Imps are a class of abyssal seaplane. Some fanfics like Forgotten, Forsaken (E: and apparently the actual game) use the term to describe other abyssals like PT boats that are too small to be a ship but still have their own crews.
Imps are a class of abyssal seaplane. Some fanfics like Forgotten, Forsaken (E: and apparently the actual game) use the term to describe other abyssals like PT boats that are too small to be a ship but still have their own crews.
'Imp' is the term used for PT boats and Schnellboots, as well as shore installations (Pillbox, Artillery, and AA guns).
I didn't know that. I thought that they called the abyssal equivalent of a fairy an imp as sometimes that is what I read of them in fanfics. Do note that I NEVER played kancolle. I just like reading the fanfics.
 
86: Welcome Aboard
In what seemed to be a rare occurrence for this part of the world, the sun was out. The ocean, the endless expanse of blue Trinititie had avoided ever since she'd first set foot on American sand, expanded into the blue sky, the shimmer of white-capped waves dancing across its surface. Half an hour had escaped the carrier as she'd stared out from the town's northern jetty, fighting the temptation to abandon her disguise and dive into the nostalgic waters. She didn't, of course, shoes never straying closer to the water than the sand-sprinkled concrete of a desolate beach parking lot. Perhaps it had been a mistake to choose a refuge so close to the sea… but she'd missed its sounds, sights and smells.

Not that she could get this new job anywhere else.

Even in the sun, there was a gloom that permeated the commercial marina. Despite the Wo-Class's untrained eye, the piers felt crowded, the huddled boats' decaying paint jobs telling tales of neglect, fear, and uncertainty. There were exceptions, of course—she imagined some empty spots on the pier told tales of busy trawlers instead of… recent vacancies… but the impression overall was of a once-glorious fleet fallen into despair.

She… hadn't been prepared for such a distressing sight. Trinitite had to check her makeup to ensure tears weren't ruining her disguise.

Thankfully, the boat she was looking for wasn't in such a terrible state. The Lady Gollerus sat proudly at her pier, her name plastered in crisp white across her black bow. The trawler was slightly smaller than the Pacific Lilly, but still beat a hundred and fifty feet in length. Of the three trawlers sitting at the marina, she seemed to have the most displacement. While not immune to the miasma of despair that permeated the marina, she seemed to stand apart from many of the ships around her.

Hopefully, the obvious care the crew put into her extended to her internals, as well.

Becoming a fisherman… might not be Trinitite's smartest idea. She'd requested this interview before the Pacific Lilly went public, but now the idea of an abyssal on a fishing boat was fresh on humans' minds. Trinitite had wondered if she should really go through with the interview, but she'd burned practically all the Jack in the Box money she'd managed to extract from the various ATMs she'd encountered in the past couple of weeks already. She couldn't afford to miss the interview scheduled for today in the hopes that she could find another one before her funds dried up in just over a week.

Like after the Battle of Bikini, the Wo-class found herself trapped in a difficult situation, with no obvious way forward. She'd gotten better at acting human, but the government had several fleets dedicated to finding humans trying to hide.

The Police. The FBI. State Troopers (Researching that fleet had cast the memory of her ride to Seattle in a horrifying light). All of these fleets had been mentioned in the news, and she'd done some research into them, not liking her findings at all.

She'd managed to hijack the Pacific Lilly because the Navy hadn't had a plan for such a scenario. For these fleets, it was clear she needed to do something just as unexpected. Who would expect the abyssal to go back onto a fishing boat, when last time had ended so poorly? That would have to be one of the last places they'd check, right?

The logic… didn't feel great, but the logic that led her into human territory via the Lilly hadn't felt great either, and while the experience had taught her what the wrong side of a five-inch gun felt like she had survived it.

Plus, judging by the price of Ahi Tuna, fishing had to pay well. A part of her hoped that getting first dibs on the catch meant she might actually be able to afford it, but she desperately tried to suppress it. Survival came first. Juicy, flavorful, expertly-seared fish could come later.

The gangplank creaked as Trinitite stepped off the pier, the abyssal watching the Lady Gollerus's deck as she climbed. It seemed empty, which was odd. The interview had been scheduled for fifteen minutes from now, right?

Her walk slowed, the Abyssal hesitating at the end of the gangplank. The Trawler seemed to remain empty, her decks clear of anyone to grant her permission to come aboard. The Wo-class ended up stopping, awkwardly standing a step away from the trawler as she quietly rocked in the harbor's shifting tides.

Thankfully, the awkwardness only lasted a handful of seconds, the hatch built into the deckhouse swinging open to reveal her (hopefully) future employer.

"Come aboard!" The man shouted, his imposing frame crossing the deck deceptively quickly. She did so, finding with a start that she had to look up at the approaching human.

"You're early." He stated, holding a hand out for a shake. "That's good. Name's John. John Farrelly"

For the second, the abyssal hesitated, but only for a second. The news had described Sarah Yarnell as a quiet, shy woman. Allison Holt was nothing like Sarah Yarnell. With a surge of will, Trinitite smiled at her new boss, accepting the shake with carefully-controlled vigor.

"Allison Holt. It's great to be here."

John's grip was firm, even to the abyssal. Her facade's personality bode her to gently squeeze in kind. If she'd overdone the squeeze, the human didn't show it, but it was hard to read his features through the thick, coppery beard covering his jaw and cheeks. Honestly, being able to hide one's face behind a beard seemed so simple, compared to her complicated makeup routine. She was a bit jealous.

"Welcome to the Lady Gollerus." He turned away from Trinitite, motioning for her to follow him back into the deckhouse. "She's an independant offshore vessel, which is more common nowadays but is still pretty rare. We've got everything we need onboard to transform a school of fish into packaged, frozen filets for our customers here in Newport."

