drone footage might have given us all the information we needed."

    It almost seemed like the analyst was excited.

    "That can't be reliable." The cruiser replied, remembering the wartime intelligence reports on the Yamato. 16-inches? My aft.

    "For anything smaller than a Ne? Yeah." The Lieutenant admitted, "But the number of Wo's we've seen in the Pacific is only int the double digits. Of those, there can't be more than twenty of them with an Essex's hull, and sense she's a flagship, she's had plenty of time for one of our subs to find her."

    It wasn't pretty, as far as webpages went, but its basic colors and simplistic style seemed to work well enough for Murray. The room fell into silence as the spook poured over entries, filtering a list of hundreds of hostile ships down to two or three.

    "There." The spook finished, clicking on one of the three.

    Wo-E6: "Caisson"

    Nashville studied the projection, intending to check some of the older photos with the printout they'd been studying, but instead her gaze focused on the Abyssal's status.

    "That can't be right." The cruiser exclaimed. "She's dead!"

    "We thought she was" the Spook corrected, hovering his cursor over a date. "Sunk by an evolved sea sparrow during the battle of Bikini."

    "That would explain her deck…" Nashville admitted. "...but didn't the Japs clear Bikini with surface ships?" She'd remembered her first battle after her return pretty well, after all. "You'd think it would be hard to miss an Aircraft Carrier."

    The cruiser shouldn't have been surprised, though. How many times had they sworn Big E was on the bottom of the ocean?

    "The ship, yes, but we know she'd be hard to spot if she crawled ashore."

    Nashville grimaced. Yeah, that was understandable.

    "Point taken." She didn't need a reminder she'd fucked up as well, but it seemed to be increasingly common. "So. She survives the battle. What's with the infiltration stuff? That's very different from…" Nashville scanned Wo-E6's service history. "...convoy escort."

    "'Looking for someone,' huh?"

    "What?" Nashville questioned, but Murray remained quiet. The abyssal had said that, hadn't she?

    "Well." Lieutenant Murray replied, standing suddenly. "I think we figured out her motive."

    "We did?" Nashville questioned. Sometimes she forgot why the Lieutenant annoyed her, but then he'd make her feel stupid again and it all made sense.

    "Yeah." He nodded, "The abyssal was damaged, witnessed the Jellyfish princess turn back into Saratoga, and-"

    "WHAT?"

    Nashville felt like she'd been hit. The light cruiser remembered their battle with the Jellyfish princess well. The haunting transmissions they'd heard on their approach were nearly impossible to forget, especially as that creature's brand of nuclear nihilism was much better at getting under the cruiser's armor than Midway's impotent threats. To think that thing was the same as the sweet converted battlecruiser… Nashville had to have misheard him.

    "She saw the Jellyfish Princess became Saratoga."

    Oh, damn it!

    The cruiser cradled her head in a hand, her mind racing as she leaned against the table.

    "So we beat her up and she's suddenly on our side? Just like that?"

    "Not… exactly, but I can give you the details later." Murray shrugged. "Isn't this an open secret among you shipgirls? We keep it quiet from the public, but there's no point in hiding it from you."

    "If my sisters knew, they didn't tell me. I alway thought princesses were like- demons wearing ship's skins, or shadow clones, or-"

    She stopped herself, a terrible thought dawning on her. Abyssals constantly talked about traumatic parts of their old lives. Two of the Brooklyns hadn't come back yet. Why wouldn't any of her sisters tell her about this?

    "Brad."

    "Hmm?" The intelligence officer's face hardened at the mention of his first name.

    "Who owns the Falklands?"

    Lieutenant Murray looked away from the Cruiser, sighing and sitting down. If Humans still held the island, it didn't disprove anything, but the alternative…

    "Contact with the british garrison was lost a few days into the war." Murray started, pausing for a second to collect his thoughts. "It's been an Abyssal stronghold ever sense."

    So that was it. The dream of getting all the Brooklyns together, of everyone in her class finally meeting for the first time, seemed to crumble like bread cast into a stormy sea.

    "Now, there's no guarantee one of your sisters took the Falklands." Murray rationalized. "The Admiral Graf Spee hasn't returned yet, and there's plenty of Argentenian…" The officer's comforting words fell apart at Nashville's glare. There was no way he believed that.

    Phoenix...

    When the HMS Conqueror sunk her sister, she was heartbroken, of course, but the news had come with a bittersweet lining. At times, war between Argentina and her own nation, Chile, seemed inevitable. She was gone, yes, but Nashville no longer had to worry about facing her sister in battle.

    Now? That possibility had returned like an unexpected torpedo, and it felt even worse. In the 80s, Nashville and her sister worked for different totalitarian regimes, and if a war started it would have been for traditional politics. Not pleasant, but the kind of thing Nashville was built for.

    Now? She might have to put her sister down like a rabid dog. Not because of some political issue, but because she'd simply gone mad.

    "I think we've earned a break." Murray stood again, making his way towards the door. "How do you like your coffee?"

    The cruiser forced herself to focus on the question. They had a job to do, anyways? She could worry about her sister later. Still…

    "With whiskey."

    The Lieutenant nodded grimly. "I'll see what I can do."

