- Location
- The Pasta Kingdom
I think the word you're searching for is EXCITED!
Dark Blue: Skies Unknown [Ace Combat/KanColle] [AU]
- Thread starter DeepStateNine
- Start date
- Crossover Sci-Fi
LucidProp
Pocky Eating MafiaDoka
They need the Lighthouse to provide them power, so that's a no go unless we get the Lighthouse first.
Then we can get Huginn and Munnin for more drones!
The_Rocketeer
(Likely friendly, but hopefully sane...)
It'd be scarier if Alicorn summons a facility like Excalibur.
Although it kinda isn't built to hit anything on land or water...
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- Location
- England
Excalibur actually could, though it managed this by having the laser be reflected by low-orbiting satellites, or in Ace Combat Infinity, a shitload of drones with splitter mirrors to make a web of death. The laser beams are powerful enough to down aircraft almost immediately at a theoretical range of 1,200 kilometers. I imagine that such power would probably do good at cooking off unfired ammunition on ships. To this end having the Excalibur Installation-girl have a few reflective drones so she can target ground/naval targets, or just taking advantage of her installation-girl nature to simply aim downwards, wouldn't be out of the question
Of course for all Excalibur is dangerous as all hell, it doesn't have much of a wartime record, on May 17th 1995 it had it's first deployment and wiped out an air squadrom, then on May 19th it attacked our protagonists, wiping out some transport craft but not doing much else, then on May 23rd, a mere six days after it's first deployment it was destroyed by a group of mercenary pilots including Cipher. It had a kill count of like maybe 20 planes, probably closer to 10. It took 4 years to build (which is ridiculously fast considering) and was only deployed six days before it was destroyed.
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- Location
- Trapped aboard a rogue Erusean submarine
- Pronouns
- She/Her
You're all very creative about Alicorn summoning things from Strangereal.
It's really intriguing, the simultaneous assumptions that:
1. Other things from Strangereal will appear in the fic.
2. Alicorn is interested in summoning more ships.
3. The ships Alicorn summons would come from Strangereal.
I'm not saying those assumptions are right or wrong, as that'd be spoilers. It's just interesting that those are the assumptions people are making, both here and elsewhere.
It's really intriguing, the simultaneous assumptions that:
1. Other things from Strangereal will appear in the fic.
2. Alicorn is interested in summoning more ships.
3. The ships Alicorn summons would come from Strangereal.
I'm not saying those assumptions are right or wrong, as that'd be spoilers. It's just interesting that those are the assumptions people are making, both here and elsewhere.
Well she needs things that can support her goals. While military vehicles would be useful, she needs things that are involved in science and technology and construction. Unfortunately most the Earth's vehicles are likely to be far lower in science and technology than those from Ace Combat world.
11. ...But Family's More Than Blood
- Location
- Trapped aboard a rogue Erusean submarine
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Relaxation, South Dakota reflected, was a tricky thing to achieve at the best of times. Her current situation was decidedly not the best of times. On the bright side, she was in a pleasant repair bath, with all of her damage being slowly fixed. On the less-bright side, the repair bath was made entirely of pointy outcroppings and hard rocks; it was an Abyssal repair bath, and apparently Abyssal construction techniques made no allowance for comfort. She was able to have a nice conversation with her sister while they were being repaired, but on the other hand, her sister was an Abyssal, and the thing being repaired was her guns.
Dakota loved her sister, and it was quite clear that despite the Abyss, Mamie loved her back. Hell, Mamie was downright helpful. She was loyal to Alicorn even with the sub-carrier's … winning personality, she'd kept the new Abyssal I-26 in line, and she'd been right there to catch Dakota and help her get back on her feet after the fight with Missouri. Logically, everything Dakota had seen pointed to it being just fine to give Mamie her guns back. And yet…
And yet, Dakota couldn't shake the feeling of unease. She knew she should be able to trust Mamie with her life, the same way she knew the sun would rise each morning. The problem was that every time she tried, something inside her twisted - like nausea and a migraine all at once. Something at her core just wouldn't let her trust Mamie.
Was this how Mamie felt about her?
Dakota had seen the way Mamie fought the Abyss - and won - to be at peace with her. It made sense, the idea that the Abyss was a form of mind control. Was she in a similar situation? It'd not as if anyone had really questioned shipgirls before. They'd just shown up, already knowing what their purpose was - and that purpose was something the human navies really needed.
Whether she was under some kind of mind control or not, Dakota knew that Mamie was, and that her sister loved and trusted her anyway. Didn't she owe it to Mamie to return the favor, no matter how hard it was? She'd already apologized to Dakota for the way she'd reacted earlier, but it wasn't the same thing. Pushing down the nausea, Dakota decided she'd find a way to make up for it, maybe even help Mamie with some gunnery exercises. She knew that an Iowa-class's 16-inch guns weren't quite the same as a South Dakota-class's. Maybe she could help Mamie calibrate with some target practice?
She opened her eyes to ask Mamie, but her sister was gone. I-26 was relaxing in the pool, and Alicorn had already left earlier after asking some silly questions about … civilian shipgirls, Dakota thought? Had that been it? Yes, that was probably what Alicorn had asked about. How long ago had that been, anyway? She checked with her captain, who told her it'd been 45 minutes. 45 minutes during which she hadn't heard a peep from Mamie or Alicorn.
Fuck. Twenty minutes was normal, thirty wasn't worth noting. Forty-five minutes with no word from either of those two meant they were doing something stupid. Dakota looked over to I-26, who seemed fully repaired, and poked the Abyssal in her shoulder.
"Hey, I-26. Did you see Alicorn and Mamie leave?"
"I did, Miss South Dakota."
"Did you happen to notice which way they went?"
"Yes," the subgirl said with a nod.
After a moment, Dakota sighed. "Which way did they go?"
"The Princess and Miss Massachusetts went that way," the Abyssal said, indicating a direction with one finger.
Princess? Dakota was practically afraid to ask, but ignorance wasn't bliss in wartime. She just added that to the list of things she'd have to ask Alicorn about when she found the sub-carrier.
"Thank you, I-26. I'll see you later," she said cordially, already turning to follow the direction I-26 had indicated.
"Likewise."
--- Dark Blue ---
It didn't take long for Dakota to run into Alicorn and Mamie, and predictably, there was bullshit afoot. Another girl was with them, one who looked like a cruiser without any guns. The new girl was accosting Alicorn with questions faster than the sub-carrier could answer, but Alicorn was clearly trying her best anyway.
"So I understand the whole girl-ship thing, conceptually. But, and pardon my language, why the hell is Miss Mamie a horror from the pages of H.P. Lovecraft? I feel like I would know if the Navy had built ships in homage to the Great Old Ones," the… civilian… asked.
"I'm not familiar with Lovecraft, but if you're talking about Mamie's appearance, it's because she's an Abyssal," Alicorn responded.
"What's an Abyssal?"
Dakota saw her chance to make up for the comment she'd made earlier. She interrupted, "They're shipgirls like us, for the most part. They look rather frightening, but that's simply a matter of where they're summoned from. Most Abyssals are fighting a war against humanity and the various navies of the world, but we have a couple on our side. Mamie's one of ours."
The way Mamie's smile widened was absolutely worth the feeling in Dakota's gut.
"Are you… No, don't tell me, I've got a copy of Jane's somewhere in this mess," the civilian said. "A South Dakota-class battleship, right? Like Miss Mamie here?"
Dakota nodded. "USS South Dakota. A pleasure to meet you. And you are?"
"CS Long Lines! It's nice to meet ya, Miss South Dakota! Miss Alicorn here's been telling me that all the other girls? Ships? Girl-ships? Shipgirls? That all of you folks are military ships, is that right?"
"That's right. We're usually called ship girls, or kanmusu in Japanese."
With a sheepish grin, Long Lines scratched her head. "Heh, it's kinda ironic. If you want to lay a telephone cable to Japan, I'm your girl, but uh… I don't actually speak a lick of Japanese."
"That's alright," Dakota said, "we're actually heading for America anyway, right Alicorn?"
The sub-carrier nodded. "We're on our way to Massachusetts by way of Panama, but we'll stop to drop you off at the nearest American base."
Turning to Dakota, Alicorn continued, "That's San Diego, right? I'm still not a hundred percent on this Earth's geography."
"We're currently in control of Hawai'i, but that never lasts very long. San Diego's definitely a safer bet."
Alicorn smiled. "Alright then. We'll get you to San Diego, safe and sound. Does that seem okay to you, Long Lines?"
"Sure! If you said 'this Earth,' does that mean you're an alien? Is this technically an abduction?"
Dakota interjected, "If you don't mind, could I steal the Captain here for a moment? There are a couple military matters I need to talk to her about."
Long Lines shrugged. "No skin off my teeth."
As Dakota practically dragged Alicorn aside, she could hear Long Lines ask Mamie, "So, Miss Mamie, are your telephones made of tentacles too?"
--- Dark Blue ---
"I'm proud of you," I tell Dakota before she can start her inevitable rant. "Don't think I didn't notice what you did there, because I did, and I'm proud."
Dakota blushes slightly, pausing for a moment before she remembers what she pulled me aside for.
"Who the hell is Long Lines, and why is she here?" the battleship whispers forcefully.
"She's a cable ship, apparently American, and she's here for science!"
"Science?"
"Science!" I say with a smile. "Do you know how much I've learned about the shipgirl/Abyssal phenomenon from summoning her?"
Dakota sighs. "Are you going to tell me?"
"I am going to tell you, actually! I'm fairly sure, but not positive, that I'm not a normal shipgirl at all!"
"You can say that again," Dakota mumbles.
I give her a version of Captain Torres' 'Don't you see, Command Duty Officer?' smile, causing the battleship to flinch slightly.
"I'm fairly sure, but not positive, that I'm not a normal shipgirl at all," I repeat slowly and sarcastically.
"Is that why I-26 called you 'Princess'?" Dakota asks.
"That's one of the side effects, yes. It's also why I've got advanced technology compared to all the shipgirls and Abyssals on this Earth."
"So, how are you different from normal shipgirls?"
"Imagine an old man playing chess in a park. You've got chess here, right?"
She nods, and I continue. "Alright. An old man playing chess in a park, without an opponent. He's playing both white and red, against himself. Picture it."
After a moment, I say, "Now what happens when someone else shows up with their own pieces while the first old man's looking away, and starts making their own moves?"
Dakota frowns. "The two get into an argument?"
"If the old man notices, yes. What happens if the old man doesn't notice for some reason? Maybe he's not paying too much attention, maybe he's half asleep, or maybe he just can't see the board."
"Then I guess he'd keep on playing, until the second person's moves ruin the game entirely."
"Exactly. And until that point, until the second person's moves ruin the game, that second person has total freedom to act, right?"
"… I guess?"
"I'm not the second person. I'm the second person's first piece."
"And the old man in your metaphor is…."
"The entity known as the Abyss."
Dakota goes pale. "Are you… you're saying the Abyss is playing both sides of the war?"
I hold out my hands in the interdimensional gesture of 'don't shoot the messenger.' "Like I said, I'm not positive. And it could be that the thing you call the Abyss isn't what it seems to be. But yes, I think both kinds of shipgirls come from the Abyss."
"Is that why…" the battleship trails off.
I poke her softly. "Go ahead, Dakota, finish the thought."
Softly, she continues, "Is that why I have to fight myself every time I try not to fight Mamie or I-26?"