"Wow." The abyssal nodded, trying to remember everything she could from her self-guided tour of the Lilly. "I've worked on boats before, but nothing this advanced."

"She's nothing special." John dismissed, although the pride in his tone suggested otherwise. "The corporation that she used to work for was gonna sell her for scrap before I took her off their hands."

"Something wrong with her?" Trinitite asked.

"Manning." John explained, ducking as he stepped back into the deckhouse. "For one, the big companies aren't willing to venture outside the Navy's defensive umbrella, meaning their profits are dropping, and for the other there's a lot of sailors who started looking for a new career after the abyssals showed up. Trident had to cut operating costs, and some ships they could no longer crew seemed like a good place to start."

Trinitite's thoughts drifted back to the desolate pier surrounding them. She'd never been a steel hull, so while she relied on her crew, the thought of being abandoned by them was ridiculous! Not for ships like the Lady Gollerus. Unbidden, memories of the news report of the Pacific Lilly, trapped on a Warrenton pier, returned to her.

All steel hulls suddenly felt so much more… fragile. No wonder the princesses, all former steel hulls, had lost their sanity. The real question was why more of them hadn't. Worst of all, Trinitite could hardly blame the crews. The owners who were responsible for their helpless ships, sure, but the average sailor couldn't be blamed for assessing the risks Trinitite's kind posed and selecting a safer occupation.

In a twisted way, she was kind of thankful for their lack of loyalty. The very fear that moved them away from the ocean was what allowed Trinitite such an… opportunity.

John wasn't showing it, but he had to be desperate as well. Sure, the troubles the biggest fleets in the business were facing were what allowed him to get the Lady Gollerus, but he was facing the same problems.

"You having any trouble finding sailors?" She asked. John might not have heard her, because he didn't answer as he led Trinitite into another compartment.

"Here's the office." John reported, waving across a cramped compartment. "I try to spend as little time as possible here, but when we need to get business done, we do it here."

Between the two desks, two computers, and three chairs, there was hardly enough room for Trinitite and her prospective boss. The human grunted as he sat himself behind one of the computers, motioning for Trinitite to sit on the opposite side of the desk. The Wo-class followed his lead, ignoring the spikes of pain that flashed in her ribs as her aft landed in her seat.

"So," he started, scooping a paper from the desk and idly scanning it, "why do you want this job?"

Trinitite braced herself, selecting a reply from the dozens she'd drafted to get her through this interview. She was trying to act like a friendly, social, and outgoing human, and wasn't any of those, so the best method she could think to offset the personality mismatch was through preparation.

Hopefully she'd covered all her contingencies.

"Well," she started, "back home, before the war, my mom owned a boat to travel between islands, and I had to do a lot of work on it to keep it running."

John's eyebrows raised, but he nodded. Her story seemed like it was working.

"Now," She continued, tilting her head, "I'm between jobs, I see your craigslist ad, and I remember how much I miss the ocean!"

"What did you do at sea?" John pressed, his face neutral. Pressure ticked upwards in Trinitite's steam system, but the abyssal switched smoothly to another prepared line.

"Well, we did some fishing, nothing as fancy as this, but I helped around everywhere on the boat. Did some work on the engines, helped with navigation, maintained the radar-" She suddenly stopped herself, remembering some of her research into modern technology. "Er- it was an old analog unit, so I don't know if I could help with the sensors the Lady Glouster has."

"Can you cook?"

"Erm-" Trinitite paused, caught off guard by her potential employer. She hadn't prepared for that question. "I can follow a recipe…"

"Alright." John nodded, seemingly mollified. "One question, then."

The printed resume drifted back to the desk, the employer clasping his hands on the desk and fixing Trinitite with a flat, expressionless gaze.

"Commercial Fishing was one of the deadliest jobs in America, before the abyssals appeared. We'll be going pretty far from the wire, so if anything finds us out there there will be no guarantee that help will arrive in time. Did you hear about the Pacific Lilly?"

The name struck the Wo-class with what almost felt like physical weight, but forced herself to keep her face neutral.

"Ye- yeah…"

"They got very lucky." The human continued, his expression still unreadable. "The next abyssal that finds a fishing boat won't be another Trinitite. They will kill you. It's happened hundreds of times over the past two years."

Despite the fact she'd already considered the possibility, Trinitite felt a surge of trepidation. Getting sunk by another abyssal after all of this would be… extremely unfortunate, but she had assessed the risk. Hawaii was back in American hands, and with their current focus on Australia there was little chance an abyssal coalition would turn their attention back towards the US for a few more months. There was a window where the oceans around the US were going to be very safe, even ignoring the Navy's presence. Judging by the price of fish and the rates the online ad offered, that window should be more than enough to get her that badly-needed refit. The trick was knowing when that window was about to close, but as long as she kept an eye on the news, or as long as she resigned once she had enough resources to start the refit, she shouldn't be in any major danger.

"I… know, sir." She asserted.

"Just call me John." The human replied, his facial hair still obscuring his expression.

"Yes- er, aye, John." Trinitite nodded. "I barely survived my last encounter with abyssals, and most people I knew didn't. I know what they're capable of."

"Why do you want to be on my boat, then?"

Once again, Trinitite was off guard. She'd prepared a line for this question too, right? Where was it?

"There are plenty of smaller boats looking for crew that stick to safer waters." The human added, clarifying his question. As if that verbal prodding was all she needed, the answer she'd planned finally clicked into place for Trinitite.

"The Craigslist ad mentioned private quarters."

"That's not entirely true." John hummed. "The Lady Gollerus is designed for a crew of 17. With you, we'll be up to seven. If three more people sign on, some folks will have to start sharing cabins."