    So, this chapter's a little more technical than normal, especially as I tried to describe some stuff I've talked about in threads but never mentioned in-story. I hope there was enough good moments you found it entertaining.

    Note, CINC-North should be named CINC-USNORTHCOM, but I'm unsure if anyone actually calls him that and it didn't seem natural to say.

    Reading over my description of the picture of Trinitite, I'm not sure if I'm channeling Clancy or Lovecraft while writing. That doesn't feel like a good combo, and I hope the result was fun enough to read.

    I also can't remember what Lieutenant Murray's first name is. I'm sure I wrote it down somewhere, but I can't find it. Therefore, his first name's Brad now. If I actually did mention it earlier (I looked, couldn't find anything), let me know so I can fix the inconsistency.
     
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    • 19: Slump
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    • Rain sounded different here. It hadn't picked up yet, content to remain at a steady drizzle, but the familiar patter she'd gotten used to over her two years of life was different. Uncanny. She'd first noticed it after landfall, but hadn't had an opportunity to dwell on it. Compared to the new sights and sounds, the immediate danger the military posed, and the sea of radio transmissions she'd discovered, the noise of slightly different rain didn't bear contemplating. Now, with nothing else to divert her attention other than her food and passing humans, it was becoming impossible not to.

    Trinitite knew why, of course. Raindrops against concrete, leaves, and grass produced a much different sound than against sand and sea. The real issue, however, came from what was conspicuously absent: No rain fell against her deck, rolling off her rigging and running in rivulets down her tentacles. By its absence, rainfall changed from a comforting familiarity to something else she'd have to get used to. It hadn't bothered her until now, but after the failure at Luzon Blues she couldn't ignore it.

    A job just wasn't going to happen, was it?

    Sure, she learned a lot from her encounter with Ineng, such as a summary of the full job process: job applications, resumes, interviews, and many more technical things that flew over her deck completely. It felt pointlessly complicated, but maybe one of those library programs she kept hearing about would explain it better.

    Makeup, too. It took five tries in the Luzon Blue's Head and several hours, but by the time she left the market, her disguise had Ineng's approval.

    "Well, you don't look like a mannequin anymore…"

    Given she'd started using makeup a few hours before, Trinitite took the human's comment as glowing praise. She still didn't know what half the stuff she grabbed from the Fred Meyers Fleet's stockpile actually was, but given a mirror she could at least make herself look human.

    Not that it didn't come with drawbacks, however. With how fragile it was, Trinitite would have to avoid water if she wanted to maintain her disguise, an irony that wasn't lost on the abyssal. Her current hat, thick and sporting a wide brim, kept the rain from ruining her disguise, but Trinitite would have to be careful to defend against splashes. This also meant camouflaging her hands was out of the picture. Any job she found would need a reason to wear gloves, and often.

    To summarize her situation, not only did Trinitite need to find a job, but she would also have to ensure it wouldn't require taking her gloves off or work around a lot of running water. All of this so she could secure her supplies and begin a real search along a tiny fraction of the US coast.

    The abyssal sighed, turning her attention back to her meal. She wasn't exactly sure what 'beef sausage' was, and what it had to do with summer, but it's convenient size (about that of one of her 40mm shells) and savory taste was growing on her. It was a little dry, but the 'frappuccino' recovered from her refrigerator offset that. The dark, sweet drink came as a surprise to the Wo, and she still wasn't sure what she thought about it.
    The meal wasn't bad, but still different. Trinitite was sick of different. She always thought of herself as the calmest of the fleet's Wo sisters, but she felt her limit approaching. If she didn't get a job soon, she'd-

    Tear one of those human vehicles apart? Raid another warehouse? Walk into the woods and scuttle herself? Trinitite wasn't sure.

    Her meal half-finished, the Abyssal stood. Perhaps dwelling on this wasn't healthy. Trinitite could handle the stress caused by weeks of constant air raids, stalking submarines, and unexpected rocket bombardments. She knew she could stay calm under pressure, and as tiring as things seemed it hadn't gotten as bad as her last convoy to the Solomons. She wouldn't fall apart, not unless things got much worse. Her experience, determination, and curiosity could hold her together.

    The Wo-class began walking again, alternating between a bite of sausage and swig of the dark drink. She just had to find a library. That shouldn't be too difficult, right? Her current strategy, tracing a relatively straight line northeast from Redmond, didn't seem to be working, but there were other ways to look for buildings. A grid search would be tricky with just herself, but a library wasn't going to try and evade her, either.

    At least, she thought it wouldn't. Given her current luck, who knew?

    Maybe, like with her own library, the libraries she was searching for were simply sections of the larger buildings. In that case, it was no wonder she hadn't found any yet. The Abyssal wasn't going to be forcing her way into any more random buildings, though. Not without much more experience. She was lucky with the Fred Meyers, but randomly entering more buildings in search for a library was risky, to put it lightly. She needed to gather more information, which might take a while.

    Trinitite stopped again, taking the time to examine the buildings around her. Luzon Blues, and the shops around it, were half a mile behind her, several similar clusters of buildings lining the road between her and the market. Several also had their own help wanted signs posted, but Trinitite wasn't particularly interested: At this point, she didn't expect to learn much another failure.