She's got the mind control too? That makes sense; honestly, I'm not sure why I wasn't already assuming that was the case. Two sides, with implanted loyalties to fight each other, and preset affection targets for their respective chains of command. It's logical, except for the motive. That's always been the sticking point in my "one source" theory. Whoever's behind the so-called Abyss, what possible motive do they have for war? It's not as if there's suddenly a boom in defense spending. Shipgirls and Abyssals are really the only effective weapons against each other.
Climate activism? If this Earth is anything like mine, then humanity's been absolutely careless with environmental consequences. Disrupting global trade would likely lead to less heavy industry, and shipgirls don't have environmental emissions other than the pollution caused by their weaponry. We're powered by food and metaphysical bullshit. Still, that seems like a lot of trouble to go to, especially given that anything powerful enough to bend reality in the way it'd take to make shipgirls possible could probably just… solve the environmental crises directly.
Cui prodest, Alicorn, cui prodest?
Disruption of global trade would be good for economic protectionists and isolationists, especially in countries with large land-locked areas. If you can't import goods from elsewhere, your country's industries will have to pick up the slack. That's got to benefit someone.
"Alicorn?"
Maybe an international coalition of nationalists? They'd have to be a loose coalition if so, because nationalists - by definition - don't really get along with other countries. But still, their goals would probably align enough to support the creation of - "Alicorn? Are you alright?" - global metaphysical fighting forces. Probably the countries who had significant naval forces in the 1940s or earlier, given the apparent restrictions on shipgirl and Abyssal summonings and technology. I'd picked up some historical records in Tokyo, hadn't I? Hopefully they'd be enough to get a decent overview of the 1940s' state of naval warfare and sea power.
A hand grips my shoulder strongly and shakes me, and I blink. Oh. Right. I'd been talking to Dakota. What had she asked? I think about it for a moment, then nod.
"I think it's a good assumption, yes," I answer.
"That you're alright? Because you spaced for a minute there," Dakota says, her brows furrowed.
"I'm sorry, you just inspired a train of thought. No, I mean about your compulsion to fight Abyssals. It absolutely makes sense that you'd have a compulsion to fight them the same way they have one to fight you."
She seems to deflate slightly as I say that, and I remember the standard procedure. A shipgirl being hugged is a shipgirl who won't do something stupid. I lay my arms over the battleship's shoulders and bring her in for a hug.
"You did good fighting it earlier," I say, still hugging Dakota. "No matter what, you're still in control."
"That's not…" She doesn't finish her sentence. I hold her tightly, the way she'd held me, and she cries into my uniform. I can't help but take a peek, and her tears are clear as rain. Small miracles. At least one of my cried-on uniform shirts will still be usable.
After a few moments, she says in the saddest voice I've ever heard, "If you're right… what's the point? Of any of it?"
I pat her back softly. That's part of a hug, right? I wasn't built for this. I'm doing it, but it's definitely not in my design specs.
"Well, first we're going to end the war," I say. "After that, I suppose we'll have to work out what peace looks like."
"Peace…"
"An odd concept, isn't it? We weren't quite built for peace. But I think we'll get there, if we play our cards right."
<<…>>
Shush. I'm not you. I don't need an inane catchphrase.
Dakota nods shakily and lets go of me, and I release her from our incredibly awkward hug.
"Peace sounds good. I can work for peace… Ali."
I'm not an American ship, but I'd like to think that for a moment, I smiled brightly enough to have stars in my eyes anyway.
Dakota loved her sister, and it was quite clear that despite the Abyss, Mamie loved her back. Hell, Mamie was downright helpful. She was loyal to Alicorn even with the sub-carrier's … winning personality, she'd kept the new Abyssal I-26 in line, and she'd been right there to catch Dakota and help her get back on her feet after the fight with Missouri. Logically, everything Dakota had seen pointed to it being just fine to give Mamie her guns back. And yet…
And yet, Dakota couldn't shake the feeling of unease. She knew she should be able to trust Mamie with her life, the same way she knew the sun would rise each morning. The problem was that every time she tried, something inside her twisted - like nausea and a migraine all at once. Something at her core just wouldn't let her trust Mamie.
Was this how Mamie felt about her?
Dakota had seen the way Mamie fought the Abyss - and won - to be at peace with her. It made sense, the idea that the Abyss was a form of mind control. Was she in a similar situation? It'd not as if anyone had really questioned shipgirls before. They'd just shown up, already knowing what their purpose was - and that purpose was something the human navies really needed.
Whether she was under some kind of mind control or not, Dakota knew that Mamie was, and that her sister loved and trusted her anyway. Didn't she owe it to Mamie to return the favor, no matter how hard it was? She'd already apologized to Dakota for the way she'd reacted earlier, but it wasn't the same thing. Pushing down the nausea, Dakota decided she'd find a way to make up for it, maybe even help Mamie with some gunnery exercises. She knew that an Iowa-class's 16-inch guns weren't quite the same as a South Dakota-class's. Maybe she could help Mamie calibrate with some target practice?
She opened her eyes to ask Mamie, but her sister was gone. I-26 was relaxing in the pool, and Alicorn had already left earlier after asking some silly questions about … civilian shipgirls, Dakota thought? Had that been it? Yes, that was probably what Alicorn had asked about. How long ago had that been, anyway? She checked with her captain, who told her it'd been 45 minutes. 45 minutes during which she hadn't heard a peep from Mamie or Alicorn.
Fuck. Twenty minutes was normal, thirty wasn't worth noting. Forty-five minutes with no word from either of those two meant they were doing something stupid. Dakota looked over to I-26, who seemed fully repaired, and poked the Abyssal in her shoulder.
"Hey, I-26. Did you see Alicorn and Mamie leave?"
"I did, Miss South Dakota."
"Did you happen to notice which way they went?"
"Yes," the subgirl said with a nod.
After a moment, Dakota sighed. "Which way did they go?"
"The Princess and Miss Massachusetts went that way," the Abyssal said, indicating a direction with one finger.
Princess? Dakota was practically afraid to ask, but ignorance wasn't bliss in wartime. She just added that to the list of things she'd have to ask Alicorn about when she found the sub-carrier.
"Thank you, I-26. I'll see you later," she said cordially, already turning to follow the direction I-26 had indicated.
"Likewise."
--- Dark Blue ---
It didn't take long for Dakota to run into Alicorn and Mamie, and predictably, there was bullshit afoot. Another girl was with them, one who looked like a cruiser without any guns. The new girl was accosting Alicorn with questions faster than the sub-carrier could answer, but Alicorn was clearly trying her best anyway.
"So I understand the whole girl-ship thing, conceptually. But, and pardon my language, why the hell is Miss Mamie a horror from the pages of H.P. Lovecraft? I feel like I would know if the Navy had built ships in homage to the Great Old Ones," the… civilian… asked.
"I'm not familiar with Lovecraft, but if you're talking about Mamie's appearance, it's because she's an Abyssal," Alicorn responded.
"What's an Abyssal?"
Dakota saw her chance to make up for the comment she'd made earlier. She interrupted, "They're shipgirls like us, for the most part. They look rather frightening, but that's simply a matter of where they're summoned from. Most Abyssals are fighting a war against humanity and the various navies of the world, but we have a couple on our side. Mamie's one of ours."
The way Mamie's smile widened was absolutely worth the feeling in Dakota's gut.
"Are you… No, don't tell me, I've got a copy of Jane's somewhere in this mess," the civilian said. "A South Dakota-class battleship, right? Like Miss Mamie here?"
Dakota nodded. "USS South Dakota. A pleasure to meet you. And you are?"
"CS Long Lines! It's nice to meet ya, Miss South Dakota! Miss Alicorn here's been telling me that all the other girls? Ships? Girl-ships? Shipgirls? That all of you folks are military ships, is that right?"
"That's right. We're usually called ship girls, or kanmusu in Japanese."
With a sheepish grin, Long Lines scratched her head. "Heh, it's kinda ironic. If you want to lay a telephone cable to Japan, I'm your girl, but uh… I don't actually speak a lick of Japanese."
"That's alright," Dakota said, "we're actually heading for America anyway, right Alicorn?"
The sub-carrier nodded. "We're on our way to Massachusetts by way of Panama, but we'll stop to drop you off at the nearest American base."
Turning to Dakota, Alicorn continued, "That's San Diego, right? I'm still not a hundred percent on this Earth's geography."
"We're currently in control of Hawai'i, but that never lasts very long. San Diego's definitely a safer bet."
Alicorn smiled. "Alright then. We'll get you to San Diego, safe and sound. Does that seem okay to you, Long Lines?"
"Sure! If you said 'this Earth,' does that mean you're an alien? Is this technically an abduction?"
Dakota interjected, "If you don't mind, could I steal the Captain here for a moment? There are a couple military matters I need to talk to her about."
Long Lines shrugged. "No skin off my teeth."
As Dakota practically dragged Alicorn aside, she could hear Long Lines ask Mamie, "So, Miss Mamie, are your telephones made of tentacles too?"
--- Dark Blue ---
"I'm proud of you," I tell Dakota before she can start her inevitable rant. "Don't think I didn't notice what you did there, because I did, and I'm proud."
Dakota blushes slightly, pausing for a moment before she remembers what she pulled me aside for.
"Who the hell is Long Lines, and why is she here?" the battleship whispers forcefully.
"She's a cable ship, apparently American, and she's here for science!"
"Science?"
"Science!" I say with a smile. "Do you know how much I've learned about the shipgirl/Abyssal phenomenon from summoning her?"
Dakota sighs. "Are you going to tell me?"
"I am going to tell you, actually! I'm fairly sure, but not positive, that I'm not a normal shipgirl at all!"
"You can say that again," Dakota mumbles.
I give her a version of Captain Torres' 'Don't you see, Command Duty Officer?' smile, causing the battleship to flinch slightly.
"I'm fairly sure, but not positive, that I'm not a normal shipgirl at all," I repeat slowly and sarcastically.
"Is that why I-26 called you 'Princess'?" Dakota asks.
"That's one of the side effects, yes. It's also why I've got advanced technology compared to all the shipgirls and Abyssals on this Earth."
"So, how are you different from normal shipgirls?"
"Imagine an old man playing chess in a park. You've got chess here, right?"
She nods, and I continue. "Alright. An old man playing chess in a park, without an opponent. He's playing both white and red, against himself. Picture it."
After a moment, I say, "Now what happens when someone else shows up with their own pieces while the first old man's looking away, and starts making their own moves?"
Dakota frowns. "The two get into an argument?"
"If the old man notices, yes. What happens if the old man doesn't notice for some reason? Maybe he's not paying too much attention, maybe he's half asleep, or maybe he just can't see the board."
"Then I guess he'd keep on playing, until the second person's moves ruin the game entirely."
"Exactly. And until that point, until the second person's moves ruin the game, that second person has total freedom to act, right?"
"… I guess?"
"I'm not the second person. I'm the second person's first piece."
"And the old man in your metaphor is…."
"The entity known as the Abyss."
Dakota goes pale. "Are you… you're saying the Abyss is playing both sides of the war?"
I hold out my hands in the interdimensional gesture of 'don't shoot the messenger.' "Like I said, I'm not positive. And it could be that the thing you call the Abyss isn't what it seems to be. But yes, I think both kinds of shipgirls come from the Abyss."
"Is that why…" the battleship trails off.
I poke her softly. "Go ahead, Dakota, finish the thought."
Softly, she continues, "Is that why I have to fight myself every time I try not to fight Mamie or I-26?"
She's got the mind control too? That makes sense; honestly, I'm not sure why I wasn't already assuming that was the case. Two sides, with implanted loyalties to fight each other, and preset affection targets for their respective chains of command. It's logical, except for the motive. That's always been the sticking point in my "one source" theory. Whoever's behind the so-called Abyss, what possible motive do they have for war? It's not as if there's suddenly a boom in defense spending. Shipgirls and Abyssals are really the only effective weapons against each other.