"I understand." She replied, but Trinitite wasn't really worried. If the human gave every prospective crewmember the same speech about the Pacific Lilly, then she probably wouldn't have to worry about things getting too crowded aboard.

"I've got another new hire coming on board tomorrow at eleven." He announced, leaning in his seat to withdraw a handful of papers from the desk. "Show back up here at eleven thirty. Once I've accepted or rejected her, I'll be giving you both a tour then."

Did that mean she had the job? Was that it? No interrogation into the type of systems she worked on, and for how long? Sure, that information was in her resume (there wasn't much else to fill the page with), but she figured he'd at least want to interrogate her a little more.

Her guess must have been correct. John might be good at hiding it, but he really must have been desperate for crew.

"Until then, here's some paperwork to make everything official." The papers landed with a thud in front of Trinitite, followed by the clatter of a pen landing atop it. "Pay is 75 a day once we set sail, plus a five percent commission on any product we sell."

The prospect of subjecting herself to some boring, tedious paperwork would normally have her somewhere between despair at having to write so much by hand and anger at humanity's insistence to bury so many things in documents, but both feelings were overwhelmed by two magical words:

Five percent.

That, above any other reason, was why she was taking this job. It was the primary factor that outweighed the dangers of going back to sea on a fishing vessel, and was why she was here in Newport in the first place.

She needed money, quickly and in large volumes. The market price for any kind of fish was ridiculously high. Even in the online ad, John admitted the Lady Glouster would be ranging farther out then what was safe, which meant even more potential fish for the Wo-class to profit off of! To top it all off, she was uniquely suited to knowing the risk was especially low this month, with the majority of American forces in Hawaii and the majority of abyssal forces in the south.

Five percent! It made every other benefit feel like a trivial convenience in comparison. With that kind of income a refit became a very real possibility!

She just needed to start working through this paperwork. Name… Allison Holt. Birth date… October 8th, 2002. SSN? She didn't have one, but she did have plenty of paperwork 'proving' she was a legitimate asylum seeker in the United States, along with a work permit. She'd go back and figure that out after everything else was done.

Address?

"Uhh…" she started, looking back up to her new boss. "I… don't really have an address yet. Would it be okay to sleep on the ship?"

The look John gave had her fighting the urge to look away, but after a second of contemplation he finally nodded.

"I'll… be showing your quarters after this, then." He grumbled. "Don't overuse the water, we won't be able to make any more until we leave port."

"Oh, thank you!" She nodded enthusiastically, leaning back into her paperwork. Trying not to make her question seem too desperate, she carefully prodded her new employer. "When will that be?"

"Saturday, if everything works out." He provided, the keyboard's clicking filling the compartment with a steady noise. "The plan is to be back by Christmas."

Trinitite nodded. That… was a lot sooner than she'd hoped for! The largest flaw in her plan- at least, the largest she didn't have an easy answer for- was the issue of stretching her resources out until they went underway. If she stuck to a sustainable ration rate, she could hold things together for another 8 days, longer if she was willing to ration food and let some maintenance slip again. She knew from experience how painful catching up was and how dangerous staying behind could be, so the fact she didn't have to do that was a relief.

Now, what to do with the extra money?

The obvious answer was to save it as a reserve, but she had other options. While out at sea, she'd be trapped in close quarters with other humans. If she bought enough food in her hold, she could secretly supplement the human-sized meals she got from this ship's galley to make sure she wasn't eating suspiciously much. Another option would be splurging on something before going out to sea, as she could certainly use something special after the terrible couple of weeks she'd had, but she ruthlessly suppressed the temptation. Comforts could come after she'd completed her voyage.

As the Wo-class continued to wade through the paperwork, pausing her writing to get gruff explanations from John, she found that even the methodical grind of pen on paper failed to dampen her mood. Whether it was the prospect of going back out to sea, getting some money, or finally being able to start working towards that refit…

Trinitite felt she was back on course.

- - -

"Thank you again!" The woman called, waving back over the gangplank. "I'll be back in an hour!"

John waved back, silently cursing the girl as she walked down the pier. He didn't really have an opinion on the new hire, the first impression she left hadn't been negative in the slightest, but her appearance was just so… inconvenient. Yes, he absolutely could use her- she seemed like someone adaptable and with a wide skill set, but most importantly another body who could man any position was amazing news for everyone's sleep schedules… however…

He hated looking a gift horse in the mouth, but why did the last minute hire have to be a woman?

He sighed, shaking his head as Allison disappeared into Newport's streets. Put that way, the complaint seemed childish and sexist, but it really had nothing to do with that. Not directly, at least. He knew people who would press that accusation, if they were aware of the deal he was cursing now.

All real anger was directed at himself. He should have gotten better at telling his daughter 'no' a long time before things came to this, instead of making that stupid promise. If he had a little more faith in his peers, perhaps he could have deflected her onto a smaller boat, perhaps a nearshore trawler where things were safer, but there wasn't any ship he'd trust his little girl on but the Lady Gollerus.

His phone happily buzzed in his pocket, driving the spike of worry deeper into his gut. It vibrated again as he fished the phone out of his pocket, dejectedly opening the messaging app.

Good Afternoon
1334


I found someone to keep you company on the boat. Welcome aboard.
1334


Meet me at the Lady 11:00
1335

Rly?
1342

Thanks
😂
1342

Love you so much!
1342


John sighed, a lingering fear wrapping its tendrils around his stomach. He'd gone outside the Navy's protection dozens of times, and had never faced any danger, but the thought of bringing her out there, that she'd be so eager-

With effort, he straightened his spine, focusing on the empty and neglected trawlers surrounding his lady. A lot of his men were counting on a good haul. He didn't know much about Allison, but it was a safe bet to assume she was as well. Nobody signed onto the Lady Gollerus over another boat unless they thought they needed to venture out into the more dangerous- and more profitable- waters. He wouldn't deny them that just because his daughter had convinced him to come aboard. He looked back to the phone, tried to banish his fears of the worst, and texted his daughter back:

Love you too, Kay.