    The only unique building she'd passed was the one she'd had her meal in front of: A simple establishment labeled "US Postal Service." Sure, eating in front of a US-aligned building was a risk, but this fleet wasn't particularly threatening. She wasn't sure how they expected to safely deliver their supplies without armed escort, but it seemed to be working for them so far. Maybe the Navy, Army and Firebringers were good enough at keeping enemies out of the country they didn't feel the need.

    It had become impossible to determine where she was, exactly. Would this city end in two more miles, or ten? The map she carried wasn't particularly helpful. According to the road map, the Abyssal was standing in an uninhabited wood, which was obviously not the case.

    "Outdated charts…" The carrier muttered, suppressing a curse. Out of every problem that would follow Trinitite from the Abyssal Fleets, of course it would be this one.
    Trees obscured any signs of human civilization beyond the nearby buildings. The only exception would be a steel tower that stood out from canopy, yellow paint highlighting it against the clouds. Trinitite had been watching it during her meal, her thoughts wandering as she watched it twist to and fro. It wasn't along her planned course northwest, but a detour wouldn't hurt anything.

    The abyssal looked ahead, mentally mapping out the town around her. No guarantee, but these streets were probably arranged in the same manner she'd seen throughout the rest of human territory. This might not be a library, but some reconnaissance couldn't hurt, right?

    - - -

    To the Aircraft Carrier's surprise, the tower that had attracted her was familiar. Trinitite herself didn't have any external cranes, but plenty in the Crossroads fleet had them. This one wasn't designed for floatplanes, but its mechanics seemed almost identical. The crane, mounted on a vehicle, sat in a lot cluttered with other vehicles, supplies and people. The field, devoid of vegetation and protected by a bright fence, was dominated by four partially-formed structures. Each in its own stage of development.

    Let's see, from here she could make out the steel rods that reinforce the structure, meaning those foundations, and perhaps the walls they were planning on adding, had to be concrete of some kind. Trinitite knew a few things about construction, although almost all of it was second-hand. Bikini Atoll had already been covered in usable structures when they had first arrived, but it wasn't a functional naval base. While she was out on expedition, the rest of the fleet was working to make sure Trinitite returned with somewhere to store her newly-found supplies. The results of their labor didn't compare well to the buildings the humans had left from before.

    Come to think of it, why was their island empty to begin with? Plenty of other Abyssals she'd talked to mentioned fighting over their current homes, and almost every human settlement she'd seen displayed battle damage of one kind or another.

    Did it have something to do with the Fire? But if it had scoured the Bikini Atoll completely, why did they bother setting up new buildings anyways? There were over a dozen structures on Bikini, something the Crossroads Fleet had done their best to maintain. That couldn't have been built quickly.

    Another question for the library, she supposed.

    More delicate facilities, such as the fuel tanks and magazines, needed outside help. There weren't many installations her Princess was willing to do the needed favors for, making the base Trinitite had razed one of the hardest-earned in the Pacific.

    Was destroying all of that a little extreme?

    Eh, probably not. It hurt a little, knowing her home wasn't gone until she'd personally burned it down, but without her Princess? Without the rest of her fleet? It was just another rock in the pacific. Once she'd found out exactly what her mother had become, she could think about where a new home would be.

    The Wo took a step back, leaning against another building as she watched the humans work. A man guided the mobile crane, waving its operator through lifting a steel grate as wide as her deck. Clustered around the event, several other humans watched and worked, their bright helmets and vests dotting the rain-darkened landscape. Someone crouched next to an array of metal poles, thin and tightly packed together, the half-formed skeleton of a tower joining several others in the structure.

    Dozens of other tasks were being performed in front of her, the humans darting to and fro like a disturbed school of fish. For half an hour, the Carrier watched, observing the workers as they continued her duties.

    Come to think of it… some of this stuff didn't seem too hard. She could tighten a nut or dig a hole, and given time she was sure she could operate that crane. Compared to fighter direction, air traffic control, and anti-submarine doctrine, none of this could be too complicated, right?

    First: you don't seem fit for a service job. You didn't talk to a lot of people growing up, did you?

    Ineng's words returned, unbidden. To be honest, Trinitite still wasn't exactly sure what any job entailed, let alone what qualified it as a service job, but this seemed about as far as she could get from the human's market. She didn't have to act particularly human, memorizing the invisible protocols that dominated human trade and communication. Wear a big hat and quietly follow someone's orders? Trinitite had a lot of experience in that.

    You know what? The library, wherever it was, could wait. Trinitite was going to try for a job one more time, except now?

    If you're reacting, you're losing.

    A common phrase among the abyssal fleets, and one she heard a lot from ships who didn't have experience in submarine warfare. It didn't apply everywhere, but here?

    She was going to have to be a little more proactive.

    Here's another chapter! If it feels a little small, that's because this is the first part of a block over 4k words I initially wrote for this update. My current policy is, if I do write something over 4k for an update, I'll edit the first part, release it, and go on to release the second one once editing's done. I'll also have to do some fact checking as well as editing, so no guarantee the next chapter will come out tonight.