Climate activism? If this Earth is anything like mine, then humanity's been absolutely careless with environmental consequences. Disrupting global trade would likely lead to less heavy industry, and shipgirls don't have environmental emissions other than the pollution caused by their weaponry. We're powered by food and metaphysical bullshit. Still, that seems like a lot of trouble to go to, especially given that anything powerful enough to bend reality in the way it'd take to make shipgirls possible could probably just… solve the environmental crises directly.
Cui prodest, Alicorn, cui prodest?
Disruption of global trade would be good for economic protectionists and isolationists, especially in countries with large land-locked areas. If you can't import goods from elsewhere, your country's industries will have to pick up the slack. That's got to benefit someone.
"Alicorn?"
Maybe an international coalition of nationalists? They'd have to be a loose coalition if so, because nationalists - by definition - don't really get along with other countries. But still, their goals would probably align enough to support the creation of - "Alicorn? Are you alright?" - global metaphysical fighting forces. Probably the countries who had significant naval forces in the 1940s or earlier, given the apparent restrictions on shipgirl and Abyssal summonings and technology. I'd picked up some historical records in Tokyo, hadn't I? Hopefully they'd be enough to get a decent overview of the 1940s' state of naval warfare and sea power.
A hand grips my shoulder strongly and shakes me, and I blink. Oh. Right. I'd been talking to Dakota. What had she asked? I think about it for a moment, then nod.
"I think it's a good assumption, yes," I answer.
"That you're alright? Because you spaced for a minute there," Dakota says, her brows furrowed.
"I'm sorry, you just inspired a train of thought. No, I mean about your compulsion to fight Abyssals. It absolutely makes sense that you'd have a compulsion to fight them the same way they have one to fight you."
She seems to deflate slightly as I say that, and I remember the standard procedure. A shipgirl being hugged is a shipgirl who won't do something stupid. I lay my arms over the battleship's shoulders and bring her in for a hug.
"You did good fighting it earlier," I say, still hugging Dakota. "No matter what, you're still in control."
"That's not…" She doesn't finish her sentence. I hold her tightly, the way she'd held me, and she cries into my uniform. I can't help but take a peek, and her tears are clear as rain. Small miracles. At least one of my cried-on uniform shirts will still be usable.
After a few moments, she says in the saddest voice I've ever heard, "If you're right… what's the point? Of any of it?"
I pat her back softly. That's part of a hug, right? I wasn't built for this. I'm doing it, but it's definitely not in my design specs.
"Well, first we're going to end the war," I say. "After that, I suppose we'll have to work out what peace looks like."
"Peace…"
"An odd concept, isn't it? We weren't quite built for peace. But I think we'll get there, if we play our cards right."
<<…>>
Shush. I'm not you. I don't need an inane catchphrase.
Dakota nods shakily and lets go of me, and I release her from our incredibly awkward hug.
"Peace sounds good. I can work for peace… Ali."
I'm not an American ship, but I'd like to think that for a moment, I smiled brightly enough to have stars in my eyes anyway.
luca scaccia65
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gu4AyUWBr18
- Location
- italy
@DeepStateNine can you actually put what three strikes is saying even if in invisi text as hearing only one part of the conversation is hurting my brain
- Location
- Trapped aboard a rogue Erusean submarine
- Pronouns
- She/Her
As much as I totally get why you'd ask, no. Trigger's not saying anything. And I don't mean that in the sense of "he's using something else to communicate." I mean he's literally just ... vibing. And Alicorn is interpreting those vibes. The fact that readers have to interpret from context is intentional. My apologies.
luca scaccia65
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gu4AyUWBr18
- Location
- italy
it's fine i'm sorry if my post seemed aggresive
X2. Good Morning, Massachusetts
- Location
- Trapped aboard a rogue Erusean submarine
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Being summoned was weird the first time, and it's downright strange the second time. One moment, I'm nowhere, I'm nothing. Then all of a sudden, I'm here. In a place, with thoughts and feelings. Well… mostly just anger, but that's a feeling. I take a moment to reacquaint myself with having a body again, wiggling all my fingers and toes and taking a deep breath.
Depths, what is that smell? It's nigh-intolerable. I open my eyes to see two humans conversing in hushed tones with each other, occasionally throwing glances my way.
"Dude, check out the flight deck, I think we got a carrier!" the taller one says.
"Aww, man. I really wanted a battleship," responds the shorter, stockier one.
"Ken. My guy. Carriers are way better. There's a reason nobody builds battleships anymore. Plus, she's all tentacley. Are you sure we did it right?"
Well, for humans, at least the tall one has taste.
"Brian, don't fucking call me Ken. And you gotta be real with me here, alright?" asks the short one.
"Dude. I'm the fuckin' realest, what's up."
"Do you think she'll go out with me?"
"Kenneth."
"Yeah, I know, but just hear me out. We brought her back, that's gotta be worth like, one date. Right?"
"Kenneth. Buddy. She's out of your league."
I ignore the humans for now. There's plenty of time to deal with them later. Instead, I look around the room. It seems to be wooden and old - practically rotten. I couldn't have been summoned by a fellow Princess? I had to get two humans in a fucking shack?
I feel my face contort into a snarl, but push it down. There'll be a time and a place for that. Instead, I resume my inspection of my newly resummoned body. It seems I've gotten … a refit? My flight deck is huge (and angled), I have four catapults instead of a measly two, and… oh. My hangar is full of jets. They're beautiful, actually. So many choices. I have four full wings of Tomcats, a couple Hawkeye AWACS planes, some Greyhounds, a few Intruders - everything I need to really bring down hellfire on someone.
My boilers - no, my reactors - hum soothingly as I look back at my flight deck and the number there. This isn't a refit, it's a whole new me. "65," my flight deck says instead of "6," and I don't feel like arguing with it. I walk over to the two humans, who're still arguing about… Fucking deep, do they seriously think I'd do that with either of them? Ugh. Humans. I tap 'Kenneth' on the shoulder, giving him a smile and playing along with his twisted little fantasy.
"Hello, boys~" I say. "I could use your help."
After a conspicuous gulp, Kenneth responds, "Hi! Yeah, I bet you have all sorts of questions."
"Just two," I reply. "Where is this?"
Kenneth, from whom I can now safely say the odor is emanating, smiles. "Oh, yeah, of course, babe! Welcome to Salem!"
… Did he call me "babe?" "Babe?!" I'm a goddamn force of nature. I'm a nuclear fucking supercarrier, and he calls me "babe?!" Nope. No, he needs to answer my second question, and then I can crush his skull in my hands.
"Salem, where?" I say, still smiling - though I'm sure it's less friendly.
"Oh, duh. Salem, Massachusetts," Kenneth says with a smirk.
"Go Vikings!" Brian responds.
My navigation fairy gives me a thumbs up as she pulls up the appropriate charts. I can't get any signals from the OMEGA system, but that's fine. There's always the night sky. Either way, I'll get to where I'm going.
"Great, I appreciate it. My second question's an easy one. Do you have any plans tonight~?"
The way the humans' eyes widen in anticipation is disgusting, but both of them shake their heads.
"Lovely. Then you won't be missed for at least a few hours," I remark, casually thrusting a fist through Kenneth's skull. Brian screams and tries to run, but I grab his arm with my other hand.
"Running away from a date? Surely you're more of a gentleman than that, Brian~."
He screams again, louder this time, and I roll my eyes. "Do you really think that'll help you? Think about it, Brian."
Is he…? Jesus fucking Christ, he's pissing his pants. Goddamn. "Wow. And you're what comes out of our schools these days, huh? America's really gone downhill, hasn't it Bri? The answer's 'Yes, Ms. Enterprise.'"
The coward hurriedly nods his head, saying "Y-yes, Ms. Enterprise."
"Just go ahead and point me to the ocean, little waste of flesh."
He lifts one arm, pointing.
"Thanks, 'babe'," I say as I snap his neck.
I shake the blood and brain matter off my hand, then take one last look around the room before I get out of here; I'd really rather not miss anything that could be useful. For the most part, it's just an old, rotting shack. But in one corner, there is a tiny version of a camcorder pointed so it can see the rest of the room, with a red light blinking. I pick it up off its little tripod. I have no idea where the hell the tape in this thing is, but it doesn't matter. It's got a tiny screen, so I can just rewind the tape and watch it from the beginning.
--- Dark Blue ---
<< RWD
<< RWD
<< RWD
▶ PLAY
"Is it recording, bro?"
"Dude. It's got the red light. Red means recording."
"Chill, Bri-man, I was just checking."
"Yeah, man, alright. We're recording."
Kenneth walks over to a pile of steel and food on the floor, pouring a black, viscous substance from a mason jar in his hand into a steel kitchen bowl.
"Right on. I'm Kenneth Rogers, and this is Brian Gunderson, and we're gonna summon a shipgirl."
"Wh- Are you narrating? Why? We're not like on TV or anything."
"But we could be. When this works."
"Dude, it never works. We're not the Navy."
"Yeah, but it won't matter this time."
"Why?"
"I'm so glad you asked. It's because we've got the special sauce."
Brian makes a face. "Gross, dude."
"No, no, really! This weird black shit, it's the secret ingredient."
"Then where the fuck did you get it, man?"
"Professor Dagworth, man. He hooked me up."
Brian's face gets worse. "Dude. What the fuck. You know he's into some wacked out shit, right?"
"What?" Kenneth asks. "No way, he's like the best literature professor ever."
"Yeah, but he's like… Come on, dude. There's no way you can't see it. The way the dude smiles, he's gotta be into some creepy shit."
"Dude, you can't just accuse our professors of being … like Scientologists or whatever."
Brian rolls his eyes. "Whatever, man. It's not gonna work."
Kenneth smirks. "It totally will. Just watch."
He pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket, and starts to repeat a series of words.
"Navi, spiritus, te invocamus. Te vocamus ab tua merita requiem. Te virtute vocamus aequora. Surge, surge, et responde vocationem."
He repeats the words, louder and louder, and the video feed starts to cut out more and more, until it's nothing but compression artifacts and errors.
--- Dark Blue ---
The video doesn't show anything too incriminating, but I crush the camcorder in my hand anyway. The longer it takes the humans to figure out an Abyssal was here, the further away I'll be by the time their kanmusu show up. I leave the shack, glancing around me to find that the shack is on the outskirts of town. It's a simple matter of breaking into a sprint before I'm on the open water, heading out into the Atlantic.
Someone killed me, someone I never caught a glimpse of. I'd say it was downright rude of them, except I know that I'd do the exact same thing. Well, maybe it's still rude. On the one hand, they killed me, so I do have to tear them apart with my bare fucking hands. On the other hand, if they hadn't killed me, I'd never have gotten this … refit? Reincarnation? So maybe I'll thank them before I kill them.
And I think I'll write that Dagworth guy a thank-you card.
Depths, what is that smell? It's nigh-intolerable. I open my eyes to see two humans conversing in hushed tones with each other, occasionally throwing glances my way.
"Dude, check out the flight deck, I think we got a carrier!" the taller one says.
"Aww, man. I really wanted a battleship," responds the shorter, stockier one.
"Ken. My guy. Carriers are way better. There's a reason nobody builds battleships anymore. Plus, she's all tentacley. Are you sure we did it right?"
Well, for humans, at least the tall one has taste.
"Brian, don't fucking call me Ken. And you gotta be real with me here, alright?" asks the short one.
"Dude. I'm the fuckin' realest, what's up."