...And this chapter's done! For some reason, this one was fairly hard to translate from imagination into words. I'm not entirely happy with how the chapter wrapped up, but rereading it I can't find anything obvious to change either. Maybe in a month or two I'll revisit this chapter and it'll all make sense. Maybe it's just the residual cringe from adding an Emoji to this story's text, but I can't really argue against it not being there, so...

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Not much I can talk about without divulging creative decisions/spoiling characters I've just introduced, so I'll leave the AN's here.
 
The next abyssal that finds a fishing boat won't be another Trinitite.
Your sense of irony remains on point.

Five percent of the frozen meat from a processed ahi tuna looks like it works out to roughly $40/fish at current retail prices. It's not clear how high "ridiculously high" is, but the producer in post-Abyssal America is probably getting somewhat more than the retailer did before.
 
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I know people were skeptical about doing one more arc, but a fishing boat is great. It will be completely different from the previous jobs. Genius idea.
 
Oh, that's interesting !
It seem that Captain John had a deal with his daughter; that if a women was included in the crew she could come (probably so she could share cabin with another woman)
It would be fun to see Trinitite interact more closely with another woman as she mostly had relation with men/guys so far.
 
I am now expecting this arc to end with an Abyssal threatening the boat and Trinitite willingly shedding her disguise to protect them.

Question: is Trinitite getting the boat's name wrong deliberate? Either by author or character? John consistently calls her Lady Gollerus, but a few times Trin uses Lady Glouster instead.

I also wonder if the Lady has any degree of ship-spirit, and if so how she'll take having an Abyssal aboard.
 
Oh man, that would be so amazing if the fishing ship start sinking in a storm and Trinitite has to save the crew by Unleashing Bote and taking them aboard.
I'd note in her present conditions she's probably not seaworthy enough to weather a proper storm, so while she may pull some superhuman feats of strenght, she'd probably have to rely on the lifeboats/liferafts like the rest of the crew.

Then getting picked up by the coast guard and processed... Probably get a better impression of them than she's got of the Navy.
 
I'd note in her present conditions she's probably not seaworthy enough to weather a proper storm, so while she may pull some superhuman feats of strenght, she'd probably have to rely on the lifeboats/liferafts like the rest of the crew.

I wasn't thinking shortly after leaving port, more like towards the climax of the arc when she's managed to get a bit of her repair work done.
 
I wasn't thinking shortly after leaving port, more like towards the climax of the arc when she's managed to get a bit of her repair work done.
The ship is undermanned, she's signed on as a generalist and she's the new hand.
She's going to get worked to the bones.

I seriously doubt she'll be able to do much repair work done while at sea.
 
Nothing bad happens. Until stray feral I-class lock on to the carrier near by and start following her around as a defensive screen. They just want hugs. Like puppies with torpedoes and depth charges.
 
Oh man, that would be so amazing if the fishing ship start sinking in a storm and Trinitite has to save the crew by Unleashing Bote and taking them aboard.

Trinitite has now been demoted from carrier to life raft.

It's going to be quite the sight for whoever is answering the distress call. Damaged Wo class, a sailor on each arm, four more on her individual hat tentacles, one clinging to her back, and the rest sitting on her hat.
 
I wasn't thinking shortly after leaving port, more like towards the climax of the arc when she's managed to get a bit of her repair work done.

The ship is undermanned, she's signed on as a generalist and she's the new hand.
She's going to get worked to the bones.

I seriously doubt she'll be able to do much repair work done while at sea.
As I understand it, time hasn't been what's keeping Trinitite from repairing herself; it's resources and facilities that have kept her just short of sinking on dry land. She's not going to eat the boat, so she's still out for resources, and the middle of the ocean is generally not a good place to find dockyards.
 
Or the trawler runs into a good old fashioned storm and gets into distress...
Cold, dark and far from help. I've seen that episode. They did everything right and the dog still didn't make it.
The ship is undermanned, she's signed on as a generalist and she's the new hand.
She's going to get worked to the bones.

I seriously doubt she'll be able to do much repair work done while at sea.
This ship has a full processing unit onboard. They're all generalists.
 
I see two (amusing) ways this could go:

1) The trawler runs into a small abyssal patrol (like a single destroyer or so), which means death for the fishing ship... unless a certain Wo goes and flashes her guns at the abyssal in question.

Trinitite: "I can resolve this problem... but everybody's going to have to get *real* cool with a few things first."

2) The boat takes on one last crewmember just before leaving port... who turns out to be former crew of the Pacific Lily. (The name 'Kay' rings a bell, but I haven't looked back through the early chapters to check just yet).

[New crewmember]: "Oh, not *this* again..."
 
The Launchday Gift
When Alex found the painting, he had been surprised, he had never even noticed Sarah, Trinitite apparently, painting on canvas. He wondered how she had even done the tiny details. The painting, even if it contained several Abyssals, was kind of beautiful. Looking closely, he noticed she had even signed it with her real name. He noticed the box next to it, already addressed to a Saratoga, and a note wishing her a happy 99th Launchday.

Alex returned to the painting, it was of an idyllic island. It had a larger shipgirl, presumably Saratoga, in the center, with Trinitite and two others, undoubtedly her sisters, sitting next to her. And a whole bunch of smaller ones. Destroyers maybe? Smiling as they surrounded the carriers. It looked like a happy family all around.

Looking it up, it didn't take long for Alex to find out that Saratoga's launchday had been on the 7th of April. Already 3 days ago. Trinitite had clearly intended to mail the painting to her, but never had the chance to, with her having to go on the run once again.