    Also, for some reason the formatting came out differently than normal when I copy-pasted it over from my Gdoc. If the formatting seems borked in any way, I blame that.
     
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    • 20: Visitor
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    • Dan Pratt was a practical man. When he got his first management job, the Manager invested the majority of his new salary into a college fund for his future kids. When his family outgrew his Boston apartment, Dan moved into an older suburb west of the city, where house prices were lower and they wouldn't have to spend as much on maintenance.

    When a Tsunami warning interrupted his sleep at three in the morning, he quietly guided his kids into the house's attic. When explosions silhouetted the Boston skyline and brought attention to an occasional line of tracers, Dan ventured back downstairs and killed the house's power. After day had come, the abyssals had withdrawn, and the tidal wave had lost its steam, he packed whatever he could and put his relatively undamaged house up for sale. Boston needed rebuilding so business was booming, but if the abyssals came back…

    The media, of course, tried to keep him from leaving. On the TV, geologists said another landslide Tsunami, like the one which had lead the Abyssal assault along the east coast, couldn't happen again. Pundits said the fragile web of alliances that held the Abyssals in the Atlantic had shattered, and another attack on that scale wouldn't happen any time soon. The Military swore that abyssals wouldn't be able to hit the east coast again, rambling about the activation of this air wing or the redeployment of that carrier.

    He ignored all of them. Let the young rebuild Boston: Dan had a family to take care of.
    The Tykes were just entering kindergarten. In Washington, where there was plenty of work and a lot more land, metal and water between him and those white-skinned bitches. Maybe Colorado would have been safer, but they weren't having a refugee crisis. There were a lot more jobs for those who built on the coasts, like this one.

    Situated outside Redmond's city limits, the Union Hill Affordable Housing Project found itself in the center of new urban sprawl. When the buildings would be complete, someone standing atop the fifteen-story buildings would see themselves in patchwork of freshly-built buildings the ran east until the Snoqualmie River, contrasting sharply with the checkerboard of wealthy subdivisions to the immediate west. On the other side of the river, an array of hospital-white FEMA tents marked the buildings' future residents.

    That is, if this ever got finished. With the persuasion of the State of Washington and several Governments-in-exile, the County had been forced into greenlighting the project. The Council was still bitter about it, and they were constantly trying to push him over-budget with unending code inspections and attempts to revise the blueprints. He was close to giving the inspectors a little extra to ensure they didn't waste so much of his time, but a part of him suspected that's exactly what the bureaucratic pricks wanted.

    That wasn't the worst of his problems, either. Their clients wanted simple, fast housing, and a lot of it. The tent city on the other side of the river was developing into a traditional slum, but the natives who knew fire season around here said it would be a tinderbox. That somewhere with this much rain had a fire season was a surprise to him, but given how well evergreens burned, he guessed he could see it. That meant his clients had dictated a fairly strict deadline, rendering his budget a little optimistic, but making things work was why he made over 80k.

    In order to meet this deadline, he had to hire more workers than he'd initially expected, specifically cheap ones. Of course, that came with its own set of problems.

    LOST TIME INCIDENT REPORT

    14 Sep 2022

    McCally Construction Group

    Thankfully, it hadn't been serious. Someone had lost control of their mallet while removing post-tension framework, accidentally hitting a coworker with the tool. The victim's arm was only bruised, but this was the latest in a string of small accidents he'd been dealing with ever since he started this job. Maybe it was all this damn rain, or perhaps he was pushing his crews too hard, but he honestly believed it was growing pains. A lot of refugees from the south pacific knew their way around a construction site, but they weren't the ones walking into his office for a Construction Labor job, and those that did needed to reteach themselves around the imperial system!

    Wasn't that a headache and a half!

    Beyond that, the war had given several of his employees a pre-existing injury. Many were illiterate. Half his labor force didn't speak English.

    Still, when someone stumbles into his Site Office, poor, broke, and desperate, after narrowly escaping the same eldritch horrors that had hit his hometown, he was at least going to give them a chance.

    A buzz interrupted the Manager's thoughts, and Dan's attention was abruptly drawn from his laptop. Speaking of which…

    He checked his schedule to confirm his suspicions, before rising and approaching the door. He felt fairly certain it was another perspective employee, looking for work in exchange for some cash and a roof over their head, but he hadn't seen anyone from OSHA in a while.

    The door opened, and Dan started his canned greeting before what he was seeing actually registered in his brain.

    "Can I help you, uh… Miss?"

    The first thing that greeted him was a bright cowboy hat. On someone else, he probably would have ignored it, but on the slender woman in front of him it looked comically out of place despite her height. Under that, an unruly white mop of hair framed a young face which Dan might have found pretty if he was younger. She was soaked, the constant rain permeating her clothes and her hat's brim still dripping with water. Her sky-blue shirt and soft orange scarf clung to her, contrasting with the girl's dry hair and face to give Daniel the impression of a cat who'd just suffered through a bath.

    Sure, the weather was bad, but it hadn't been raining this hard. Either his guest had detoured for a dip in the Snoqualmie River, or she'd been outside for hours.
    "Hello!" The soaked girl abruptly smiled, a trickle of water pouring from her hat's brim as she spoke. "Are you in command here?"

