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

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47: The Shakes
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    • Her after-work research had been terrifying.

    It hadn't been learning of her namesake, the glassy remains of sand subjected to The Fire, and the uncomfortable question of why her mother had chosen that name for her. It hadn't been the wide array of weapons types, from shells to immense rockets, that could carry a nuclear payload. No, it had been the numbers.

    Thirteen thousand!

    She didn't know how many abyssals there were, but the number was definitely lower than that. Deep, ignoring every other 'nuclear state,' the United States alone could win the abyssal war in a matter of days, and there wasn't anything the abyssal fleets could do to stop it. The only reason she could imagine they wouldn't was all the expensive land and equipment the abyssals occupied. Maybe those sparse surviving humans she'd heard so many complaints about were shielding The Abyss from nuclear wrath.

    That couldn't be the only reason though, could it?

    Needless to say, the Wo-class hadn't gotten any sleep that night, and that her attempts to reverse-engineer the hamburger hadn't been as successful as she'd expected them to be. Some lettuce, cheese, buns, and a handful of sauces she'd gotten from her research had improved them, but her mind hadn't been entirely on the task, and the quality of the burgers she'd cooked worsened accordingly. Dry, crunchy meat wasn't that bad, but she knew she could have done better.

    Even though her job needed the majority of her focus right now, the question of The Fire loitered over her head like an enemy scout plane. After work, she would look into it a bit more and put this question behind her.

    The distant whine of a pump suddenly wounded down, and the grey torrent in front of her dwindled to nothing.

    "Alright," the human operating the pipe clipped, motioning to the fresh layer of concrete, "pound that down."

    Trinitite nodded, muttering an acknowledgement, but the human operating the pump didn't hear it. He was already guiding his end of the pipe to the next column.

    She leaned forwards over the formwork she was attending, stretching to extend the wand of her concrete vibrator into the settling material.

    She hated the vibrator. Carrying the bulky generator in one hand and the hefty wand in the other was no issue, but in order to use the thing like humans had to, she was forced to drape the thick hose connecting the two around her neck. It wasn't an obvious issue, until the abyssal submerged the wand and toggled the generator.

    BVRRRRRRRRR

    The Abyssal grimaced as the wand started to shake, waves of kinetic energy causing the concrete to shiver and traveling up both her arm and the hose. The vibrations would have been unnoticeable if she could enjoy the mass of her hull form, but of course she didn't have that luxury. Instead, the abuse the tool was giving the concrete was reverberating up her hand, through several decks, and directly into her keel via that deep-damned hose pulling down on her shoulders!

    All throughout her hull, work came to an abrupt halt. Sailors in her hold scrambled to ensure the torrent of motion didn't knock anything off its shelves, to limited success. Work on her flight deck halted as a particularly unlucky fairy tumbled from her work to the hangar deck below. The shift that was trying to sleep grumbled and spun in their racks with frustration, finding it impossible to sleep in these conditions. Her machine shop had already closed down for the day, after her first use of the concrete vibrator had caused several casualties.

    Thankfully, the vibrations were centered around her fore, meaning her boilers didn't get too disturbed while she worked.

    The thirty seconds of suffering stretched into sixty, then ninety as the Wo-class focused on shaking air pockets and other impurities out of the concrete. She just had to do this for two minutes at a time. It sucked, but it was better than getting shot at. She would endure.

    Still, how did other abyssals do it? The task forces sent by the supply depot princess to build for the Crossroads Fleet weren't this loud.

    Maybe they just didn't bother? It wasn't like anyone in the Crossroads Fleet would know they didn't do a full job…

    Damnit, she almost liked the Supply Depot Princess! Had she been lying to the Crossroads Fleet this entire time?

    - - -

    The microwave beeped, uncaring of the dire situation Dan Pratt was in. Pausing for a second so he didn't tear the door off, the frustrated foreman opened the microwave, removing this morning's coffee, now lukewarm. Today had been such a clusterfuck he hadn't even found time to finish it until now. It wouldn't go great with the mashed potatoes and leftover meatloaf he was having for lunch, but he desperately needed it right now.

    Removing the coffee and replacing it with the open container of leftovers, Dan carried the warmed cup back over to the coffee maker and topped it off with the constantly-warmed carafe. It would be a bit burned, but unlike the folks who diluted their coffee with the goods, Dan wasn't picky.

    His phone buzzed as he watched the carafe's coffee mingle with the leftovers he'd reheated, but he ignored it. Whatever it was, it could wait until his lunch break was over.

    Unfortunately, Thomas wasn't on his lunch break.

    Dan was trying to focus on his food, but he still noticed when The Project Manager suddenly sighed, leaning back in his chair.

    "...Damn." he muttered. Despite himself, the curse got Dan's attention. It could wait, he really wanted the issue to wait… but Thomas typically wasn't the type to curse, so something must have gone wrong.

    Noticing Dan's gaze, his manager clarified. "You know the replacement gasket we ordered for the crane?"

    "Yeah." Dan flatley replied. The tower crane's very avoidable breakdown had been the reason why the last couple of days had been such a headache for the foreman. "What now?"

    "An abyssal got to the ship bringing it over from Germany." He reported, his voice grim. "It's on the bottom of the Atlantic, now."