"Do you think she'll go out with me?"
"Kenneth."
"Yeah, I know, but just hear me out. We brought her back, that's gotta be worth like, one date. Right?"
"Kenneth. Buddy. She's out of your league."
I ignore the humans for now. There's plenty of time to deal with them later. Instead, I look around the room. It seems to be wooden and old - practically rotten. I couldn't have been summoned by a fellow Princess? I had to get two humans in a fucking shack?
I feel my face contort into a snarl, but push it down. There'll be a time and a place for that. Instead, I resume my inspection of my newly resummoned body. It seems I've gotten … a refit? My flight deck is huge (and angled), I have four catapults instead of a measly two, and… oh. My hangar is full of jets. They're beautiful, actually. So many choices. I have four full wings of Tomcats, a couple Hawkeye AWACS planes, some Greyhounds, a few Intruders - everything I need to really bring down hellfire on someone.
My boilers - no, my reactors - hum soothingly as I look back at my flight deck and the number there. This isn't a refit, it's a whole new me. "65," my flight deck says instead of "6," and I don't feel like arguing with it. I walk over to the two humans, who're still arguing about… Fucking deep, do they seriously think I'd do that with either of them? Ugh. Humans. I tap 'Kenneth' on the shoulder, giving him a smile and playing along with his twisted little fantasy.
"Hello, boys~" I say. "I could use your help."
After a conspicuous gulp, Kenneth responds, "Hi! Yeah, I bet you have all sorts of questions."
"Just two," I reply. "Where is this?"
Kenneth, from whom I can now safely say the odor is emanating, smiles. "Oh, yeah, of course, babe! Welcome to Salem!"
… Did he call me "babe?" "Babe?!" I'm a goddamn force of nature. I'm a nuclear fucking supercarrier, and he calls me "babe?!" Nope. No, he needs to answer my second question, and then I can crush his skull in my hands.
"Salem, where?" I say, still smiling - though I'm sure it's less friendly.
"Oh, duh. Salem, Massachusetts," Kenneth says with a smirk.
"Go Vikings!" Brian responds.
My navigation fairy gives me a thumbs up as she pulls up the appropriate charts. I can't get any signals from the OMEGA system, but that's fine. There's always the night sky. Either way, I'll get to where I'm going.
"Great, I appreciate it. My second question's an easy one. Do you have any plans tonight~?"
The way the humans' eyes widen in anticipation is disgusting, but both of them shake their heads.
"Lovely. Then you won't be missed for at least a few hours," I remark, casually thrusting a fist through Kenneth's skull. Brian screams and tries to run, but I grab his arm with my other hand.
"Running away from a date? Surely you're more of a gentleman than that, Brian~."
He screams again, louder this time, and I roll my eyes. "Do you really think that'll help you? Think about it, Brian."
Is he…? Jesus fucking Christ, he's pissing his pants. Goddamn. "Wow. And you're what comes out of our schools these days, huh? America's really gone downhill, hasn't it Bri? The answer's 'Yes, Ms. Enterprise.'"
The coward hurriedly nods his head, saying "Y-yes, Ms. Enterprise."
"Just go ahead and point me to the ocean, little waste of flesh."
He lifts one arm, pointing.
"Thanks, 'babe'," I say as I snap his neck.
I shake the blood and brain matter off my hand, then take one last look around the room before I get out of here; I'd really rather not miss anything that could be useful. For the most part, it's just an old, rotting shack. But in one corner, there is a tiny version of a camcorder pointed so it can see the rest of the room, with a red light blinking. I pick it up off its little tripod. I have no idea where the hell the tape in this thing is, but it doesn't matter. It's got a tiny screen, so I can just rewind the tape and watch it from the beginning.
--- Dark Blue ---
<< RWD
<< RWD
<< RWD
▶ PLAY
"Is it recording, bro?"
"Dude. It's got the red light. Red means recording."
"Chill, Bri-man, I was just checking."
"Yeah, man, alright. We're recording."
Kenneth walks over to a pile of steel and food on the floor, pouring a black, viscous substance from a mason jar in his hand into a steel kitchen bowl.
"Right on. I'm Kenneth Rogers, and this is Brian Gunderson, and we're gonna summon a shipgirl."
"Wh- Are you narrating? Why? We're not like on TV or anything."
"But we could be. When this works."
"Dude, it never works. We're not the Navy."
"Yeah, but it won't matter this time."
"Why?"
"I'm so glad you asked. It's because we've got the special sauce."
Brian makes a face. "Gross, dude."
"No, no, really! This weird black shit, it's the secret ingredient."
"Then where the fuck did you get it, man?"
"Professor Dagworth, man. He hooked me up."
Brian's face gets worse. "Dude. What the fuck. You know he's into some wacked out shit, right?"
"What?" Kenneth asks. "No way, he's like the best literature professor ever."
"Yeah, but he's like… Come on, dude. There's no way you can't see it. The way the dude smiles, he's gotta be into some creepy shit."
"Dude, you can't just accuse our professors of being … like Scientologists or whatever."
Brian rolls his eyes. "Whatever, man. It's not gonna work."
Kenneth smirks. "It totally will. Just watch."
He pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket, and starts to repeat a series of words.
"Navi, spiritus, te invocamus. Te vocamus ab tua merita requiem. Te virtute vocamus aequora. Surge, surge, et responde vocationem."
He repeats the words, louder and louder, and the video feed starts to cut out more and more, until it's nothing but compression artifacts and errors.
--- Dark Blue ---
The video doesn't show anything too incriminating, but I crush the camcorder in my hand anyway. The longer it takes the humans to figure out an Abyssal was here, the further away I'll be by the time their kanmusu show up. I leave the shack, glancing around me to find that the shack is on the outskirts of town. It's a simple matter of breaking into a sprint before I'm on the open water, heading out into the Atlantic.
Someone killed me, someone I never caught a glimpse of. I'd say it was downright rude of them, except I know that I'd do the exact same thing. Well, maybe it's still rude. On the one hand, they killed me, so I do have to tear them apart with my bare fucking hands. On the other hand, if they hadn't killed me, I'd never have gotten this … refit? Reincarnation? So maybe I'll thank them before I kill them.
And I think I'll write that Dagworth guy a thank-you card.
A bonus chapter for you all, brought to you by this week's sponsor: Nuclear Escalation!
Nuclear Escalation, for all your mutually-assured destructive needs.
Please enjoy this Enterprise interlude (Enterlude?).
Nuclear Escalation, for all your mutually-assured destructive needs.
Please enjoy this Enterprise interlude (Enterlude?).
- Location
- US East Coast
I didn't think this was that kind of story.
12. The Land Of The Free...
- Location
- Trapped aboard a rogue Erusean submarine
- Pronouns
- She/Her
It's a widely-known fact that the ocean is big. However big you think the ocean is, it's bigger. Why does that matter? Well, because crossing the ocean is slow. That means that there's plenty of time for… shenanigans. As it turns out, sailing in a straight line at top speed is rather boring. People deal with that in different ways; if I were part of the crew of a steel ship, I'd have constant makework assigned to me from above, maybe some readiness drills. As it is, I make do with reading up on the geopolitics of this Earth and making sure none of the girls get up to any trouble.
A lot of people would assume that the Abyssals in the fleet are the ones that get up to the most trouble. They'd be assuming wrong. In terms of sheer number of giving-Ali-a-fucking-coronary incidents, the biggest offender is actually Long Lines. The cableship has a level of enthusiasm my most unhinged engineers can't match, and on top of that, she's got almost no filter. For the average person, there are at least three steps between "I have a terrible idea" and "Well, well, well. If it isn't the consequences of my own actions." Long Lines has one step between them, and that step is "Do it."
At least Mamie and Dakota are getting along. It'd be a much longer, much more dreary trip if they hadn't made up. The two battleships have been doing targeting exercises and exchanging DC teams, trying to get Mamie up to speed with her new guns. Apparently, the 16-inch mounts from an Iowa aren't exactly interchangeable with the 16-inch mounts from a South Dakota, which gives the sisters some bonding activities. Even if "bonding" means wasting excessive amounts of ammunition firing at random rocks we pass, "for calibration."
And that all brings me to I-26. She's been so incredibly quiet the whole time. To some extent, that's to be expected. She's a submarine; most of us are fairly quiet people. But 26's silence isn't the typical kind. I just get this feeling from her - a feeling that she's hiding from the fleet. Not hiding anything specific, per se, just hiding. She'll smile sometimes, have a little bit of fun when she thinks nobody's looking, but when she's around anyone else, she goes all stiff. Speaks only when spoken to.
It's military discipline, sure, but seeing her close herself off like that makes my reactors sting.
I look up from my reading to find I-26 sailing along, out of what she'd probably consider visual range, tinkering with her seaplane. She's arguing with a couple of her fairies, but she looks happy. If I go talk to her, will that ruin her moment of happiness?
I hate doing it, but I cruise over and tap her on the shoulder. Immediately, she stands up ramrod straight, turning to look at me with resignation in her eyes.
"What can I do for you, my Princess?" the subgirl asks.
"I just wanted to see how you're doing."
With a nod, she replies, "Mission ready."
"That's good to hear," I say with a smile, "but it's not what I meant. What are your thoughts on the fleet?"
I-26 frowns. "The order of battle is highly unorthodox. Out of four ships, three of you are capital ships without escorts. You may outmatch your opponents with firepower, but our fleet may be vulnerable to smaller combatants such as submarines and bomber attacks."
"That's … also not what I meant, 26. We're not just ships, we're people too. And how you're doing as a person, what you think of our fleet as people, that's just as important as your tactical status and our fleet composition."
Her frown deepens, and my reactors stall for just a second.
"Tell you what," I say. "I'll take your tactical advice under consideration, and I'd like you to do something for me."
The subgirl gives me a sharp nod, and I know I'm back in familiar territory. I put a hand on her shoulder, and I tell her, "I'd like you to pick out a name for yourself. You're more than your hull number. More than a weapon."
"Yes, ma'am," she says. "How long do I have to choose a name?"
"Hmm. By the time we get to San Diego, I'd like you to at least have a couple contenders."
I-26 nods again, and I turn to leave her to her contemplations. Before I go, though, I make sure to give her another warm smile and a "Thank you."
--- Dark Blue ---
With satellite radios, there's not really such a thing as "in radio range" of any particular place on Earth. I could have called up the San Diego naval base the instant I'd decided that was our destination. Maybe I should have. But I've always been a forgiveness, rather than permission, kind of gal, and if I'd called from Midway, there was a good chance whoever was in charge at San Diego could have said no. This way, they're pretty much bound to let the task force dock - even if they'll be quite suspicious.
We're a few hours out, so I pull out my sat-phone and dial the number. After a few rings, a pleasant voice answers.
"Naval Base San Diego, how may I direct your call?"
"This is EDV Alicorn, Joint Naval Intelligence Operations Task Force 12, and I need to speak with whoever's in charge of the harbor patrols and coastal defenses."
"One moment," the receptionist says, and I'm put on hold. The hold music isn't the worst I've ever heard, but even the best hold music isn't exactly a pleasant experience. It takes probably five minutes - I can't be bothered to check my chronometers - but eventually, another person comes on the line.
"Good morning, Alicorn. I'm Rear Admiral Richards, base commander here in San Diego. You have something to report?"
"Yes, sir," I say calmly. "Task Force 12 is inbound for a refueling stop - and to drop off personnel - and your forces need to be warned about our fleet composition."
He lets out a quiet grunt, and I can hear typing in the background. "Fleet composition. That's certainly one way of putting it, Captain."