    Dan blinked.

    That wasn't what he was expecting anyone to ask, but it did clear some things up. Judging by her age, this was some college student from a nearby, probably a military brat who hadn't done a minute of honest work in her life.

    In short, a naive idiot.

    "I… am, yes." The Manager replied, and took a step away from the door. "Why don't you come in?"

    She didn't show it, but she had to be miserable, soaked to the core like that. Even if the kid didn't mind, somehow, the threat of hypothermia wasn't to be taken lightly.

    "Ah, thank you!" The girl replied, her boots squelching as she followed Dan inside.

    "Pretty wet out there." Dan added as he closed the door, noting as his guest barely paused on the doormat. He needed to find some towels before all that water that was dripping of the newcomer created a tripping hazard.

    "Yeah." She replied. "Is it always like this?"

    "Not always," Dan answered, turning the office's space heater up a little. "But I'm told we can expect this for the rest of the year. Guess that's why they call this place a rainforest. Coffee?"

    "Huh?" The girl was standing in the middle of the room, suddenly unsure of herself. "Okay?"

    Dan sighed, surprised he'd ever have to ask this question.

    "Ever had coffee before?" With most people, he'd consider that question a patronizing insult, but with this girl? He was getting the same impression he got from his own kids, just older.

    If his own kids acted like this at this age, he'd be terrified.

    "No."

    Some times, he hated being right.

    "You probably won't like it at first, but this stuff grows on you." Grabbing a styrofoam cup, he filled it using the office's constantly-heated carafe and handed it to the girl. "Besides, you look like you need warming up."

    "I'm fine." She replied, accepting the coffee with her left hand and taking a cautious sip.

    "You sure?" Unless she was hiding a personal heater under her shirt, there was no way she was enjoying that. "Let me dry your scarf, at least."

    The kid finally relented, unwrapping her scarf to handing it over. He rung the cloth out over the office's sink, he threw the garment in front of the office's space heater. A bit of a fire hazard, but as long as he kept his eye on the situation shouldn't be a problem.

    "Now." Dan added, having gained that small victory. "How can I help you?"

    "Oh!" She almost jumped, as if she'd forgotten something vitally important. "I'm Elizabeth Groves." Jerkly, she rose a gloved hand, holding it out in front of her.
    A moment passed. After placing the scarf in front of his space heater, Dan was over four feet from his visitor. Still, if she was going for a handshake…

    "Dan Pratt." He replied, covering the distance between the two to take the girl's hand. "I'm the Manager here."

    For the first time since meeting her, Dan was impressed. Her gloves, dark and smooth looking, felt remarkably coarse in the Manager's hand, gripping his skin like ultrafine sandpaper. Must be pretty expensive material, but he could see the utility. The handshake itself was just as timid as person giving it. The fancy glove had dried of already, but her lackluster handshake still gave Dan the impression of a dead fish.

    "Alright, Dan." She started, unaware she'd completely failed the handshake. "I'd like a job."

    What?

    "Excuse me?"

    Elizabeth paused, a confused expression visible from under her cowboy hat.

    "I… would like a job."

    She didn't have to repeat herself. Dan understood perfectly well what she was saying, but why? He could count the number of female construction laborers he'd worked with his fingers. Even then, they were usually built differently. The potential employee might make a good swimmer or gymnast, but her arms looked like they'd snap if she lifted too much.

    "Are you sure?" He finally replied. "You look more suited for another job, like serving tables or-"

    "No!"

    Dan jumped, surprised at the girl's sudden energy. Where did that come from?

    "I can't! I've been trying to get a job like that, but they say I'm not good enough with people!" Well, Dan guessed he could see that. She was pleading now, her eyes… what kind of color were they supposed to be, anyways?

    "Just give me a chance, sir! I can work!"

    "Hey, I never said I wouldn't let you try!" Dan needed to cut this girl off before she started pouring her heart out to him. The war had devalued sob stories, and he didn't need to hear another one.

    He paused, looking over the girl's attire again. Her jeans seemed useful enough tougher than most he'd seen, but while her hiking boots were more utilitanian than he'd expect from the girl, they wouldn't cut it on a job site. "Do you have steel-toed boots?"

    "Uh- yeah." She nodded.

    "Good." He didn't think he had a spare in her size. "You start tomorrow. See me in this office at 6:30. If I'm not here, tell whomever you see you're here for the new employee orientation. They should be able to start briefing you on how we do things. After that, we'll give you your gear and start putting you to work."

    Her face suddenly lit up, like he'd just bought her ice cream. God, she really acted like his kids.

    "Ever done this kind of stuff before?"

    "No, not really." Her smile fell as she shook he head, but only for a moment. "But I've watched a lot of construction!"

    Let's see her keep that energy after an hour of bending rebar.

    "That probably won't help," He replied. "But if you follow your senior's orders you should do fine. If it's too much, you can leave at any time and I'll pay you for the work you've done so far, but at six PM, I can guarantee you one hundred and fifty dollars, cash. That sound good?"

    She nodded. "It does."

    "Alright." He replied, turning towards his laptop. "I'll see you tomorrow."