    Dan returned his stare, his mouth agape as his mind raced through the implications of that statement. It was already going to be 8 more days before the replacement got here, but now?

    "Any survivors?" He asked, but Thomas shrugged.

    "It doesn't say."

    "...Well, fuck me." He whispered. Louder, he asked "La Palma, Puerto Rico, Hawaii, and now this? Why do we even have a navy?"

    "That's war, I guess." Thomas shrugged. "We did get it insured."

    "Yeah," Dan tempered, "but insurance doesn't help the fellas spending another week on two's death trap!"

    The 'Death trap' he was referring to was the jury-rigged pulley system Austin's team had thrown together in lieu of the crane. He initially wanted it torn down, for obvious reasons, but despite his trepidation he allowed its use.

    The schedule didn't matter, at least when compared to the wellbeing of his employees. The bottom line was that, due to his tendency to hire about as many hands as he had immediate jobs for, there wasn't anywhere to put them if they got reassigned. Sending them home for a week or so would probably be fine for some of them, but…

    The memory of Elizabeth's face, desperate as she pleaded for a job, returned to him. He didn't know her story, but he did know plenty of others operated on razor-thin margins. Therefore, it boiled down to potentially getting his workers hurt, or condemning them to starve, because their job didn't exist anymore.

    He just couldn't do it.

    The microwave beeped, and Dan removed his reheated meal. Finding his long-neglected office chair and settling into it, he fully opened the heated container of the homemade meatloaf and dug in. The pleasant mixture of well-marinated meat, spices, and sauces managed to distract him for a few moments, but another worry crept into the void it created.

    Hopefully there weren't any surprise inspections until then. Normally it was a safe bet not to expect one for a couple of weeks, but given his current run of luck…

    As if on some twisted cue, the office's door abruptly opened. Dan almost dropped his fork as he looked up to see the interloper. They weren't expecting visitors, right?

    He didn't personally hate many inspectors. They were just doing their job, after all, and an important one at that, but at a glance he could tell this inspector was the worst kind.

    If she'd ever worked in this industry, it had been a long time ago. Judging by the cut of her coat she wasn't particularly fat, but she certainly wasn't in peak shape. Still, she strutted in like she owned the place, a look of complete confidence plastered across her face. That was a dangerous combination in any situation.

    The door remained open as she stormed in, another woman timidly following her. The attitude she was projecting was the polar opposite of her partner, her wide eyes darting around the office without ever meeting his gaze. A long, ragged scar broke her smooth, caramel-colored skin, stretching from just below an eye, crossing her nose, before fading away at her cheek. It could have been a car accident, but considering current events...

    Was he wrong about the newcomers? He couldn't dare hope.

    "Can I help you?" He asked, his tentative optimism carefully hidden.

    "Yeah," the confident one replied, her frazzled hair bobbing as she nodded, "I think so."

    "The name's Harmon." She spoke up. "Sorry to disturb your lunch, but we figured this was the best time."

    "...and why is that?" He asked, a bit of frustration creeping into his voice. The newcomers probably weren't inspectors, which was good, but he only had thirty free minutes here!

    "Right." The woman started, gesturing towards her scarred compatriot. "This is Hesti Tirto. She recently escaped from Indonesia, and hired me to help her find a relative that got out before she did."

    "He works here?" Dan guessed, turning his attention back to his meatloaf.

    "Exactly." She confirmed, "Do you know Tirto?"

    Dan's brow furrowed, stealing another bite of meatloaf as he tried to match the name to the face. He'd hired over a hundred workers for this project alone, but the name was familiar. Something about not having a surname...

    "Yeah..." He finally replied. "Older guy, a bit shorter than most? Good attitude, if I remember right."

    "Does he look like this?" She asked, holding an image of the man up on her phone.

    "Yeah." He confirmed, not paying the image much attention. Instead, he looked over to the second visitor and addressed her. "You here to see him?"

    The young woman stared blankly back at Dan, perhaps unfamiliar with parsing his boston accent, before recognition dawned and she suddenly nodded.

    "Yes… Yes!" She nodded emphatically. "It has been over a year! I wasn't sure he was alive!"

    Come to think of it, this newcomer kind of reminded him of Elizabeth.

    "Okay…" He tempered, nodding. He wasn't going to waste his lunch on some unannounced visitors, but he'd seen this kind of situation more than he'd like to think about. He couldn't imagine how he'd feel if he'd gotten separated from his boys during the La Palma attack. Surely, knowing his… daughter, he assumed, was safe would take a big weight off Tirto's shoulders.

    Thankfully, he didn't have to choose between a good break and helping an employee.

    "Hey, Thomas!" He clipped, interrupting his manager's work. He'd been ignoring the visitors, hiding in whatever work he was doing on his laptop, but he looked up now that Dan's call had dragged him into the situation. Once he'd gotten Thomas's attention, he continued. "You know Tirto, right? Top floor of building two?"

    For a moment, a developing accusation formed in his features, but instead he nodded.

    "Yeah, I can lead them there."

    The responsibility successfully pawned off to someone else, Dan ignored the three as they collected the needed PPE. It didn't need to be his problem anymore. Thomas would keep them from doing anything dangerous, while he focused on his biggest priority:

    Lunch.