Alex had hesitated for awhile, before calling the number Ms. Yarnell, Saratoga, had given him. She had told him she wouldn't be able to come and get it herself, which was why he was now meeting with a shipgirl that looked very similar to Saratoga and another shipgirl that actually reminded him somewhat of Trinitite herself.

"You're Lexington, right?" Alex asked, addressing the shipgirl looking like Saratoga, he then turned towards the other shipgirl "I have no idea who you are, sorry."

"She's aunt Lexie indeed", the Trinitite lookalike confirmed, "I am Shangri-La. You said something about a painting Trinitite made for mother's launchday?"

"This one", Alex confirmed, handing over the painting.

"She didn't paint Sarah as an abyssal", Lexington realised as she saw the painting, "how close did she even get to us back then?" Lexington knew, after all, that Trinitite couldn't have seen Saratoga as a shipgirl at any other moment than shortly after she became one.

"I wonder if we can convince her to paint a group picture of mother, aunt Lexie, aunt Vickie and all our sisters", Shangri-la mused, "that was pretty damn good artistry."



The two shipgirls left with the painting, and the promise that it would get to where it was meant to go.
 
Interlude: A Report and an Argument
"A fisherman?" Nashville repeated, "I… should have guessed that."

"That's an incredibly risky move." Murray provided, idly scratching his jawline. "She has to assume we'd be willing to sink the fishing trawler if she's caught aboard it."

"Does she?" The light cruiser questioned. "Maybe she's guessed we need her alive."

"I don't know." The spook shook his head, his gaze still interrogating the handout in front of him. "I assumed she'd be the type to operate with the worst case scenario in mind, but she wouldn't be going out if that was the case."

A moment passed, the bustle of Murray's men packing up just outside the Lieutenant Commander's office filling the silence.

"Maybe she just likes the pay." Agent Peters finally added, the mustached fed shrugging thoughtfully. He'd brought the file to them personally, so they could discuss it in more detail. As the last civilian of their team still in Washington, he'd chosen to hand-deliver the report they were mulling over.

"That… could be a part of it." Nashville's boss replied. "If she's desperate for money, then this is a relatively quick way to get it."

"Why would she be desperate for money, though?" Nashville asked. A part of her was already floating several potential answers, but she didn't have the time to weigh any possibilities before the Agent interrupted.

"You're overthinking things." Peters provided, continuing before Nashville could object. "Ferguson thinks she wants to extract. This is the easiest way for her to get out of human society. We need to intercept her when she does."

A part of Nashville jumped at the news that she'd finally be doing something, but the reaction was surprisingly muted. Before she could contemplate her feelings, the Spook objected.

"She's not going to try to… extract. There's nowhere for her to go."

"There's nowhere for her here, either!" The FBI Agent snipped.

The light cruiser wanted to agree with the fed, but… that didn't make any sense. No matter how little progress she was making, turning tail and running to any of the other princesses- that she hated- would undo what little she had accomplished. You didn't have to be the Lieutenant Commander to know Trinitite wasn't the kind of ship to give up like that. Nashville's thoughts drifted back to the encounter at the Lilly. Hell or high water, Trinitite was committed to finding Saratoga.

"Is there? She's found a job, and doesn't seem to have caught onto us yet. Her wages probably aren't much, but they're more than she'd get if she threw herself to the mercy of a random abyssal princess. She started building a life for herself here once already, but-"

Murray's eyes flicked to hers for a moment and something seemed to change in his posture. His argument trailed away, before he sighed.

"That being said, I understand the need for a contingency. Nashville, are you up to tail the trawler?"

Tail the trawler? That… sounded pretty good, but something about that proposition bothered her.

"From just over the horizon, I'd sink Trinitite ten times out of ten, but we need her alive, right?"

The spook nodded darkly.

"That's correct. Trinitite's sinking is functionally the same outcome as her defecting to another fleet."

"Defecting?" Peters echoed, an eyebrow raising skeptically.

"Her loyalty is to The Crossroads Princess." Murray stated. "She has no allies out there."

Peters didn't look convinced, but didn't object.

"...I'm happy to go out, just in case, but I don't think we can arrest her out there." Nashville continued. Part of her loved the idea of being among the waves again, finally confronting her rival on the open seas once again, but she wouldn't let her ego blind herself to the mission and its ramifications.

"Hmm, you made your point, I guess." Peters relented, making no attempt to hide his displeasure. "I don't think Ferguson will see it, though."

Murray shrugged.

"I'll pass his recommendation along with ours when we meet Admiral MacKey, but I'll be warning against it."

"As will I." Nashville concurred. A part of her worried about being in lockstep with the spook, she wanted this resolved as soon as possible after all, but the plan the civilians were proposing felt… dangerous.

"Is that it?" Agent Peters growled, frustration woven into his voice. "There's too much collateral damage on land, and we can't take her alive at sea? What plan would you suggest, then?"

"We need more time." Murray asserted. He'd done so countless times over the course of these wild weeks, and judging by Peters' tired expression, it wasn't getting any more convincing. "Let her mental state settle. Figure out her new contacts, the kinds of people she will associate with. Have an undercover agent infiltrate her group, then, once she's comfortable, propose ter-"

"Alright. 'More time.'" The agent might have scoffed, but remained quiet as stood. "I'll be sure to pass that recommendation to my superiors. Have a good day."

With that, the wiry FBI agent turned and left.

The two officers watched Agent Peters leave in silence. The agent's curtness bugged the light cruiser, but unlike most of her other civilian colleagues his naked frustration was something she could relate to. The man was a homicide investigator, right? He was probably thinking about everything else he could be accomplishing back at Quantico instead of watching a random Wo.

Nashville understood that feeling. She understood it more with every piece of news that trickled in from the war, every message she got from her sisters on the front, and with every thought of those remote, mysterious islands in the South Atlantic.