    "Thank you!" Thankfully, she understood the informal dismissal. The woman tapped her cowboy hat in a loose salute, before turning and leaving for the door.

    "Uh, your scarf-"

    "Right!" She pivoted on one foot, snapping the scarf from the portable space heater and turning to leave again.

    "You know, a waterproof coat would help a lot on the jobsite, too." He added as the woman curled the scarf around her shoulders. You'd think that someone who thought they needed a scarf would carry a windbreaker, at least.

    "Aye Aye!" She called, shutting the door behind her as she left.

    Dan fell into his chair, turning his attention back to the incident report. Weird girl.

    Then again, not just any woman would ask for this kind of job, especially in a city with so many new businesses. He'd work her, like he did every other new employee, and if she came back the next day?

    Well, there was plenty of uses for someone as light as she was.

    itshappening.gif

    ...And the rest of the chapter is up, and faster than I expected! I haven't worked in construction (at least, not on a construction site), so thank you to MarekGutkowski for advice on this and the direction of the upcoming arc, but he didn't have a preview of this chapter so don't blame him for any mistakes I make.

    Speaking of mistakes, feel free to correct me on any inaccuracies in depicting this. I try my best with research on the topic, but I've already gotten my research wrong once at the Battle of Kalaloch, so I have no problem going back and fixing serious mistakes.

    That being said, the next chapter in the pipeline is going to be another interlude, this time much farther south than normal.
     
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    • Interlude: A Phone Call
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    • It had been almost two weeks since Saratoga had… returned to her senses, and it was her sixth day in San Diego. Over that time, she'd been debriefed on her fragmented memory as an Abyssal, recommissioned with her familiar USS prefix and an Ensign's billet, and been given a haisty briefing on a million different things, from the state of the war to basic training in acting human.

    While that happened, Lexie and the other Essex sisters who'd helped rescue her from Bikini had left for their own assignments, returning to patrols, refiting, or training for the next offensive CDRUSPACOM was brewing up, leaving Saratoga alone in the rare periods she'd had free time. She'd run into Enterprise a day or so earlier, but the two hadn't done much more than exchange stiff nods before going their own way.

    Was there still bad blood between them, or had the bitter rivalry between the two died with time? Was the famous carrier was too busy to stop for her former friend? There was a war on. That was probably something she'd have to clear up, but whenever she started thinking about how to reintroduce herself to Enterprise, her mind would freeze up and before she knew it there was something else for the carrier to do.

    For example…

    - - -

    "Sorry I wasn't there at Bikini." Lexington- the nameship Sara never thought she'd see again- had smiled, greeting her sister with an apology.

    "Took a torpedo about a week before the fleet set out." Her thin smile was simultaneously new but achingly familiar "It's always those damn submarines-"

    Lex wasn't able to finish, interrupted by her sister's tearful hug.

    "It's fine." The carrier wept. "You're- You're here now."

    "Woah!" Lexington replied, and Saratoga thought her sister would say something more, but instead the carrier heald the hug until they'd both gotten their emotions under control.

    "I- I knew you were back, but I until I saw you-" A wave of giggles stopped Sara from finishing her thought, wrapped up in enjoying the feeling of her sister. The abyss- or perhaps the thing that dwelled there- had taken advantage of her grief over the Essexes, but the loss of her sister had cut much deeper. Seeing her again, just over eighty years after her sinking, simultaneously exposed years of grief and countered it with giddy relief.

    "Nice to see you back, as well. When I returned, knowing that it had gotten to you-" Sara stiffened, and her sister paused. "Well, I had to do something, right? I guess Carrier Group Six managed without me, but not being there makes me feel like a lousy older sister…"

    "Hold on." Saratoga interrupted, releasing the hug and holding her sister in front of her. "You're the older sister?"

    "Yeah." Lexington replied, her smile returning. "I am the nameship, after all."

    "Please," Saratoga shot back, "I was at sea long before you launched!"

    The two lapsed into familiar banter, the sisters' lighthearted ribbing saying more than any heartfelt greetings. Her sister would help a lot in familizing herself with the world of the 2020s, putting several briefings in context and helping her get settled in as a shipgirl.

    For a few days, at least.

    - - -

    The ship scanned her first PCS order. She paused, before rereading it and looking up from her lap.

    "Maizuru, sir?"

    She knew USFJ still operated some bases in japan, but none were fully staffed, and as far as she could recall, none in Maizuru. The commander of USPACOM nodded, his face straight.

    "The JMSDF is facing a serious training problem at the moment. Several of their latewar carriers sunk without even basic training, meaning they're dangerously green. I'm told Katori has been training them to some standard, but she doesn't understand dogfighting tactics, aircraft direction, or the unique damage control procedures carriers need practice in. With how hard the Abyssals have been pushing north, they can't spare one of their own fleet carriers on the task, and they're afraid to ship them overseas in case a crisis pops up."

    "That's where I come in?" Saratoga guessed, and the Admiral nodded.

    "Exactly. Seems someone over there read your service history before offering to help free you. You'll be flying out with the rest of the JMSDF contingent saturday. Understood?"