    - - -

    The break couldn't have come soon enough. Feeling like she'd come ashore after weeks of beating attackers away from a convoy, the mentally exhausted carrier stumbled into the nearest line without checking what food truck it was connected to. While she waited, the majority of her crew combed throughout the hull, inspecting it for the damage caused by the day's work.

    It wasn't good.

    After enough time fighting with the concrete vibrator, a deep, low ache settled throughout her entire being. Damage was minor, but everywhere. Electricians were finding damaged wiring in every deck, which was bad because some of her firefighting systems had also gone down.

    Her machine shop, hold, galley, or anywhere something was stored atop a table or shelf had been reduced to chaos as her crew focused on either securing everything they could or cleaning up where that had failed. Repairs on her deck had halted, of course,

    Her delicate aircraft had been more-or-less destroyed by the shaking. Well, she assumed that, because investigating her air wing was near the bottom of her priorities. Anyone there was focused on dealing with a leaking fuel line. Thankfully, she wasn't storing any ordinance there, and what she did have had been secured enough in her magazines that catastrophe had been avoided.

    The most worrying news had come from her boiler room. The loosening effect of the vibration had started a few steam leaks, killing an unlucky engineer and warning of what could happen if she continued using it. She wanted to start two more boilers (running them at lower pressure, if possible) and secure the current one, but it would be hours before the other boilers were properly inspected and could build up enough steam to replace the current one.

    She needed to find some sort of excuse to avoid the vibrator tomorrow. How could you even do that?

    Rejected title: Trin vs the Vibrator

    Yeah, I strained my wrist and can't use my right arm for typing anymore, so this chapter came out a bit slowly. That isn't stopping me from writing, but it is slowing me down, so fingers crossed that I can wrap this arc up before I ship out.

    AN's gonna be short because of that, hope you liked it!
     
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    • Poor Trin! Shipgirl physics are weird, but if you scale things up to battleship size this is basically a sustained earthquake.
     
    BBM said:
    Would that normally mean that the task with heavy vibration would be switched around often, so that everytime it has to be done that it is done by a different person?
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    In theory? Yes.
    In practice? No.

    It's normally done by "whoevers available, but is allso not a specialist."

    So, for example, you're not likely to see an electrician doing it, even if their actual job is unable to prproess. (for example, awaiting materials, or an inspection)

    This tends to mean "general laborers" get the shitty end of the stick.
     
    Honestly, given just how many kilometers of electrical cables and avgas lines are running through a pseudo-Essex like Trinitite, I think that they might have an even more interesting story for any inspector who does show up.

    "No, we still don't know how it happened. One moment, Elizabeth was using the concrete vibrator. Then all of a sudden, FIREBALL. The darndest thing is that we looked over the vibrator afterwards and couldn't find any signs of a fault..."
     
    Yep I think the thing here with Trin? Kind of like what you see in humans with prior injuries getting worsened by continuing hard work! For humans who are in sport as football for instance you bench them until they had healed else you risk permanent injury or worse for some injuries. Just n common sense eh? Trin being already injured in a labor intensive at times job like this? Whelp...no longer was Trin "properly" braced inside due to battle damage and it was as surprising for her as for us the moment it happened...
    Annoyed Catholic threw 1 6-faced dice. Total: 2
    2 2
     
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    48: Interrupted
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    • She… wasn't sure what she was looking at.

    She knew its name, of course, but she neither understood what 'spam' or 'musubi' was. The majority of the brick-shaped food was rice, prepared in such a way that it stuck together as a rectangular block. It accompanied a perfectly-rectangular slice of the smoothest meat she'd ever seen, it's edges charred black from the cooking process. It was secured to the rice by a long, dark band of… leaves? It was oddly familiar, reminding her of something she'd seen back on Bikini, but she couldn't quite resolve the memory.

    "So, Sern." Tirto started, looking up from a food Trinitite didn't recognise. "You're looking for another job?"

    Sern was busy chewing, but gave a loose nod.

    Surprise halted the musubi in front of Trinitite's mouth, the carrier's eyes widening despite herself. Sure, she didn't feel particularly loyal to McAlley Construction Group, but she wasn't even human! The idea that an abyssal would even plan at leaving their fleet, let alone nonchalantly admitting it in conversation, was unthinkable!

    "Need to get away from us, huh?" Alton asked, but his teasing tone took the edge out of the accusation.

    Of course, if an abyssal had said she was leaving her fleet, the response also wouldn't have been so casual. Now that she was thinking about the issue, however, it made perfect sense that changing fleets like this wasn't a major event. Trinitite herself wasn't planning on staying in this fleet forever, so why would she expect the humans to?

    Deep, she was confusing fleets and families again!

    "Oh, not at all!" Sern denied, enthusiastically shaking his head. "My parents found a home in another state, so I'll be moving out with them to help them pay for it."

    "Where are they going?" Alton asked. Trinitite's attention started to wane, as she took a bite of her meal. The important information was that Sern was leaving, which made things a bit easier for Trin. Of everyone she worked around, the Malasian had given her the most attention, so seeing him go was going to make life here a bit easier.

    "Moscow." Sern replied, as the abyssal focused on her mouthful of lunch.

    Like the jerky, this meat had been treated until it was unrecognizable from the original meat. The meat's salty savor complemented the rice nicely, but the chemicals left her thirsty despite the meal being not particularly dry.