But…

The light cruiser allowed her composure to crack, slouching back in her chair as a sigh reverberated in the small office. There really shouldn't be any 'but' to it. Trinitite's feelings were outweighed by the fact she needed to be subdued yesterday, and the fact it hadn't happened yet was a source of burning shame that continued to fester.

However… as the last two and a half weeks had shown, things were more complicated than that.

- - -

The meeting in the hotel's conference room, and the conversation she'd had with Murray before, continued to reverberate in Nashville's mind even hours later. Part of it was having not much to do- she'd been wandering around the hotel, trying to be useful, but besides moving a couple boxes she didn't accomplish much. Eventually, either to feel like she was contributing or to distract herself from how horrible Trinitite's public reveal was going, she eventually fell back on one of the oldest tasks in the military: the food run. Yes, that was a job better suited to lower enlisted, but she just needed to get away from… everything, for a couple hours.

First, there was the Katie revelation. It was probably good that she hadn't seen the private eye since her phone call had kicked this terrible day off, because after burying herself in the PI's report she wasn't sure if she could restrain her anger at the bitch. She probably wouldn't hurt her, unless the civilian couldn't handle a dressing down, but she was no doubt enduring plenty of those right now. Considering how damaging her delay had been, that was a small comfort.

Then there was the FBI. She didn't know how Murray was taking Agent Ferguson's coup so lightly. Frankly, Nashville would have preferred anybody else from their little gang of five took the reins, with the possible exception of herself.

Ferguson's betrayal stung far more than Nashville had expected. She'd always pegged the bald bastard as a snake, but to learn that, while everyone was supposedly working to find their common enemy, he'd been secretly setting himself up to take over? The word 'infuriating' felt like an understatement. If the light cruiser couldn't expect some of her countrymen, fellow civil servants, to give her the basic decency of helping fight literal monsters, who could she trust? Sure, she'd experienced behavior like this in her old life, but now that she could actually talk with the man fucking her over, it hurt a lot more.

Why was the FBI taking over, anyways? Sure, they were better at finding people, but enemy combatants were explicitly the military's job! They could do just fine in finding her, especially now that secrecy was no longer confining them to the team of two dozen Murray had been told to figure something out with, but what would they do now that they'd found her? Did Ferguson think he could just order the navy around now?

Early on in the investigation, she'd considered what, exactly, it would take for her to consider refusing to follow an order. She didn't have an answer, until now. If it came from that fat, bald, weasel, and it was stupid, Nashville wouldn't hesitate for a second to tell him to fuck off. Yes, Murray might order her afterwards, but at least there was still some chain of command there. He might be a spook, but he at least understood something about the Navy…

The thought of her immediate commander incited a wave of apprehension in the light cruiser. On top of the terrible news of Trinitite's reveal and the betrayal Katie's catastrophic delay in informing… anyone had represented, his job had been stolen from him, reduced to the role of a disregarded advisor and glorified messenger. Nashville wouldn't have been able to handle such an abrupt fall… probably, but Murray seemed to be taking it relatively well. Too well.

How much of that was just his well-practiced poker face? If not for a handful of moments where his mask had slipped- like when he'd just stepped out of the Stryker, or that time he actually had smuggled a bottle of whisky onto base for Nashville's coffee- she'd think he hardly ever had any emotions.

No, Murray was oddly calm because he had a plan. There were some cards in his hand that only he and Admiral MacKey were privy to. That should be comforting to the light cruiser, but Murray's offer to herself before the meeting coupled with the one he wanted to give to Trinitite painted a picture Nashville couldn't even fathom.

Amnesty… Jesus. Had he been serious about that, or had it been a negotiating tactic? If the abyssal accepted, then one of their original objectives-keeping her away from Saratoga- became much, much harder.

What even was their objective now? They'd found her, but they didn't want to fight her. Yes, Nashville understood all the strategic reasoning behind the drawdown of military support, and there was some petty happiness in knowing Ferguson couldn't take credit for the use of any of it, but there was clearly more to it than that.

She desperately hoped she was wrong, but it felt like her superiors, from Murray all the way up to NORTHCOM, didn't want to catch Trinitite. It didn't make any sense, but the light cruiser was starting to have trouble envisioning any alternatives.

She found her boss back out in the parking lot, among the scattering of tents and command vehicles the national guard were (reluctantly) lending them. The FBI might have said the hotel was bug free, but the army's vehicles certainly were. The Lieutenant Commander was alone in his tent 'office,' the soft tattoo of a keyboard terminating as the light cruiser stepped in.

"Ah, Nashville." he nodded, motioning to a fold-out chair that sat on the other side of the flimsy table. "How can I help you?"

"Well, I wanted to get your order for a food run…" she started, looking around the tent. The sum total of items in the temporary office were two foldable chairs, a tiny plastic table, Murray's laptop, with a power and network cable snaking across the floor, and two garishly decorated aluminum cans, both open. Besides the Commander, not another soul was in sight. "...but on second thought, I've got another issue I want to bring up."

"Something wrong?" Murray asked, brow creasing slightly as Nashville eased herself into the chair. This close, it was clear he wasn't at his best. His concerned expression was undermined by subtle bags setting up below his eyes, eyelids failing to remain entirely open. There had been plenty of days where Nashville had noticed her commander had missed shaving, and it was clear his black hair hadn't seen a comb recently. As far as Nashville was aware, he hadn't gotten more than two hours of sleep since his desperate midnight sprint up from California, and it was showing.

"Let's… deal with food, first." Nashville dodged. Confronting him while he was like this seemed unfair, somehow, but if she made an excuse to dodge a conversation here, she might do so the next time as well, and she needed answers. "I'll be going to Wendy's, it's just down the road and it should still be open. Do you want anything?"