    To Saratoga, this sounded like a job for Wolverine or Sable, but the Japanese had done the majority of the work at Bikini. For a brief moment, she considered asking about the whereabouts of the two training carriers, but discipline quickly reasserted itself. Perhaps they hadn't returned yet, or maybe Japan wanted a real veteran to train their carriers, but it wasn't a ship's job to question orders, especially ones with a political background.

    She did owe them, she guessed.

    "Yes, sir."

    She would rather have sailed alongside her sister and daughters, defending them and sharing in their victories, but her current wing of F2Fs and SBU-1s would be worse than useless in a battle. She'd have to do something to get her air wing out of biplanes. Work in Japan meant less contact with her sister, but that was what all of this new technology was for, right?

    - - -

    "What do you think?"

    Saratoga paused, her sister following suit a half a second later.

    "It's… Surreal."

    When Lex had first explained shopping mall's concept to her, she had trouble wrapping her mind around it. Even now, the multi-story mall, with all of its restaurants, stores, and lights, was a little hard to take in. Conceptually, it wasn't particularly different from your average market, but the scale was overwhelming.

    It was friday, the two sisters spending their last day preparing Saratoga for her imminent deployment. Their shopping trip coincided with the rest of the Japanese fleet's, who apparently considered this one of the highlights of leave in San Diego. With the trade routes between the US and central america remaining relatively undisturbed, clothes came cheaper and in more sizes, something especially important for some of Japan's more… endowed ships. This was especially important for the newly-returned carrier, as her first paycheck had only arrived that morning.

    By now, the majority of Saratoga's first discretionary funds had already been spent, ensuring Saratoga's wardrobe consisted of more than her navy-issued uniforms and the dress she'd arrived with. There was still several hours before the shuttle would take them back to the Naval Base, and she was determined to get the most out of her remaining funds.

    "You could say that about a lot of things these days." Lexington replied, her gaze focusing on an advertisement displayed on a massive television. "They say you eventually get used to everything, but there's a lot of stuff that still catches me off guard. Investigated the internet yet?"

    Saratoga cringed, remembering her briefing on the subject. The C-something Warfare Engineer seemed to have known what he was talking about, but to the Carrier it felt like he was speaking another language. The history had made enough sense, a military project designed to help the US fight a nuclear war snowballing into something revolutionary and universal, but on the technical side of things Saratoga had gotten lost somewhere around 'address.'

    "Not really, no."

    Lexington smiled sympathetically. "Well, when you do? Expect anything."

    "I don't think that's possible." Saratoga replied.

    "Try." Lexington emphasized, her dark hair framing a mischievous smirk. "Wanna get some food?"

    - - -

    "Oi, Sara!"

    The call echoed across the food court, silencing the multitude of conversations as it reverberated against the decorative ceiling. Saratoga jumped, almost dropping the large sandwich she was about to enjoy. Across the food court, Zuikaku waved, her twin tails bobbing as she broke into a jog. For a moment, Saratoga thought the carrier just wanted to see her, but judging by her expression and the phone in her hand, she wasn't there for their meal. Conversation quietly returned.

    "What's wrong?" Saratoga queried. Her sister tensed as the Japanese carrier approached, but Saratoga ignored it. Wartime habits didn't die easily, after all. She probably didn't mean anything by it.

    "Just got a call from Murray." The Japanese carrier replied, pointing to her phone. That everyone called the glowing metal tablets a phone still felt wrong, but they did seem to work. "He needed to know your number."

    "What for?" Saratoga asked, but she already had her suspicions. That Abyssal hostage case had probably resolved itself by now, but a Spook like Murray would take a while pouring over such an odd event. What would he need her input for?

    "Beats me." Zuikaku shrugged. "Heads up, though. You know how to use that thing?"

    It took a few moments for Saratoga to fish her government-issue phone out of her purse, sliding the thing around in her hands. She knew it used some kind of radio technology to connect to landlines, but beyond that it might as well be magical.

    "Not really, no." She admitted. "Lex can walk me through it, thou-."

    Buzzt.

    The phone sprung to life in Saratoga's hands, and the carrier stiffened. She probably should have been expecting that. Now, how did this thing work?
    Saratoga tapped the green phone button, but it continued buzzing.

    "You have to hold and drag it." Her sister added. The Carrier tried again, this time dragging her finger across the glass. Success! The buzzing stopped as the screen changed. What now? Cautiously, she held the steel and glass to her face, taking caution to avoid bumping the red button with her cheek. How was this metal slab supposed to rest on her cheek? There was a reason real phones were curved! Feeling slightly ridiculous, the Carrier spoke.

    "Hello?"

    "Hello," The Lieutenant's voice replied, although if Zuikaku hadn't warned her beforehand she wouldn't have recognized it. "Is this Saratoga?"

    "Yeah." Across the table, the already worried Lexington leaned forwards, noticing as the Carrier subconsciously braced herself. An intelligence agent didn't interrupt your leave with a phone call to give you good news.

    "Good. Are you in a secure area?"

    "I'm in a restaurant." Saratoga replied, unsure if she was technically correct. There was a brief pause, before the spook spoke up again.

    "San Diego, correct? Could you step outside for a moment?"