    "Moscow?" Alton echoed, the incredulity in his voice pulling Trinitite away from her food. Was it in Hawaii or somewhere equally dangerous?

    "Uhh, in Idaho, not Russia." He clarified. "I'd prefer a town with a more original name, but I haven't been the one trying to get out of the refugee camp."

    She recognized Idaho from her stolen charts, as one of many 'states' that formed the American Fleets. If the distance had been water, it wasn't that far away, but when it comes to practical land distances she had no idea.

    "Looking forward to getting out of the barracks?" The third member of her work team spoke up. "Your internet friends will probably hear you better when you don't have to whisper everything."

    Trinitite quietly took another bite of her meal, thinking about that new information. She wasn't surprised that you could use the internet like an open channel, but the how, again, eluded her. The focus given by her research list was useful, but perhaps she should spend some time just… exploring when she had the computer later today.

    "I wasn't that loud," Sern asserted, "was I?"

    "Your keyboard was." Tirto replied, but he was looking at Trinitite. "You can't imagine the clicking."

    The abyssal hadn't seen a human blush before, but Sern's reddening face was probably one of those.

    Seeing his target's flustered reaction, Tirto's tone shifted. "At least you don't snore, like-"

    "Bapak!"

    At the unknown woman's shout, Trinitite's rangefinders snapped towards her, along with everyone in her group.

    There were two newcomers, their uniquely-colored helmets marking them as visitors. One wasn't moving, leaving the Wo-class's attention to focus on the second.

    "Hesti?" Tirto breathed, his lunch forgotten as he stood. The other human had a similar skin tone as him, and an odd mark stretched across her face, but more importantly, she was staring back at Tirto as she approached.

    The Wo-class had never had an easier time reading a human's expression.

    She made the connection instantly. Part of the family Tirto had talked about, the one he'd thought he'd left in the south pacific, had escaped as well. He'd talked alot about his daughter, right? Was this her?

    As her coworker rose, his daughter broke into a jog, arms outstretched. Tirto did the same, and the distance between the two rapidly shrunk until they were in a tearful embrace.

    For several seconds, nothing was said, the two humans enjoying the comfort of each other's embrace. They'd been separated for… Trinitite wasn't sure how long, but Trinitite knew it would have been painful.

    There was… love, here, something she hadn't seen in humans before. She'd known it had existed, but hadn't seen what it had looked like until now.

    Pressure in her strained boiler rose slightly as she realised just how… similar it was. How often had Trinitite seen one of her sisters in this kind of embrace with her mother? How often had she buried her head in her princess's shoulder?

    Tirto's daughter straightened, words pouring out as she started to speak. It was a language that The Abyssal had never known, but Trinitite knew what the human was probably saying anyways.

    I wasn't sure I'd see you again.

    You're alive! So much has happened since I last saw you!

    Thank The Deep! We can go back to being a fleet again!

    Ever since she'd left Bikini, she'd been thinking of what she'd say to Jellyfish, after all.

    If she is still my princess.

    The traitorous thought entered her mind like an unexpected torpedo, a wave of sudden terror ripped up her keel, causing several casualties in her boiler room as additional steam leaks opened up in her active boiler.

    The scene before her was her goal, the planned culmination of everything she was doing here, but expecting it would be foolishly optimistic, wouldn't it? It was possible that the type of reunion she was watching wasn't in her future.

    She sniffed, adjusting her safety glasses to wipe condensation from her rangefinders. Tirto's daughter… the Wo-class wouldn't say she was lucky, but she at least had the guarantee that her parent would still love her if they found each other. What if, after finally meeting her princess and calling out to her, she only found herself staring down her 8-inch guns?

    She'd be sunk, defeated in more ways than one.

    She couldn't bear to look anymore. The conversation between the two continued, but Trin wouldn't be listening even if she did understand their language. A part of her was happy for her coworker, knowing that a problem he'd had since long before Trinitite had met him had been solved, and another was busy processing the fact that human relationships were this deep, but as she stared down at her lunch...

    She sniffed, her gaze settling on the odd, tan smear on her work gloves. Where had that come from?

    A moment of panic shot through her as she recognized her foundation. She could feel another tear sliding down her cheek, and knowing her makeup...

    Thankfully, everyone else seemed to be focused on the reunion. Trinitite hastily set her lunch aside, shooting up and quietly excusing herself. As long as she kept her head down, nobody should notice her slipping disguise, but she still needed to find somewhere private to correct her makeup.

    She sniffed again, ignoring the other visitor as she slipped down the scaffolding. Somewhere quiet to get her feelings under control wouldn't hurt, either.

    - - -

    These moments were what she lived for.

    It was a perfect story. Hesti, the woman who'd just barely dragged herself and her children from the tempestuous hell that had claimed her husband, had been desperate for news on a missing parent. In that desperation, she gambled what little wealth she could gather on Katie, the best private detective in the west. Weeks had passed, then months as the overworked sleuth had searched, determined to reunite the long lost relatives.

    Eventually, she'd done it, tracking him down to here and confirming The Contact's information within a couple of hours. Hesti had wanted to come immediately, obviously, and while Katie had to cover the exorbitant cost of flying her and her kids over, she didn't mind.