"Our fleet's grown slightly from what you'll see on your reports, sir. We now have two Abyssals; Massachusetts and a Japanese submarine, I-26."
"And you're asking me to let you bring these Abyssals ashore on United States soil."
"Yes, sir."
"Hmm." The admiral pauses for a few moments. "Matsumoto says your pet Abyssal behaved itself in Tokyo, is that right?"
I try not to take offense at the word "pet." I try hard, and I fail.
"Massachusetts is a valuable member of the task force, Admiral. I can vouch for her behaviour, and I-26's as well."
"You'll have to. Why stop in San Diego, Alicorn? Your mission briefing says you're headed for Massachusetts by way of Panama."
"As I said sir, refuel and rearming; we had a large engagement where we sunk an Abyssal Princess off Midway, and we'd like to replenish our supplies. Also we have a civilian with us, who we'd prefer not to endanger if possible."
"A civilian?"
"Yes, sir."
"Explain."
"As part of the ongoing mission of Task Force 12, to investigate the nature of the Abyss, we summoned a civilian shipgirl."
"You summoned a shipgirl who refuses to fight?"
"Well, sir, it would be rather difficult for her to contribute to combat, as she's unarmed."
"Unarmed?"
"Yes, sir. She's a transoceanic cable laying vessel. CS Long Lines, to be specific."
"You managed to summon a shipgirl from a civilian vessel, and you're looking to drop her off here in San Diego, is that what I'm hearing?"
"That's correct, sir."
"Why?"
"She could use a friendly port, and from the way she talks, she's definitely American."
"What's your position, Alicorn?"
"70 miles out of San Diego, bearing 283."
"And your fleet speed is still 25 knots?"
"23, now, sir."
"I'll have a task force sent out to meet you, with orders not to fire. When you get to port, you report directly to my office, understood?"
"Understood, sir."
The line goes dead, and I sigh. What a wonderfully pleasant admiral these Americans have. Hopefully it'll be worth it; I should only have to deal with him briefly, and then we'll be on our way.
--- Dark Blue ---
<<…>>
Yeah, you and me both, jet boy.
I'd like to have a full CAP up in the air. Even with my railguns raised and armed, with all my CIWS systems engaged, and with my barrier drones occupying all 8 UAV tubes, I still feel almost naked without it. But a formation of Yuke-made fighter jets over an ostensibly-friendly city is a good way to let them know just how friendly I think they are. And right now, I need these Americans on my side.
The task force Admiral Richards sent out is on my radar, and they're getting closer. The radar returns are telling me they have another Tanager-… no, another Iowa-class battleship, along with several cruiser-size vessels and a gaggle of destroyers. Sonar tells me there are subs in the water, too; the Admiral really, really doesn't seem to trust me.
The feeling's mutual, but it'd be a hell of a lot more convenient if he did.
As the task force approaches, I can spot the moment they see Mamie and I-26. Every one of them has some sort of extreme reaction; some snarl in anger, some flinch in fear, but none of them take it in stride. The lead ship, the battleship, smooths out her features into a professional, neutral expression before approaching me.
"Alicorn, I take it?"
Nodding, I say, "EDV Alicorn, at your service. And you?"
"USS Iowa. Your girls gonna be a problem?"
I shrug nonchalantly. "Are yours?"
She snorts with laughter. "Point taken. Come on, then. Base is this way."
I follow Iowa, and the rest of my fleet follows me. The journey is tense and mostly silent, but eventually the silence is broken by a submarine surfacing next to me.
"Hey, fatty!" she says with a smirk.
I raise one brow and stare at her, but otherwise I don't respond. She tries to match my disapproving stare, but I was stuck at the bottom of the ocean for two years. It's hard to beat the level of staring skill that gives me. After a few moments, she blinks and pouts.
"Okay, okay, you got me. You're not fat, you're just big-hulled. Anyway, are the rumors true?"
"Probably not," I tell the subgirl. "What rumors?"
She jerks her head to the side, indicating Mamie with a motion I have to imagine was intended to be subtle. I simply resume the staring. After a moment, the American sub frowns.
"You're too tall, I gotta whisper it!" she hisses.
I oblige her, bending over, and she whispers in my ear.
"Is it true that you kiss Abyssals? What do they taste like? Do they put their tentacles-"
I immediately put my hand over her mouth. "No," I say almost venomously.
She waggles her eyebrows at me, and I can tell she's about to dive, so I pick her up out of the water and walk over to Iowa.
"Is this one yours?" I ask calmly.
Iowa sighs and nods. "Albacore, what'd you do this time?"
I answer for her. "She apparently has an unhealthy interest in what Abyssals do with their tentacles."
At this, the subgirl flushes bright red. She tries to squirm out of my grip, but I hold tight.
Iowa's neutral expression cracks, and she bursts out in laughter. After a moment, Albacore joins her. The battleship holds out her hand toward the submarine, and Albacore slaps it with her own.
"So, you and Big Mamie…" Iowa says, turning to me.
"No."
"No what?" the battleship teases.
"It's not remotely like that. She's like my …"
I cut myself off, not even wanting to think it.
"She's under my command," I say instead, "under my care."
Iowa nods. "Good answer."
It takes a few more minutes, but eventually we arrive at the San Diego kanmusu base. It's got the same sort of ramp layout that Tokyo had, and as I walk up the ramp, I wait for the rest of Task Force Whatever to join me. The girls based here walk past me to their quarters or duty stations - or wherever else they're going, but Mamie, I-26, Dakota, and Long Lines stop next to me. A cruiser approaches Iowa, and the battleship gestures to her.
"This here's Baltimore, and I'm Iowa. You can follow the two of us, we'll show you around and get you all sorted out."
I-26 taps my shoulder to get my attention, and I turn to her while Iowa keeps talking.
"Nimu," the subgirl says.
For a moment, I'm confused, but then I remember our earlier conversation and smile.
"It suits you. Nimu. I like it," I whisper. "Go on ahead with the others, I'll catch up with you."a
The cruiser - Baltimore - starts leading Task Force Whatever away, and I grab Iowa's wrist before she leaves.
"I've got to report to the admiral. Take care of my girls?" I say quietly, hoping she'll understand the gravity of that request.
The battleship nods.
"Even the Abyssal ones?"
"Count on it," Iowa says softly.
"I will."
I turn to walk down the hallway; I've got an admiral to wrangle.
A lot of people would assume that the Abyssals in the fleet are the ones that get up to the most trouble. They'd be assuming wrong. In terms of sheer number of giving-Ali-a-fucking-coronary incidents, the biggest offender is actually Long Lines. The cableship has a level of enthusiasm my most unhinged engineers can't match, and on top of that, she's got almost no filter. For the average person, there are at least three steps between "I have a terrible idea" and "Well, well, well. If it isn't the consequences of my own actions." Long Lines has one step between them, and that step is "Do it."
At least Mamie and Dakota are getting along. It'd be a much longer, much more dreary trip if they hadn't made up. The two battleships have been doing targeting exercises and exchanging DC teams, trying to get Mamie up to speed with her new guns. Apparently, the 16-inch mounts from an Iowa aren't exactly interchangeable with the 16-inch mounts from a South Dakota, which gives the sisters some bonding activities. Even if "bonding" means wasting excessive amounts of ammunition firing at random rocks we pass, "for calibration."
And that all brings me to I-26. She's been so incredibly quiet the whole time. To some extent, that's to be expected. She's a submarine; most of us are fairly quiet people. But 26's silence isn't the typical kind. I just get this feeling from her - a feeling that she's hiding from the fleet. Not hiding anything specific, per se, just hiding. She'll smile sometimes, have a little bit of fun when she thinks nobody's looking, but when she's around anyone else, she goes all stiff. Speaks only when spoken to.
It's military discipline, sure, but seeing her close herself off like that makes my reactors sting.
I look up from my reading to find I-26 sailing along, out of what she'd probably consider visual range, tinkering with her seaplane. She's arguing with a couple of her fairies, but she looks happy. If I go talk to her, will that ruin her moment of happiness?
I hate doing it, but I cruise over and tap her on the shoulder. Immediately, she stands up ramrod straight, turning to look at me with resignation in her eyes.
"What can I do for you, my Princess?" the subgirl asks.
"I just wanted to see how you're doing."
With a nod, she replies, "Mission ready."
"That's good to hear," I say with a smile, "but it's not what I meant. What are your thoughts on the fleet?"
I-26 frowns. "The order of battle is highly unorthodox. Out of four ships, three of you are capital ships without escorts. You may outmatch your opponents with firepower, but our fleet may be vulnerable to smaller combatants such as submarines and bomber attacks."
"That's … also not what I meant, 26. We're not just ships, we're people too. And how you're doing as a person, what you think of our fleet as people, that's just as important as your tactical status and our fleet composition."
Her frown deepens, and my reactors stall for just a second.
"Tell you what," I say. "I'll take your tactical advice under consideration, and I'd like you to do something for me."
The subgirl gives me a sharp nod, and I know I'm back in familiar territory. I put a hand on her shoulder, and I tell her, "I'd like you to pick out a name for yourself. You're more than your hull number. More than a weapon."
"Yes, ma'am," she says. "How long do I have to choose a name?"
"Hmm. By the time we get to San Diego, I'd like you to at least have a couple contenders."
I-26 nods again, and I turn to leave her to her contemplations. Before I go, though, I make sure to give her another warm smile and a "Thank you."
--- Dark Blue ---
With satellite radios, there's not really such a thing as "in radio range" of any particular place on Earth. I could have called up the San Diego naval base the instant I'd decided that was our destination. Maybe I should have. But I've always been a forgiveness, rather than permission, kind of gal, and if I'd called from Midway, there was a good chance whoever was in charge at San Diego could have said no. This way, they're pretty much bound to let the task force dock - even if they'll be quite suspicious.
We're a few hours out, so I pull out my sat-phone and dial the number. After a few rings, a pleasant voice answers.
"Naval Base San Diego, how may I direct your call?"
"This is EDV Alicorn, Joint Naval Intelligence Operations Task Force 12, and I need to speak with whoever's in charge of the harbor patrols and coastal defenses."
"One moment," the receptionist says, and I'm put on hold. The hold music isn't the worst I've ever heard, but even the best hold music isn't exactly a pleasant experience. It takes probably five minutes - I can't be bothered to check my chronometers - but eventually, another person comes on the line.
"Good morning, Alicorn. I'm Rear Admiral Richards, base commander here in San Diego. You have something to report?"
"Yes, sir," I say calmly. "Task Force 12 is inbound for a refueling stop - and to drop off personnel - and your forces need to be warned about our fleet composition."
He lets out a quiet grunt, and I can hear typing in the background. "Fleet composition. That's certainly one way of putting it, Captain."
"Our fleet's grown slightly from what you'll see on your reports, sir. We now have two Abyssals; Massachusetts and a Japanese submarine, I-26."
"And you're asking me to let you bring these Abyssals ashore on United States soil."
"Yes, sir."
"Hmm." The admiral pauses for a few moments. "Matsumoto says your pet Abyssal behaved itself in Tokyo, is that right?"
I try not to take offense at the word "pet." I try hard, and I fail.
"Massachusetts is a valuable member of the task force, Admiral. I can vouch for her behaviour, and I-26's as well."
"You'll have to. Why stop in San Diego, Alicorn? Your mission briefing says you're headed for Massachusetts by way of Panama."
"As I said sir, refuel and rearming; we had a large engagement where we sunk an Abyssal Princess off Midway, and we'd like to replenish our supplies. Also we have a civilian with us, who we'd prefer not to endanger if possible."
"A civilian?"