There was a moment of silence, the Lieutenant Commander fishing his wallet from his uniform as he mentally reviewed the menu.

"I'll take a baconator" he started, fishing his credit card out of the dark leather and flicking it over to Nashville. "Feel free to put whatever you order on my card."

Nashville accepted the card, but hesitated before stowing it.

"You know how much I eat, right?"

There was a reason shipgirls like herself got so much special duty pay, and why the majority of that was taken back by Big Navy to go to Everett's galley.

"I get paid more than you." The Lieutenant Commander replied. Damnit, that poker face was back! Was he reprimanding her or teasing her?

"Alright," she grumbled, "but it'll probably cost you a couple hundred." It was his money to throw away. "Anything to drink?"

"Er… we normally don't get drinks." The poker face faltered.

"I'm a light cruiser, not your average E2." Nashville reminded, smirking despite her sour mood. "My hold can handle a few drinks, don't worry."

Nashville's forced smile seemed to lift Murray's spirits slightly, the spook opening his mouth to say something, but he suddenly hesitated, reverting to his normal neutral expression.

"That's fair. An iced coffee would be nice."

"Sure thing." Nashville muttered, her rangefinders fluttering over the empty energy drinks.

"Alright," The Spook started, shutting the laptop with a click, "what else did you need to talk about?

Nashville paused, collecting her thoughts. How did she want to start this?

"Sir…" she led, glancing at the thin walls of the tent. There was no telling if some weekend warrior E3 might be within earshot, so she had to be discreet, but she couldn't afford a miscommunication with her superior. The light cruiser reviewed her options, picked one, and committed, leaning towards Murray and casting her question in a horse whisper.

"What kind of game are you playing?"

There. Straight down the middle, a slap to the face of the spook to wake him up and let her know she needed straight talk. The hit seemed to land, Murray blinking in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"Amnesty?" She hissed. "Why are we going 'catch and release' with her now?"

"It would be conditional-"

"I guessed." Nashville cut him off. Part of her was horrified at her bitter curtness, but she'd been dealing with two months of bullshit now. "Then there's saying you're willing to let me go, then acting like you had to fistfight Big Navy to keep me in front of the suits? What was that about?"

"That offer's still open." Murray supplied. "I don't want to pressure you into it, though. We'll have to find another ship to take your place, but-"

"Fuck that." She exclaimed. "Respectfully. Sir, I'm seeing this through, but… what's our goal here?"

"Our goal…" Lieutenant Commander Murray echoed, sighing. "Well, we now have proof that Trinitite has the ability to negotiate with us, act non-violently, and form positive-"

"Sir." Nashville interrupted again, keeping her voice gentle but firm. She felt worse about cutting Murray off this time, but she needed straight answers from the officer. "I've heard all of this before. Could you skip to the thesis?"

She had no idea if the spook was being intentionally evasive, but she didn't want to waste this conversation on stuff they'd discussed thousands of times before.

"Okay." The human's posture stiffened, as he was bracing for something. "Assuming things go perfectly, we want to offer Trinitite a commission."

Outside the tent, the evening breeze shifted, light filtering through the canvass shifting in turn as the wall behind the spook abruptly went taught.

What.

…a commission? Murray wanted to see a USS-fucking-Trinitite? That was… significantly worse than amnesty!

"Sir," she started, struggling to keep her voice low and calm, "with all due respect… We killed her family."

"That's true," The Lieutenant Commander agreed, "but it was war. We'll see if she can put that behind her once she meets Saratoga."

"We're okay with that now?"

"We'll probably limit contact to a video call, at first." Murray tempered. "See where things go from there."

"...sure." Nashville skeptically replied. "That's not the important part, though. There's no way we can trust her in our navy!"

"You know how thin we're stretched, Nashville." The spook tempered. "It's really hard to turn down another fleet carrier."

"We can't be that desperate!"

"You don't have to be very desperate to want a fleet carrier." Murray disagreed. "Today Admiral MacKey told me the Canadians have been lobbying for this since they'd learned about Trinitite."

"What?" Nashville paused, her fury and confusion driven off-course for a moment. When that admiral had been briefed at Joint Base Lewis-McChord, little was known of Trinitite besides the fact that she'd taken several fishermen hostage. Why would they want someone like that into their Navy unless- right, today's Canadian Navy was very different from that of the last war.

"Well," she finally retorted, "the Canadians are desperate! We shouldn't be planning on exposing our throats to her after everything that's happened!"

"I… understand your skepticism." The spook tempered. "It's a risk, but given what we know about Trinitite I think it's a safe one."

That was it. Murray had convinced the chain of command to try to play friendly with the abyssal. Nashville didn't want to go over Murray's head, but it was pretty obvious that option would be fruitless.

"If you're wrong, people will die." She warned.

"That is… true for most decisions made in war." Murray replied, banishing the momentary hesitation in his voice with a stubborn nod. "In this case, the admiral and I think the benefits outweigh the risks."

"I don't see how." Nashville complained. Under the table, hands clenched and loosened in frustration, one eventually wrapping around the table's edge just so it would stop moving. She knew her superior's mind was made up, she knew nothing she said here could change the intelligence officer's naive goal, but she just… couldn't yield here. Yes, she knew killing the abyssal would be a disaster, but she'd imagined their endgame would be something like keeping her on a New Mexico ranch, with an alert flight of attack aircraft ready to 'dissuade' her from leaving, or something. Patting the abyssal on the back and pointing her at the rest of her kind was dangerously wishful thinking, right? Murray wasn't dumb, why didn't he see this?