    With the stressful shitshow that was the other job she had here, she was more than happy to help with this one, and the feel-good blog posts about it would probably be much less… pointed then news coverage about a missing abyssal.

    The father and daughter pair separated slightly, speaking to each other in what she assumed was Javanese. Right now, there was no doubt she wasn't in their thoughts, but Katie knew that those two would never forget the name of the woman who got them back together.

    One of the construction workers Tirto had been eating with hurried past Katie, her face hidden by her helmet as she kept her head down. The detective only realized the worker was female when she sniffled, her form hidden by her bulky clothing as she hurried away. It was kind of nice to know the scene was touching others, as well, but the female coworker was a bit odd...

    She shrugged. It was 2022, of course there'd be women working here.

    Another mystery solved, Harmon turned her attention back to the pair. Things seemed to be slowing down between the two, so she started to walk forwards, eager to see what kind of person her quarry was.

    It wasn't often the object of your search was grateful you found them, after all.

    This chapter's a bit shorter, as I wasn't sure if I wanted to be a part of the last one or not. Still, I think it's just barely long enough to hold on it's own. There's enough going on here for a full chapter anyways, even if the wordcount is on the short side. Next chapter will be a bit longer anyways, and conclude Trinitite's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

    Thanks to Jessetheswift for betaing this one and a lot of the previous chapters, by the way.
     
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    Fencer - Terms of Surrender
  • Apocrypha
    • Omake: Terms of Surrender

    Trinitite glared down at her shaking right hand.

    Three days. She had been stuck using the concrete vibrator, for three days. The damage had built up quickly, and now...

    Her legs were stiff and slow after one of her shafts had been shaken nearly out of place. She had damaged pipes everywhere, and her right hand would not stop shaking! Never mind a battle, in her current state a squall would be enough to sink her.

    Work tomorrow would be incredibly challenging. She was certain the damage would drastically reduce her work speed and accuracy. There was no doubt in her mind that if she was not useful she would be kicked from the McAlley Construction Group fleet. No matter how kind they had been in giving her a chance.

    She could not continue to work effectively without supplies, and time to effect proper repairs. She could not acquire supplies with which to effect said repairs without putting in weeks or possibly months of work. She could in theory steal the supplies she needed to make proper repairs but in her current state and with the Navy no doubt alert for any clues to her whereabouts... The raid of the Fred and Myers fleet had been more luck than skill. She could admit that much to herself. And she was far closer to a Navy base now than she had been before. The chances of getting the supplies she needed and escaping were... not good.

    She had nothing but bad options. Closing her eyes she slumped back against a tree. There was one option. She had stumbled across it while researching the war her mother had fought in for the humans.

    Surrender. It was, an odd concept. For a conflict to end without sinking or fleeing. It was a bad idea. It wasn't safe. She was not human. Had in fact been taking part in a war against all of humanity. There was no way to know if she would be treated as prisoners are required to be treated. They might just sink her on principle. But she was tired, and damaged, and out of options that didn't end in a fight she had no way to win. Honestly, if she were to be involved in a battle now all she might be able manage would be to sink slowly.

    She passed orders to her crew.

    {}{}{}{} 7 AM next day

    Traffic stopped and moved aside. People gawked, or ran, or hid. She ignored it all as she continued her slow painful march towards the local Navy base. At a distance of eight blocks she was met be a small fleet of ship girls destroyers and cruisers and even an outdated battleship. All standing near enough to two blocks away. All of which had their guns aimed right at her.

    Her grip on the stick in her hands turned white knuckled as she came to a stop and waved it back and forth. The white t-shirt tied to the the end as good a message as she could send. Any imps not busy keeping her running stood on exposed bits of hull waving their own improvised white flags.

    With a deep breath Trinitite began to broadcast on all frequencies.

    "I am Wo-class carrier Trinitite. Last ship of the Cross-Roads Fleet. I," her voice caught but she pushed on, "I am here to offer my terms of surrender."

    The ship girls exchanged nervous looks and one spoke rapidly into a cell phone before one of the ship girls broadcasted a response.

    "What are your terms?"

    Trinitite licked her lips and took a deep breath before forcing herself to speak.

    "I offer to fully and freely disarm myself, under whatever supervision you deem necessary. I offer any and all information I have on other abyssal fleets. I will accept whatever form of imprisonment you deem necessary for the protection of the humans under your care."

    There was a longer delay.

    "And in exchange?"

    "Two, two things." Her chest felt tight, her range finders where misting over in spite of the clear weather, and she could no stop shaking.

    "If-" the words caught in her throat but she shook her head and forced herself to continue. If she was going to be sunk she would face it as her Mother had taught her. With her back straight and knowing she had done everything she could.

    "If the humans you protect decide that isn't enough. If they decide I have to be, be sunk... Let it be anything but the Fire, the nukes. Mother... I don't think I could take it. To be sunk the way she was." I had read so much about the Fire now. I didn't want to feel it. The thought alone was terrifying.

    "...And the second?"

    "I, please. I just, even if it's only once. Even for just a few minutes. Even if it's only over the phone, and she tells me-" Her throat seized up again, and she had to dash the tears from her eyes. "Even if she hates me, please, let me talk to Mother. Even just once before I sink. Please let me talk to Mother."
     
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  • Apocrypha
    • 49: No-Bake Cookies
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    • She was starting to miss real darkness.