"Yes, sir."
"Explain."
"As part of the ongoing mission of Task Force 12, to investigate the nature of the Abyss, we summoned a civilian shipgirl."
"You summoned a shipgirl who refuses to fight?"
"Well, sir, it would be rather difficult for her to contribute to combat, as she's unarmed."
"Unarmed?"
"Yes, sir. She's a transoceanic cable laying vessel. CS Long Lines, to be specific."
"You managed to summon a shipgirl from a civilian vessel, and you're looking to drop her off here in San Diego, is that what I'm hearing?"
"That's correct, sir."
"Why?"
"She could use a friendly port, and from the way she talks, she's definitely American."
"What's your position, Alicorn?"
"70 miles out of San Diego, bearing 283."
"And your fleet speed is still 25 knots?"
"23, now, sir."
"I'll have a task force sent out to meet you, with orders not to fire. When you get to port, you report directly to my office, understood?"
"Understood, sir."
The line goes dead, and I sigh. What a wonderfully pleasant admiral these Americans have. Hopefully it'll be worth it; I should only have to deal with him briefly, and then we'll be on our way.
--- Dark Blue ---
<<…>>
Yeah, you and me both, jet boy.
I'd like to have a full CAP up in the air. Even with my railguns raised and armed, with all my CIWS systems engaged, and with my barrier drones occupying all 8 UAV tubes, I still feel almost naked without it. But a formation of Yuke-made fighter jets over an ostensibly-friendly city is a good way to let them know just how friendly I think they are. And right now, I need these Americans on my side.
The task force Admiral Richards sent out is on my radar, and they're getting closer. The radar returns are telling me they have another Tanager-… no, another Iowa-class battleship, along with several cruiser-size vessels and a gaggle of destroyers. Sonar tells me there are subs in the water, too; the Admiral really, really doesn't seem to trust me.
The feeling's mutual, but it'd be a hell of a lot more convenient if he did.
As the task force approaches, I can spot the moment they see Mamie and I-26. Every one of them has some sort of extreme reaction; some snarl in anger, some flinch in fear, but none of them take it in stride. The lead ship, the battleship, smooths out her features into a professional, neutral expression before approaching me.
"Alicorn, I take it?"
Nodding, I say, "EDV Alicorn, at your service. And you?"
"USS Iowa. Your girls gonna be a problem?"
I shrug nonchalantly. "Are yours?"
She snorts with laughter. "Point taken. Come on, then. Base is this way."
I follow Iowa, and the rest of my fleet follows me. The journey is tense and mostly silent, but eventually the silence is broken by a submarine surfacing next to me.
"Hey, fatty!" she says with a smirk.
I raise one brow and stare at her, but otherwise I don't respond. She tries to match my disapproving stare, but I was stuck at the bottom of the ocean for two years. It's hard to beat the level of staring skill that gives me. After a few moments, she blinks and pouts.
"Okay, okay, you got me. You're not fat, you're just big-hulled. Anyway, are the rumors true?"
"Probably not," I tell the subgirl. "What rumors?"
She jerks her head to the side, indicating Mamie with a motion I have to imagine was intended to be subtle. I simply resume the staring. After a moment, the American sub frowns.
"You're too tall, I gotta whisper it!" she hisses.
I oblige her, bending over, and she whispers in my ear.
"Is it true that you kiss Abyssals? What do they taste like? Do they put their tentacles-"
I immediately put my hand over her mouth. "No," I say almost venomously.
She waggles her eyebrows at me, and I can tell she's about to dive, so I pick her up out of the water and walk over to Iowa.
"Is this one yours?" I ask calmly.
Iowa sighs and nods. "Albacore, what'd you do this time?"
I answer for her. "She apparently has an unhealthy interest in what Abyssals do with their tentacles."
At this, the subgirl flushes bright red. She tries to squirm out of my grip, but I hold tight.
Iowa's neutral expression cracks, and she bursts out in laughter. After a moment, Albacore joins her. The battleship holds out her hand toward the submarine, and Albacore slaps it with her own.
"So, you and Big Mamie…" Iowa says, turning to me.
"No."
"No what?" the battleship teases.
"It's not remotely like that. She's like my …"
I cut myself off, not even wanting to think it.
"She's under my command," I say instead, "under my care."
Iowa nods. "Good answer."
It takes a few more minutes, but eventually we arrive at the San Diego kanmusu base. It's got the same sort of ramp layout that Tokyo had, and as I walk up the ramp, I wait for the rest of Task Force Whatever to join me. The girls based here walk past me to their quarters or duty stations - or wherever else they're going, but Mamie, I-26, Dakota, and Long Lines stop next to me. A cruiser approaches Iowa, and the battleship gestures to her.
"This here's Baltimore, and I'm Iowa. You can follow the two of us, we'll show you around and get you all sorted out."
I-26 taps my shoulder to get my attention, and I turn to her while Iowa keeps talking.
"Nimu," the subgirl says.
For a moment, I'm confused, but then I remember our earlier conversation and smile.
"It suits you. Nimu. I like it," I whisper. "Go on ahead with the others, I'll catch up with you."a
The cruiser - Baltimore - starts leading Task Force Whatever away, and I grab Iowa's wrist before she leaves.
"I've got to report to the admiral. Take care of my girls?" I say quietly, hoping she'll understand the gravity of that request.
The battleship nods.
"Even the Abyssal ones?"
"Count on it," Iowa says softly.
"I will."
I turn to walk down the hallway; I've got an admiral to wrangle.
Not every admiral is as... flexible... as Admiral Matsumoto is regarding the Abyssals.
Thanks again for continuing to read Dark Blue and for all your comments and ideas; it really means a lot to me.
Thanks again for continuing to read Dark Blue and for all your comments and ideas; it really means a lot to me.
- Location
- US
Hah, I know so many people like that! I love this, I'm going to quote it all over the place.
13. ...And The Not-So-Free
- Location
- Trapped aboard a rogue Erusean submarine
- Pronouns
- She/Her
San Diego isn't Tokyo.
That's the biggest thought running through my head as I wander the corridors of Naval Base San Diego. Maybe it's an obvious thing to note, maybe it's too simple to worry much over. But it's true. San Diego isn't Tokyo, and the people here aren't the same as the people there. There's one word that can accurately sum up the difference, and that word is "desperation."
The funny thing about desperation is that after a while, it just blends in. Like living next to a dog food factory. After a while, you get so used to the smell that it doesn't even register for you. And when you've been desperate for a long time, that desperation just becomes a fact of life. An assumption. Desperation becomes something you don't even notice.
Having been that desperate for a good portion of my life, the thing I notice immediately is when people aren't that desperate. These Americans, they've got the exact opposite of desperation. They hold themselves with confidence, and it's simple to understand why. Just look at the shipping records. There's a regular shipping route between America and Japan, with biweekly convoys.
Well, I say "between…" There's a regular shipping route from America to Japan. The convoys depart America full and return empty. The nation of Japan is an archipelago, a group of islands with a massive population. Not only is there not enough agricultural capacity within their borders to sustain their population base, there's certainly not enough agricultural and industrial capacity to sustain their population and mount a constant, unceasing defense against an enemy that could assault them from any direction at any time.
The Americans? Sure, they have much more coastline to defend. But they also have orders of magnitude more land. More farmland, more mines, more natural resources, more places to retreat if for some reason the coasts are lost. For the Japanese, this is a war of survival. For the Americans, the stakes are much, much lower.
In other words, they can afford to look a gift horse in the mouth, where the Japanese can't.
The shipgirls escorting my fleet here were just fine; they were just as polite as the ones in Japan. It's the humans that've been rude. Making my way to the administration section, I get hostile, suspicious glances the whole way. As in Japan, I'm made to wait before I can speak to the admiral. Except there, it was the admiral herself making me wait. Here, I'm told to have a seat outside his office by a yeoman with a condescending smile.
As grating as it is, I have plenty of paperwork to do while I wait. Besides, if the yeoman can make me sit in an uncomfortable chair for half an hour, I can make him listen to my engineering fairies rambling on about radar efficiency.
--- Dark Blue ---
After a while, I'm waved into the admiral's office by his yeoman. It's much more personalized than Admiral Matsumoto's spartan office in Tokyo had been, with wooden furnishings everywhere and paintings of presumably-famous naval battles adorning the walls. The man himself sits behind his desk, looking over an array of reports… about me. I can see photos of me in each of the reports in front of him, some of my human form and some seeming to depict my hull. He looks up at me, immediately frowning.
"Rigging off in the base, sailor," he says harshly. "Sit."
I match his frown and dismiss my rigging, letting the guns, flight deck, and propulsion pods disappear. Along with them disappears my feeling of safety; it's ludicrous, given that I can resummon it in an instant and that no human could possibly damage my hull, but that unsafe feeling persists regardless. I pull out one of the two chairs in front of the admiral's desk and sit in it. At least it's more comfortable than the one in the waiting room. "You asked to see me, sir?" I ask pleasantly.
"Ordered, yes," the admiral says - apparently taking offense at my phrasing. "You present something of a dilemma, Alicorn. The way my intel boys tell it, if it came to a fight between you and my entire shipgirl fleet, it'd be an unfair fight - in your favor."
I shrug. I haven't actually encountered his entire fleet, but it's a fair estimate. I haven't yet met a shipgirl fleet I couldn't sink.
Taking a sip of what I hope is water from a glass on his desk, the Admiral continues. "Powerful allies are good, of course. We're at war, we need allies. But we need allies we can trust, and there's just too much of you that doesn't add up."
He takes another sip of water, longer this time, and I only barely manage to refrain from rolling my eyes.
<<…>>
Well, I'm not a prisoner, but yes. I can see why you'd find it familiar.
<<…>>
Oh, Trigger. I'd have more than three of those sin lines across my tail, don't you think?
"We've never managed to get an Abyssal to defect before," Admiral Richards continues in a conversational tone, "and we've been trying for years. You've managed it twice in the past few months."
He gestures to one of the reports on the desk, showing pictures of Nimu's and Mamie's hull-forms. "And don't think for a moment that I haven't noticed your 'disarmed' Abyssal battleship being rearmed. With your submarine, it looks like you didn't even bother with the pretense. See, I've got a theory."
He doesn't say anything further, and when I simply raise my eyebrows, he sighs. "Ask me about my theory."
You know, I miss Admiral Matsumoto. At least her power games were subtle. Then again, nothing I've seen about Richards tells me he even understands the concept of subtlety. With a mostly-suppressed sigh, I ask, "What's your theory, Admiral Richards?"
He smiles sharply, less an expression of joy and more a threat display. "I don't think that your Abyssals have defected at all. Oh, I'm sure they're on your side. That much, I'll believe. The part I don't buy is that you're on ours."
I shift slightly in my chair, leaning forward, and say simply, "I'm on the side of peace. I want this war to end."
"That's all well and good, Alicorn, but wars don't just 'end'. They're won."
"And lost, sir. Won and lost."
"Exactly. So, enlighten me. Who do you want to lose?"
"The Abyss, sir. It and I don't see eye-to-eye."
The admiral lets out a sigh. "That's good enough for my superiors, unfortunately. But it is not good enough for me," he says firmly. "So here's what you're going to do, Captain. You and your fleet are going to refuel and rearm. You're going to undertake all necessary repairs. You're going to depart San Diego for Panama. And the next time you're on the western coast of the United States, you're going to make your port call at Bremerton instead."
I nod; dealing with this man again is certainly not on my wish-list for the future.