    With an apologetic nod to her sister, Saratoga stood, making her way to an exit. Once past the Mall's first parking complex, the sounds of distant traffic from the nearby highway greeted the Carrier, and she took a final look around her.

    "How did the hostage situation go?" She murmured, walking further towards the highway. It was possible that it was still ongoing, but the fishing vessel, if not interdicted, would have reached the contenental US by now. Something must have changed in that time.

    "I'm not authorized to disclose that yet." Murray replied, his tone apologetic despite it's formal manner. "I probably will be within the week, though. You have need to know."

    The Carrier's walk faltered as she processed the statement.

    "Me, specifically?" Saratoga could feel the pressure in her active boiler rising.

    "Ensign, you had three Carrier-class Abyssals serving under you while under Abyssal influence, correct?"

    Once again, disjointed fragments of memory flooded her consciousness, but almost as suddenly as they arrived they subsided. Saratoga already knew.

    "Yes, but wasn't the Abyssal a cruiser?"

    "Bad intel." Murray dismissed the question

    "Ah." She couldn't argue about that. Mistaken sightings were more common than actual combat in wartime.

    "Did one of these carriers have a Longform Essex's hull, but no deck edge elevator?"

    "Trinitite."

    The name came suddenly, leaving Saratoga's lips before she'd fully comprehended it. Until now, she hadn't even known her previous self's fleet even had names, but the knowledge came with the same certainty that came any other time she'd recalled a fact from her Abyssal life. The flood of memories returned, this time giving her disjointed images of one of her Wo-Class carriers.

    Training, a fighter skidding off her deck and splashing in the misty waters of their Atoll.

    Sailing into the bay, another Wo-class draped over her shoulders and supported by her rigging's tentacles.

    Lying face-down in the bay, fire raging across her deck as the dying ship drifted.

    "She's dead, though."

    "Apparently not." Murray replied. "Trinitite, was it? Like the crystal?"

    "Yeah." Saratoga replied. A lamp post was nearby, and the carrier needed something to lean on.

    "Thank you." Murray said, after a brief pause. "One more question, then I'll let you get back to your meal."

    Saratoga had plenty to think about already, but that could come after the call was over. With an effort, she pushed her flood of memories- the revelations her minions had had a personality at all- down, bracing herself for another question.

    "Go ahead."

    "If this 'Trinitite' was to run into you, and recognized you, what would she do?"

    What did that mean?

    She had known, from the fact that parts of her fleet had acted independently, that they were rational actors, but the fact they apparently were distinct enough to get a name was entirely new to her. Maybe it was a part of Jellyfish's family fantasy, using the three Wos as a replacement for the Essex sisters, but what if they'd earned a name?

    "I- I have no idea."

    Was running into Trinitite even a possibility? How could a carrier with nothing but convoy duty outwit the navy to make landfall? Was she actively looking for Saratoga? Did she know her former Princess was now a shipgirl? But Saratoga wasn't the Jellyfish Princess, was she? What if Trinitite took the same stance, and decided she wanted her old boss back?

    No! I'm not going back!

    "That's fair." Murray said, although the Carrier barely heard it. "One more thing, then."

    That got her attention. With considerable effort, the carrier composed herself, only now noticing the family passing her. No matter what Trinitite wanted, the C5 she was scheduled to board in less than 24 hours would ensure she couldn't find her. There weren't any renegade Abyssals in Japan, that she knew of.

    "Okay."

    "Saratoga, I've broken several regulations to ask you these questions. I don't know what assumptions you've made based on this interview, but I ask that you don't share them with anyone, alright? More information will be coming, through formal channels. Let them decide who needs to know about this."

    "Aye Aye, Lieutenant." She formally replied.

    "Alright. If any new information on Trinitite comes to light, feel free to call this number again. We can make other arrangements later."

    The technical question as to how to do that came to mind, but such minor things suddenly sounded insignificant.

    "Understood."

    "Alright. Enjoy your meal, Saratoga. Sorry for the interruption."

    The connection terminated with a click. The aircraft carrier sighed, feeling her hands start to shake. She'd seen it before, on gunners who'd just run out of targets and pilots who'd barely made a rough landing, but this was the first time it had happened to her. Saratoga brought the phone down, pressing the button to turn off the screen before pausing to examine it.

    Hopefully it still worked, with those finger-shaped dents in the frame.

    Don't issue shipgirls iPhones. Besides the fact the price is higher, they're built with an aluminum frame, and they'll need all the compression strength they can get when one of those dramatic calls come around!

    Anyways, this took less editing than I thought it needed. The writing style here is a little different, partially because I wanted to cover a larger period of time, and it felt a bit odd once I was finished with the chapter. Going back through, it doesn't seem that bad, but other opinions and criticism is certainly welcome.

    So yeah, the Saratoga interlude from earlier was not just a simple one-off. I'll be occasionally revisiting the story's confused Mombote, but since you guys aren't reading for her story it'll probably stick to an occasional interlude. Please let me know if Saratoga's assignment in Japan seems all that interesting to you, so I know a bit more about how much to revisit her. Right now, I'm not planning on much more than maybe one or two for every 20 chapters.
     
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