    As the sun set over Mill Creek, light from vehicles, lining the roads, and filtering out of buildings, reflected off the clouds above and air itself to create the unnatural glow that characterized human territory. Normally, having a rough idea of what the terrain around her looked like was a boon, especially when her island's lights were off, but right now she wanted nothing more than to crawl into somewhere small and dark and just… rest, for a few days.

    That wasn't going to happen, of course, but she still felt like she needed it.

    On the bright side, she probably wasn't going to be using the concrete vibrator tomorrow. They'd finished pouring the columns on that building, a speed that had surprised even her supervisor. Additionally, with the crane down it was going to take a while to get all the rebar, formwork, and other materials up to cast the next floor, meaning she had a good amount of time to come up with an excuse before the vibrator reappeared.

    That's where the good news ended, however.

    The light from her eyes illuminated the half-eaten hamburger in front of her, the meal feelingly oddly unreal in the dim, tinted glow. That was a shame, because she wanted to take a moment to admire the last hamburger she'd be making in a while. She'd run out, cooking the last ones in that bag for herself tonight. She'd done a pretty good job this time, the crisp burgers retaining their juices and mingling well with the sauces and cheeses she'd tried, but now she was nearly out of food to distract her, the other problem was starting to creep into her consciousness.

    Tirto.

    Eager to avoid thinking about the issue, she took another bite of her hamburger, musing on how the ketchup mixed with the blue cheese vinaigrette as she searched for a cookbook. When she went to sleep tonight, she would no doubt have to confront the issue, and the interruptions in her watch schedule caused by the vibrator meant she needed sleep tonight, but Trinitite didn't want to deal with that issue yet.

    Opening to a random page in the notebook, she started to read through the recipe for a 'three cheese lasagna,' but it seemed like it needed an oven, which she didn't have on her. The abyssal flipped to another page in the book, but she didn't even bother reading the title. Trinitite did not have the mental energy to deal with an ingredients list that long.

    Flipping through another set of pages, the Wo-class settled on one last recipe, at the end of the book.

    No-Bake Cookies.

    She already had a bunch of cookies in her hold, but she decided to give this a try anyways. Something this basic seemed like a good step up from hamburgers, after all, and skimming through the directions showed that she didn't need anything she didn't have.

    Finishing her burger and licking the last sauce off her fingers, she brought the book closer to carefully review the directions. Thankfully, it was only a few sentences long, meaning it was fairly easy to memorize the whole thing. She'd have to guess what measurements like tablespoon and teaspoon were, but the pan she was planning to use had cup measurements on the inside, so she was guaranteed to get the recipe mostly right.

    So… first she'd need sugar, milk, butter and cocoa. The butter packets were thankfully labeled with measurements, down to the tablespoon. The cocoa powder she poured atop the mix should roughly equal what the recipe wanted.

    Opening the propane tank back up and lighting the grill, Trinitite started to stir the mixture with her finger. Now, she just had to wait for this mixture to boil.

    …

    She'd just discovered a problem with her plan.

    As the sugar dissolved into the darkening milk and the cube of butter slowly grew softer and less defined, the abyssal's thoughts once again wandered to places she did not want it to. However, she was just busy enough stirring everything together that she didn't really have a way to find another distraction.

    And so, despite her best efforts, the Wo-class's thoughts drifted back towards the events of today's lunch.

    It was great news, really, which is why her attitude towards it made her feel even worse. She should be happy about what it meant for Tirto, his daughter, and her daughters, she guessed, but Trinitite instead couldn't help but think about what that meant for her, just like all those princesses she hated.

    It wasn't even the thought that Saratoga might want her sunk that had her worried. Despite the initial burst of emotion she had grappling with that fact, it was a possibility she'd wondered about ever since she'd seen The Navy get to her princess. No, she could just… pretend that betrayal by Her Princess wasn't an option, because she already knew what she'd do if that was the case.

    She sighed, watching the first bubble rise to the top of the warming mixture. Did that mean it was boiling? No… it wasn't constant yet. From the heat filtering into her hand through her stirring glove, it certainly was close though.

    She would die, of course, and there wasn't any reason to dwell on that more than she needed to. Down that path lay more breakdowns like the one she'd had today.

    No, what she'd been trying to avoid came from another thought she'd had, while carefully trying to reapply makeup in the low-quality mirror of the construction site's portable head.

    Given that, somehow, everything from this point went exactly to plan, that she eventually tracked down Saratoga, confronted her without getting killed by the Navy, managed to get The Jellyfish Princess back, then miraculously escape from deep within the Navy base she'd slipped into, now with an abyssal princess in tow whose weather signature was very easy to track...

    ...Then what?

    The mixture had started to boil happily, and The Abyssal removed her overheated finger, sliding her glove off and shaking her hand to help it cool.

    If they went back to Bikini and started rebuilding the crossroads fleet, what the Wo-Class had originally considered the best outcome, they'd have a terrible supply shortage. What had survived Trinitite's spiteful sabotage had no doubt been picked clean by her deceitful neighbors. Deep, they might have recovered the corpses of her fleetmates before they'd deteriorated too much, breaking them down until they were just salvaged steel and machinery.