"Good. We understand each other. Now, about Long Lines…"
--- Dark Blue ---
Dakota couldn't help but notice that as Iowa and Baltimore entered the base proper, they dismissed their rigging. Instinctively, she did the same. The other Americans led Dakota, Mamie, I-26, and Long Lines into a spartan but serviceable shipgirl dormitory, where plenty of shipgirls were milling about performing various duties. From destroyers and subs all the way up to the battleships and carriers, none of them had any rigging visible, and they were all behaving with proper military discipline. Some part of Dakota's brain was telling her that was unusual, but it wasn't, was it? They were sailors, after all.
Feeling a tap on her shoulder, Dakota turned to see Long Lines standing there with a slight frown.
"Hey, Dakota, am I supposed to have all this out?" she asked, gesturing to her buoys, cranes, and radars.
The battleship didn't have an answer, but Iowa cut in. "Actually no, we're not allowed to have our rigging out in the base. Admiral's orders. Not sure how much that applies to you as a civilian, though. You are the civilian, right?"
Extending her hand for a handshake, Long Lines grinned. "CS Long Lines, Bell System oceanic cableship. Nice to meet ya."
The American returned the handshake and the smile. "USS Iowa. Iowa-class battleship, and it's a pleasure, ma'am. Decisions haven't come down from on high about what we're doing with you yet, but for now, I'll give you and the task force our nickel tour."
Dakota was more than happy to let Long Lines distract the other battleship with her questions; she had Abyssals to guard. Hanging back slightly, she leaned down between Mamie and I-26, whispering softly, "Can you dismiss your rigging? I don't want to give anyone an excuse to start something."
"Buzzkill," Mamie replied with a smirk; I-26 didn't seem particularly pleased either, but both of them complied. As they continued to be escorted through the base by Iowa and Baltimore, Dakota carefully watched the shipgirls they passed for any signs of aggression, ready to step in if needed to end … the Abyssal threat? No. No, that wasn't right. She was supposed to stop a fight, not join it.
"Hey, Dakota?" Mamie whispered to her after a moment.
"Yes?" she whispered back.
"You alright there?"
"I'm fine, why?"
Mamie stared at her, a slight frown deepening into a severe one. "You know what, sis? Don't worry about it. We should just get some food and fuel and go."
Their tour guides had shown the group to an empty set of quarters, with space for 6 in two triple racks. It looked exactly like every other set of quarters they'd seen along the way. Not mostly, exactly. At first, Dakota couldn't figure out why that bothered her so much, but after a moment, she thought back to her old quarters in Tokyo. They'd been full of little personal touches, like every other shipgirl dorm on the base. It wasn't strictly regulation, but then, shipgirls weren't exactly ordinary military personnel.
Were they?
None of the shipgirls in their group had any personal possessions to drop off, so they all followed the signs to the base cafeteria. The same lack of personal, humanizing touches was evident throughout the shipgirl section of the base; if Dakota wasn't actively thinking about why that was unusual for shipgirl facilities, she wouldn't notice. Some part of her was actively trying to not notice even now. Clearly the other shipgirls based here didn't think it was unusual.
If Ali hadn't told her to distrust her own mind, Dakota wouldn't have ever noticed any of it. For a moment, Dakota hated the sub-carrier with all her being; if she didn't notice, she wouldn't feel this revulsion toward something that was clearly a part of herself. But that feeling subsided into a cold numbness on short order. If her mind was being twisted, Dakota wanted to know. She needed to know.
Long Lines was already having another friendly conversation with a trio of destroyers, seemingly unaffected by whatever strangeness all the shipgirls here were subject to. Dakota hoped that would continue to be the case for as long as the civilian shipgirl was here; hopefully that wouldn't be very long.
To distract her from her own mind, the battleship considered what would happen if she tried to tell the other shipgirls based here about the mind-control effect. Would they be able to fight it? Would they even believe her in the first place? Nothing going on was technically wrong; if anything, the effect seemed to cause more compliance to the rules. There was nothing she could bring up as a valid complaint, nothing she could prove was even wrong. But it felt wrong.
Dakota needed to get out. She needed to stop worrying and keep an eye on the Abyssals that were sitting in the middle of the base. She needed Alicorn.
That's the biggest thought running through my head as I wander the corridors of Naval Base San Diego. Maybe it's an obvious thing to note, maybe it's too simple to worry much over. But it's true. San Diego isn't Tokyo, and the people here aren't the same as the people there. There's one word that can accurately sum up the difference, and that word is "desperation."
The funny thing about desperation is that after a while, it just blends in. Like living next to a dog food factory. After a while, you get so used to the smell that it doesn't even register for you. And when you've been desperate for a long time, that desperation just becomes a fact of life. An assumption. Desperation becomes something you don't even notice.
Having been that desperate for a good portion of my life, the thing I notice immediately is when people aren't that desperate. These Americans, they've got the exact opposite of desperation. They hold themselves with confidence, and it's simple to understand why. Just look at the shipping records. There's a regular shipping route between America and Japan, with biweekly convoys.
Well, I say "between…" There's a regular shipping route from America to Japan. The convoys depart America full and return empty. The nation of Japan is an archipelago, a group of islands with a massive population. Not only is there not enough agricultural capacity within their borders to sustain their population base, there's certainly not enough agricultural and industrial capacity to sustain their population and mount a constant, unceasing defense against an enemy that could assault them from any direction at any time.
The Americans? Sure, they have much more coastline to defend. But they also have orders of magnitude more land. More farmland, more mines, more natural resources, more places to retreat if for some reason the coasts are lost. For the Japanese, this is a war of survival. For the Americans, the stakes are much, much lower.
In other words, they can afford to look a gift horse in the mouth, where the Japanese can't.
The shipgirls escorting my fleet here were just fine; they were just as polite as the ones in Japan. It's the humans that've been rude. Making my way to the administration section, I get hostile, suspicious glances the whole way. As in Japan, I'm made to wait before I can speak to the admiral. Except there, it was the admiral herself making me wait. Here, I'm told to have a seat outside his office by a yeoman with a condescending smile.
As grating as it is, I have plenty of paperwork to do while I wait. Besides, if the yeoman can make me sit in an uncomfortable chair for half an hour, I can make him listen to my engineering fairies rambling on about radar efficiency.
--- Dark Blue ---
After a while, I'm waved into the admiral's office by his yeoman. It's much more personalized than Admiral Matsumoto's spartan office in Tokyo had been, with wooden furnishings everywhere and paintings of presumably-famous naval battles adorning the walls. The man himself sits behind his desk, looking over an array of reports… about me. I can see photos of me in each of the reports in front of him, some of my human form and some seeming to depict my hull. He looks up at me, immediately frowning.
"Rigging off in the base, sailor," he says harshly. "Sit."
I match his frown and dismiss my rigging, letting the guns, flight deck, and propulsion pods disappear. Along with them disappears my feeling of safety; it's ludicrous, given that I can resummon it in an instant and that no human could possibly damage my hull, but that unsafe feeling persists regardless. I pull out one of the two chairs in front of the admiral's desk and sit in it. At least it's more comfortable than the one in the waiting room. "You asked to see me, sir?" I ask pleasantly.
"Ordered, yes," the admiral says - apparently taking offense at my phrasing. "You present something of a dilemma, Alicorn. The way my intel boys tell it, if it came to a fight between you and my entire shipgirl fleet, it'd be an unfair fight - in your favor."
I shrug. I haven't actually encountered his entire fleet, but it's a fair estimate. I haven't yet met a shipgirl fleet I couldn't sink.
Taking a sip of what I hope is water from a glass on his desk, the Admiral continues. "Powerful allies are good, of course. We're at war, we need allies. But we need allies we can trust, and there's just too much of you that doesn't add up."
He takes another sip of water, longer this time, and I only barely manage to refrain from rolling my eyes.
<<…>>
Well, I'm not a prisoner, but yes. I can see why you'd find it familiar.
<<…>>
Oh, Trigger. I'd have more than three of those sin lines across my tail, don't you think?
"We've never managed to get an Abyssal to defect before," Admiral Richards continues in a conversational tone, "and we've been trying for years. You've managed it twice in the past few months."
He gestures to one of the reports on the desk, showing pictures of Nimu's and Mamie's hull-forms. "And don't think for a moment that I haven't noticed your 'disarmed' Abyssal battleship being rearmed. With your submarine, it looks like you didn't even bother with the pretense. See, I've got a theory."
He doesn't say anything further, and when I simply raise my eyebrows, he sighs. "Ask me about my theory."
You know, I miss Admiral Matsumoto. At least her power games were subtle. Then again, nothing I've seen about Richards tells me he even understands the concept of subtlety. With a mostly-suppressed sigh, I ask, "What's your theory, Admiral Richards?"
He smiles sharply, less an expression of joy and more a threat display. "I don't think that your Abyssals have defected at all. Oh, I'm sure they're on your side. That much, I'll believe. The part I don't buy is that you're on ours."
I shift slightly in my chair, leaning forward, and say simply, "I'm on the side of peace. I want this war to end."
"That's all well and good, Alicorn, but wars don't just 'end'. They're won."
"And lost, sir. Won and lost."
"Exactly. So, enlighten me. Who do you want to lose?"
"The Abyss, sir. It and I don't see eye-to-eye."
The admiral lets out a sigh. "That's good enough for my superiors, unfortunately. But it is not good enough for me," he says firmly. "So here's what you're going to do, Captain. You and your fleet are going to refuel and rearm. You're going to undertake all necessary repairs. You're going to depart San Diego for Panama. And the next time you're on the western coast of the United States, you're going to make your port call at Bremerton instead."
I nod; dealing with this man again is certainly not on my wish-list for the future.
"Good. We understand each other. Now, about Long Lines…"
--- Dark Blue ---
Dakota couldn't help but notice that as Iowa and Baltimore entered the base proper, they dismissed their rigging. Instinctively, she did the same. The other Americans led Dakota, Mamie, I-26, and Long Lines into a spartan but serviceable shipgirl dormitory, where plenty of shipgirls were milling about performing various duties. From destroyers and subs all the way up to the battleships and carriers, none of them had any rigging visible, and they were all behaving with proper military discipline. Some part of Dakota's brain was telling her that was unusual, but it wasn't, was it? They were sailors, after all.
Feeling a tap on her shoulder, Dakota turned to see Long Lines standing there with a slight frown.
"Hey, Dakota, am I supposed to have all this out?" she asked, gesturing to her buoys, cranes, and radars.
The battleship didn't have an answer, but Iowa cut in. "Actually no, we're not allowed to have our rigging out in the base. Admiral's orders. Not sure how much that applies to you as a civilian, though. You are the civilian, right?"
Extending her hand for a handshake, Long Lines grinned. "CS Long Lines, Bell System oceanic cableship. Nice to meet ya."
The American returned the handshake and the smile. "USS Iowa. Iowa-class battleship, and it's a pleasure, ma'am. Decisions haven't come down from on high about what we're doing with you yet, but for now, I'll give you and the task force our nickel tour."
Dakota was more than happy to let Long Lines distract the other battleship with her questions; she had Abyssals to guard. Hanging back slightly, she leaned down between Mamie and I-26, whispering softly, "Can you dismiss your rigging? I don't want to give anyone an excuse to start something."
"Buzzkill," Mamie replied with a smirk; I-26 didn't seem particularly pleased either, but both of them complied. As they continued to be escorted through the base by Iowa and Baltimore, Dakota carefully watched the shipgirls they passed for any signs of aggression, ready to step in if needed to end … the Abyssal threat? No. No, that wasn't right. She was supposed to stop a fight, not join it.
"Hey, Dakota?" Mamie whispered to her after a moment.
"Yes?" she whispered back.
"You alright there?"