"Well, she's more than just a fleet carrier." The spook continued. "If we had a sympathetic abyssal, one the enemy might not immediately see as a target, that opens up a vast swath of diplomatic and espionage actions. Any ship that got sunk at Bikini and resummoned into another fleet suddenly becomes a potential contact. Suddenly, we have dozens of new vectors to attack the abyssal problem from."

Nashville didn't know what to say. The man was clearly being blinded by the opportunity that Trinitite provided, and his own biases were keeping him from fully realizing the risks. How could she fight that kind of wishful thinking? It wasn't something that could be solved overnight, right? Damn, this kind of thing was Murray's specialty, not hers!

"If we can get her on our payroll," he continued, "Trinitite would have a much easier time establishing communications with other abyssals then we do. We could get in contact with Naka's old fleet, get some sort of agreement going. Hell, I know she's turned every ship that's entered her exclusion zone away, but if the Tyrant Cruiser princess saw an isolated Wo looking for a fleet, she might-"

The abrupt SNAP that interrupted the Lieutenant Commander, reverberating in the confines of the tent like a gunshot, had both occupants jolting in their seats. There was a moment of silence as Nashville's rangefinders darted around the tent for the source of the noise, checking the thin supports that kept the tent up yielded no answers, and Nashville was about to get up and leave to investigate, until she caught sight of Murray. With mounting horror, the light cruiser traced Murray's wide-eyed gaze… to the hand that had been gripping the table. Under a different light, the crack that trailed from her thumb down the center of the cheap plastic table might have been noticeable, but to Nashville it was a gaping fissure. A rupture that indicated more had gone wrong then some minor property damage.

How had she done that?

No, that was the wrong question, the answer was obvious, but why had Murray's mention of her lost sister elicited such a violent reaction? He'd been pretty open about his goal to free Phoenix from the abyss, something Nashville was eagerly looking forward to, but…

With a wave of shame, the suspicion that had hit her earlier returned to her. The half-formed idea that the Lieutenant Commander was mentioning the Tyrant Cruiser Princess to manipulate her, a carrot of hope to lure her to the conclusion he wanted, had ignited a flash of uncontrollable rage in the light cruiser.

The idea was preposterous… probably. Looking at the spook's expression of wide-eyed terror, his intentions didn't seem to be in a dark place… probably.

That was the problem, wasn't it? She just didn't know Murray, not after all this time, and not after he agreed to be frank with her. Beyond being an analyst and Nashville's immediate superior, and one who seemed to respect her input- until now- he seemed plenty intelligent and capable. Now, she guessed, the issue was that she was witnessing those virtues being leveraged against another group of people, and she had to wonder if she was in that group.

None of that meant threatening him like that was remotely justified. The fact it had been a complete accident, the product of an intensely painful thought, did nothing to calm the roiling shame that churned in her bilges. Both officers sat, stunned, for a few seconds, staring at the half-split plastic table between them.

"I'm… sorry, sir." The light cruiser broke the silence. "I didn't mean to do that."

"It's fine, Nashville." Murray replied. His voice was as steady as ever, but his hand was trembling as he reached up to adjust his cover. "I understand it's been a long day, and I…"

He trailed off, blinking hard as he shook his head.

"I probably won't need that coffee, Nashville. Get me a sprite or something, and once you've returned, I'll probably be in my room. Give me a call and I'll come to you to get it."

"Al… alright." Nashvile acknowledged, careful not to jostle the sagging table as she extracted herself from the seat.

"We'll… pick this up another time, alright?"

She shouldn't have believed him- for something so important, kicking the can further down the road could be incredibly dangerous- but now it was clear neither of them were in a state to continue.

"Yes sir." Nashville acknowledged, then stepped back into the cold night.

Ho boy, there's been a massive delay in getting this interlude out... but I can explain, really!

When I decided to skip from Alex and Saratoga's conversation to Trinitite's perspective and the start of the third arc three weeks later, I knew that I would be making problems for myself on the Navy side, but still I figured a recap interlude wouldn't be too much of a problem, but... I kind of painted myself into a corner. I think I've mostly fought my way out of it, but doing so has been a challenge.

As you can see, Nashville and Murray's relationship is very different between the 'present day' and the flashback in the second part of the chapter. This has been the main source of the massive delay in releasing a chapter. In universe, I've got three weeks to work with, which is plenty of time for a relationship to go all over the place, but for the reader I've hardly budgeted any space, meaning I have to work really hard to make any changes in Nashville and Murray's respective characters feel earned. The worst outcome is each emerges from this interlude feeling... 'fixed,' because that would both come off as lazy writing and undo work I've put in to making the Navy side of the story interesting.

In order to make character development like that make sense, I've had to write a ton of scenes set before this arc begins. The 'mega interlude' I initially planned on just being a flashback to catch everyone up on what's going on with the government is well over 7k words now, and I'm only shaving these two parts off and posting them because it kind of felt like the most natural place to split the chapter up.

On the bright side, the rest has a lot that's been finished, so hopefully there won't be as much radio silence before the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed!
 
The Lieutenant Commander was alone in his tent 'office,' the soft tattoo of a keyboard terminating as the light cruiser stepped in.

Think the word you're looking for here is 'staccato'.

Kind of impressed they rumbled Trin that quickly when the rest of the investigation seems to be wearing clownshoes and trying to march in five different directions at once. I can... sympathise with Nashville but still, glad to see the Admiralty at least seems to have gotten its shit together.
 
"A fisherman?" Nashville repeated, "I… should have guessed that."
Well, I guess they kept a close eye on her this time when she fled Jack in the Box. It make sense that if they knew which motel room she was in her disguise would not have fooled them.

"Why would she be desperate for money, though?" Nashville asked. A part of her was already floating several potential answers, but she didn't have the time to weigh any possibilities before the Agent interrupted.
So she could buy cute cloths, Nashville, let the girl have some fun :anger: (
:grin: )
 
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