    The shame of having to crawl back to those who'd betrayed her and beg for supplies would be bearable. Something like that wasn't too uncommon in the abyssal fleets, after all.

    What was difficult to deal with was the realization of what helping other abyssals, even passive ones like the Supply Depot Princess, really meant.

    It would mean more people like Alton or Sern, forced to flee their homes as punishment for just living in the wrong place. It meant more people like Tirto and his daughter, Fleets shattered like her own was. It ment many less lucky humans, sunk thanks in part to her efforts.

    As a capital ship, she'd always been taught that at the end of the day, the most important ship to keep afloat was herself, but that didn't mean she wanted to help create more desperate situations like the one Tirto's daughter had been in.

    She couldn't think of anyone she wanted to wish that kind of forceful separation on. The princesses who'd betrayed Jellyfish deserve something horrible, sure, but she doubted they'd care if they lost everyone around them. She wouldn't lose many tears over something like this happening to one of the ships of The Navy or one of the Firbringers who'd destroyed her fleet, but there were much more straightforward ways of getting back at them. For someone who hadn't, and probably wouldn't hurt her at all, like Alton, Sern, or Tirto?

    Trinitite wouldn't blame herself for doing what she needed to to protect The Crossroads Fleet. Now? She wasn't so sure that was needed. She was surviving here, without hurting anyone else. It would be harder with Jellyfish's fog highlighting where they were...

    Her chronometer marked that one and a half minutes had passed. Gladly taking the distraction, she shut the propane, allowing the stove's flames to die on their own. Shifting the pan so it was over a cold burner, Trinitite slid her glove back on, grabbing a few handfuls of peanut butter and dropping it in. After that and an equally-rough measurement of oats, Trinitite grabbed the vanilla extract, turning it over for half a second and hoping that equated to a teaspoon.

    Compared to all her other problems, the lack of measuring equipment was a bit nice to have. At least this issue had an easy solution...

    She started to stir the pot again, mixing the rapidly-solidifying ingredients together. Once the texture seemed to even out, she flipped the griddle she'd been using to cook hamburgers. Now with the clean side exposed, she took a pinch of the mix, plopping it down on the griddle. You were supposed to place it on wax paper, but she didn't have any, and didn't really know what it would look like anyways.

    When she was done, the griddle supported a sloppy array of dark, uneven blobs, and her glove was coated with several layers of brittle, flakey cookie. That would be a pretty good place to start for a taste, right?

    Sliding the food-encrusted glove off, The abyssal started at a thumb, grabbing it with her teeth and scraping the caked-on mix onto her tongue.

    The taste was... surprisingly familiar.

    Trinitite didn't immediately recognize it, considering it was still hot and the only other time she'd tasted the flavor it had been in cool and creamy food, but as the cookie material dissolved in her mouth, she finally pinned it down.

    Chocolate!

    Eagerly cleaning off another finger of her glove, Trinitite dove into the no-bake cookie's unique taste, comparing it to the ice cream she'd had earlier. That would always hold a special place in her heart, but this…

    After the day she'd had, she'd needed this.

    For some time, the Wo-class focused on her creation, the rest of the world fading into the night around her. Eventually, however, the exhausted carrier ran out of cookies. For a moment she debated trying the cookies she'd stolen from Fred Meyers, but eventually decided against it. What had made the no-bake cookies special was that she made them, after all, and she did need the sleep.

    There was the issue of the pan and packing the materials she'd used back into her hold, however. The Pan itself was too caked in no-bake cookie to be used for anything else, and she wasn't nearly awake enough to scrape all the dried mix off. She didn't have issues putting away most of the materials, until she got to the opened bag of sugar, which didn't reseal for some reason? Unless she stationed someone in her crew to hold it together at all times, she couldn't really store it.

    Hmm, those both sounded like problems for tomorrow's Trinitite. Content with what she'd accomplished, the abyssal leaned back, snuggling into the raincoat she'd bunched up under herself and starting to drift to some well-deserved sleep.

    …Come to think of it, returning to Bikini and helping the fleets would also help drive humans towards using The Fire, wouldn't it?

    No! She needed to rest, not worry about… anything! Couldn't she think of something safe while she tried to sleep?

    Stupid, stupid Wo!

    - - -

    The man crept through the woods, enjoying the comfortable silence as he surveyed the trees around him. Despite avoiding any trail and being surrounded by thick, lush bushes, light from the town center allowed him to keep his flashlight off. Considering he just left the station, he wanted to give himself time to adjust to the darkness anyways.

    Unlike most night shifts, Officer Martin Bevan was enjoying himself. Between the staffing issues they'd been having for the last couple of years and the influx of desperate refugees, he normally had plenty to do at night. However, there was still the occasional time where the world's chaos forgot about Mill Creek, like the sleepy Tuesday night he was currently enjoying.

    Normally on nights like this, he'd grab a coffee and watch the traffic along a road, which was pretty dull work. Tonight, though, he had a refreshing change of pace in chance to spend some time outdoors.

    It probably wouldn't take too long. Two days ago, they'd gotten a complaint from a resident on Third Drive, reporting lights in the woods between their neighborhood and the police station. Putting his hunting skills to work, he'd investigated yesterday afternoon, finding a bunch of broken branches, trampled leaves, and a cozy clearing where some small remnants of food packaging could be found, confirming his suspicions.

    When it came to squatting on someone's private property, you could choose better locations than a quarter-mile from a police station, but he could see the reasoning behind it. Despite often arriving with nothing but the clothes on their backs, the war's refugees had driven rent prices even higher than they already were, and Mill Creek was a lot more pleasant than the swelling camps that were further inland.

    The sound of the trickling creek warned Martin of the unsteady ground ahead, and he activated his flashlight to watch his footing. The bubbling creek shimmered as he started to wade through, careful of his footing as water soaked into his boots.

    If NOAA was right, it would be swollen with new rain in the morning, becoming completely impassable. That was another reason he was moving now. Wednesday night had been too busy for him to check up on the squatter, but now he had to get him under a roof before the serious rain moved in and hypothermia became a problem.

    Whomever they were, they seemed to do a decent job cleaning up after themselves, so he doubted he was dealing with anyone dangerous. Just… unlucky. Because of that, Martin wasn't going to be too harsh on him. Wake him up, give him a warning, then take him back to the station and give him a ride to a homeless shelter. There was a church about fifteen minutes away who'd opened their doors for the storm, and they still had open space when he called, so as long as this guy was okay with getting preached at and sleeping on a few blankets, he should be fine.

    Hell, if he was nice enough on the drive over, Martin might point him towards the police academy!

    Wishful thinking, he knew, but they could use whomever they could get.

    As he'd suspected, someone was in the clearing. Resting the flashlight on his shoulder, he toggled it on, squinting to avoid spoiling his night vision too much.

    His breath caught in his throat as the flashlight danced over the squatter. He was a she, and a pretty great looking one at that. Martin was still pretty young, just past twenty nine, and if he had to guess this woman was only a few years younger than that. He gulped as his gaze traced over her shirt. Pretty... healthy, too.

    He suddenly closed his eyes, shaking his head. He was on the job, damnit!

    The woman was tall, wearing thick work boots and dirtied jeans. Her European features and very light skin gave less of a clue to her origin then Martin would have liked, although the rough white hair was pretty unique. Did she bleach it? Her skin was remarkably smooth, cleaner than he'd expected from someone in this small patch of wilderness. Overall, for a woman who lived in the elements, she'd kept herself remarkably clean.

    She was sleeping on her coat, something she would desperately need when the rain picked up in a few hours. Around her, a portable stove sat, a griddle and pan resting atop the dead burners. That would explain the lights, he guessed. At her side, a paper bag of sugar lay next to her, opened for the ants or rain to find. It probably had to do with the dark substance that coated the inside of the pot, but the lack of other cooking materials was… puzzling. He'd have to ask about it on the hike back to the station.

    Speaking of asking, he needed to stop gawking at the squatter and get her moving. The storm wasn't going to slow down for him, after all.

    "Hey." He murmured, nudging the woman's shoulder with a boot. "You okay?"

    "Mmph." She groaned, shifting in her coat.

    Making sure to keep the flashlight off the woman's face, the police officer waited for a few moments before nudging her shoulder again.

    "Are you alright, Lady?"

    "Hmm?" She drowsily replied, shaking her head. "Yeah."

    Placing a gloved hand over her face, she groaned, before lowering it and looking up at him with a pair of cold, glowing eyes.

    Martin's heart stopped, his mind skipping a gear as it suddenly shifted into fight-or-flight.

    He'd just woken up an abyssal!

    A few chapters ago, I heard people... accuse Trinitite's marines of competence. Let this incident and their complete inability to alert Trin reassure you that they are, in fact, terrible.

    Yeah, didn't expect to get this chapter out so quickly. It was just that this is one of those scenes that I've been really exited to write, you know? Hope you enjoyed.

    Anyways, no-bake cookies are great! It's one of the few recipes I can actually do! I highly suggest you look a simple recipe up and give them a try, if you have the required ingredients.
     
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    • The next few moments will be... interesting. Trinitite may try to play it cool, as in 'I am totally not an abyssal' and completely miss Martin's... anxiety (and also not realising she's given herself away).

    He plays along, because, well, the Abyssal not ripping you apart like a roast chicken RIGHT NOW, is a good thing... so don't upset the apple (or cabbage?) cart.

    This will be fun.
     
    Man, I'm wondering what will freak him out the most? Her being there for awhile, the fact that she's in arms reach, or just the fact that she responded way more politely than I ever have when someone woke me up.

    Also sort of grim that Trin's plan on if mom wants her dead is just the "Well, guess I'll die" meme.

    Given her discomfort with going back to waging war it really is looking like her Good End is building a new relationship with Saratoga while probably getting drafted into fighting other Abyssals.

    All in all a really interesting look into Trin's headspace and its interesting to see the dominos set-up in earlier chapters beginning to fall. I certainly don't mind the food fluff, but it does keep making me hungry.
     
    You know, the funny thing is that if Trin could get the necessary parts for the relevant repairs she could not only cook more complicated stuff for herself but could probably just become a one-woman food truck; given that her internals are still basically those of a long-hull Essex rather than some sort of Lovecraftian nightmare, that should include the galley, fridges, freezers and mess hall meant to serve a crew of several thousand three square meals a day.

    Would be funny if she ends up hijacking a shipgirl entirely to have some of their galley fairies come over and teach her galley imps how to cook better.
     
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