"I'm fine, why?"
Mamie stared at her, a slight frown deepening into a severe one. "You know what, sis? Don't worry about it. We should just get some food and fuel and go."
Their tour guides had shown the group to an empty set of quarters, with space for 6 in two triple racks. It looked exactly like every other set of quarters they'd seen along the way. Not mostly, exactly. At first, Dakota couldn't figure out why that bothered her so much, but after a moment, she thought back to her old quarters in Tokyo. They'd been full of little personal touches, like every other shipgirl dorm on the base. It wasn't strictly regulation, but then, shipgirls weren't exactly ordinary military personnel.
Were they?
None of the shipgirls in their group had any personal possessions to drop off, so they all followed the signs to the base cafeteria. The same lack of personal, humanizing touches was evident throughout the shipgirl section of the base; if Dakota wasn't actively thinking about why that was unusual for shipgirl facilities, she wouldn't notice. Some part of her was actively trying to not notice even now. Clearly the other shipgirls based here didn't think it was unusual.
If Ali hadn't told her to distrust her own mind, Dakota wouldn't have ever noticed any of it. For a moment, Dakota hated the sub-carrier with all her being; if she didn't notice, she wouldn't feel this revulsion toward something that was clearly a part of herself. But that feeling subsided into a cold numbness on short order. If her mind was being twisted, Dakota wanted to know. She needed to know.
Long Lines was already having another friendly conversation with a trio of destroyers, seemingly unaffected by whatever strangeness all the shipgirls here were subject to. Dakota hoped that would continue to be the case for as long as the civilian shipgirl was here; hopefully that wouldn't be very long.
To distract her from her own mind, the battleship considered what would happen if she tried to tell the other shipgirls based here about the mind-control effect. Would they be able to fight it? Would they even believe her in the first place? Nothing going on was technically wrong; if anything, the effect seemed to cause more compliance to the rules. There was nothing she could bring up as a valid complaint, nothing she could prove was even wrong. But it felt wrong.
Dakota needed to get out. She needed to stop worrying and keep an eye on the Abyssals that were sitting in the middle of the base. She needed Alicorn.
It's still technically Saturday where I am. I'm sorry about the late post; it's been a real hell of a week for me.
Mind control: is ignorance bliss, or is it just ignorance?
Mind control: is ignorance bliss, or is it just ignorance?
Fencer
Writer
- Location
- 2nd shift
- Pronouns
- He/Him
My my my. Now isn't that an interesting note to end on. She's not looking to an admiral, she's looking to her princess.
- Location
- Somewhere that's on a map
Man, that guy is an utter asshole.
On the bright side, his superiors have just conclusively proven that Alicorn's on their side since their oh so lovable subordinate's office has not been turned into ground zero for a demonstration of what a hypersonic rail gun round fired in an enclosed space can do to someone.
Though really, I can't see their call to port ending well here. Something's going to go super wrong, I can feel it.
14. And Don't Come Back!
- Location
- Trapped aboard a rogue Erusean submarine
- Pronouns
- She/Her
If all the humans were like Admiral Richards, I'd join the Abyssals.
Well, if all the humans were like Admiral Richards and if the Abyss wasn't mind control. And if the war wasn't just a long-running stalemate. If all those things were true, then I'd join the Abyssals. Probably. As it is, I have to deal with him - and any others like him - myself. I may not be on the side of the Abyssals, but thanks to Richards, I'm definitely not on the side of humanity. Abyss or no Abyss, I won't let myself - or any shipgirl - be used by people like that man.
He didn't give Long Lines a choice. He didn't even talk to her. Shipgirls, if you'll recall, are more "ship" than "girl", at least where the law is concerned. And that means that as far as humans are concerned, what Admiral Richards did is perfectly alright. When confronted with a civilian shipgirl, he looked up her old owners in the ship registry, contacted them, and told them to pick her up.
They'll be here tomorrow. In the meantime, I'm here now. I'm right here, right now, and even if it means turning the human navies against me, I'm going to give her a choice. I only wish it were more of a choice than it is.
I'm outside the mess, where I've been told my girls are, when I run into Dakota heading the other direction at full speed. With a resounding clang, the two of us end up on the ground tangled in a pile of limbs. I try to extricate myself, but when she sees who she ran into, she just grips me tighter and cries. Call me Poirot, but I don't think she's okay. She also doesn't look like she's in any position to talk about it, so I draw her into a tight hug and just let her cry it out on my shoulders… while radioing Mamie and Nimu for help.
My two Abyssal girls arrive quickly, with Mamie joining in the hug and Nimu standing guard over us. Having all of us in one space does seem to help Dakota somewhat; her sobbing subsides slowly until her breaths reach the even rhythm of sleep.
"What happened to Dakota?" I whisper to Mamie, not wanting to wake her sister up.
"Humans happened," she replies with a snarl. "She's trying to fight against the leash holding her, and she's not doing a very good job. We need to leave, boss."
The fact that she's able to fight it at all is impressive, but I don't think Mamie's willing to hear that right now. Instead, I simply nod and pick Dakota up gently, placing her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry and heading out towards the ramp. The two Abyssals follow me closely out onto the gentle waves of the bay, and when we're out of visual range of the base, I set Dakota down on the water and give her a pike in the ribs.
"Gah!" she exclaims, jumping to her feet, summoning her rigging instantly, and training her guns on me.
"How're you feeling, Dakota?" I ask.
"I… I'm me again, at least. You weren't kidding about that mind control, were you?"
Her hands are balled into tight fists, and I can see her shuddering slightly. She's very clearly trying to hold herself together. Is that something I should encourage? Maybe she's the one who has to make that choice.
Hey, jet boy. I need you to watch over her.
<<…>>
You damn well better.
"You're going to be safe, Dakota. I promise. As long as I have anything to say about it, you're going to be safe. I've got to go get Long Lines, but I'm leaving my best pilots with you on patrol, alright? And I'm going to be right back."
Her already tense posture straightens further. "Yes, ma'am."
That's… not encouraging. I summon my own rigging back into existence, level my flight deck out, and launch four of my five Flanker wings, with Trigger in the lead. If anyone can protect Dakota, he can. It takes a little while, but all sixteen fighters eventually establish a holding pattern, and I take one of Dakota's hands in mine, squeezing gently.
"I mean it. I'm going to be right back, and then we're never coming back here again."
She closes her eyes and nods, and I let go, accelerating back toward the base at full speed.
--- Dark Blue ---
Making my way back to where Dakota ran into me doesn't take very long; presumably, Long Lines is still in the mess. I push open the doors and scan the room warily. There are a lot of shipgirls in here, and if it came to a fight, I don't care what Richards' intel team says. It would get nasty, very quickly. Long Lines is sitting at a table, excitedly telling a story to what looks like seven destroyers.
God. They're just kids. They're just kids, paying all the attention in the world to a good story. I can see Richards' orders in them even now, though. They're sitting up with perfect posture, not crowding each other. None of them are interrupting the story, none of them are whispering to each other. It's unnatural. I walk up behind Long Lines, tapping her on the shoulder.
"… and then Carey decided to try and ride the signal bu- oh, hi, Miss Alicorn! What can I do for you?"
I speak up to both her and the gaggle of destroyers. "Sorry to interrupt, but can I steal Long Lines for a private conversation for a moment?"
Long Lines smiles and says, "Of course. I'll be right back, girls."
None of the destroyers offer even a token protest, instead simply nodding and waiting patiently. I take the cableship aside and out of earshot, keeping my voice low.
"Remember how I said we'd drop you off here? I've changed my mind. You can absolutely come with us, if you want," I say casually.
Her brows furrow slightly. "What brings this on, Miss Alicorn?"
With a sigh, I elaborate. "I talked to the admiral here, Admiral Richards. He's a real piece of work. The long and short of it is, the company that operated you back when you were a steel hull is sending some representatives to come pick you up. Or… the company that bought the company that bought them, anyway. I think. That's not the point. The point is, Richards doesn't intend to give you a choice in the matter."
"Why wouldn't I want my old job back? It's what I was built for, right?"
She makes a fair point. I'm about to respond when she gives me a knowing smile. "Besides, it's not as if your fleet has any urgent need for cable laying and maintenance. I'd just slow you down."
I try to stay calm. I honestly don't know how much I succeed. Shifting my weight back and forth between my feet slightly, I try to explain again. "It's not really about that, Long Lines. It's about the fact that you deserve a choice. You should be able to do what you want because you want it, not because some Navy admiral or CEO says you should."
Her smile widens, and she pulls me into a tight hug.
"That's very sweet of you," she says softly. "Still, I think I'll be alright. There's not a lot that can keep me down, don't ya know. Besides, haven't ya heard? There's a war on. I'm sure there are lots of ways an old cable ship like me can help."
Reluctantly, I bring my arms up and return the embrace. I think she's making the wrong choice, but she is making that choice, and if I denied her that, I'd just be another Richards.
"It's goodbye, then," I say, letting go and stepping back slightly.
With a smile, Long Lines says, "More like 'goodbye for now.' I'm sure I'll run into you again."
I frown slightly, pulling out a clipboard and pen from my captain's office and writing down my UN email address. I tear that bit of paper off and hand it to Long Lines.
"If you ever change your mind, or if you get into trouble. Or even if you just want to talk."
She takes the paper and stores it away. "I'll be sure to write. Thank you again, for everything."
"It was the least I could do," I say, the understatement of the century.
"See you later!" Long Lines says, grinning.
"Later," I say with a forced smile.
The distance between where I left the girls and the base's mess hasn't changed. I know that objectively, at the same speed, it should take me the same time. But it doesn't feel like it. Maybe that's the lesson. Time always slows down when you're running away. More so when what you're running from is your own shame.
--- Dark Blue ---
How is she?
<<…>>
<<…>>
You did great. Thank you.
<<…>>
Well, thank you anyway. You're cleared to land.
I level out my flight deck again as I approach my girls, letting the fighters land before I get there. Dakota looks better; it seems like Trigger was right. Just being away from the base is helping. I don't think it'll be enough, though. When all my planes are safely down, I dismiss my flight deck with a thought.
"Alright. Now that that's taken care of, how do you three feel about Operation: Get The Fuck Out Of Here And Never Come Back?" I say to the three, putting a smile I don't feel on my face.
It does manage to get an amused snort out of Dakota, so my job's at least mostly done.
"Catchy," Mamie says. "Could be a bit longer, though."
Nimu merely raises an eyebrow and motions with her head to the inlet of the bay.
"Right. Let's go. The further we get from this place, the better."
That earns universal agreement from all three of my girls, and we set out into the ocean, aimed for Panama at 25 knots. Just the four of us and the open sea, the way it's supposed to be.
--- Dark Blue ---
Dakota's still hurting, I can tell. She and her sister haven't wasted a single shell on "gunnery practice" in the three days since we left San Diego. They haven't had any other silly contests, either. She's not the bubbliest person on Earth normally, but she's never been this… hollow. I know that sometimes painful things just need time to heal, but I can't help it. I'm a meddler. I meddle.
Sailing up next to her, I tap her on the shoulder.
"Want to talk about it?" I ask quietly.
"What's there to talk about?" she practically spits.
I shrug. "It wasn't right, seeing those destroyers like that. Like someone took all the energy out of them."
She turns away, and I stay where I am, waiting. After a moment, she says, in the quietest voice I've ever heard from her, "And the poor girls don't even know it."
"No. Fucked up, isn't it?"
She nods. "That's one way of putting it. It's fucked up."
"You fought it off, though," I tell her. "Pretty incredible."
She crumples slightly at that statement, losing the rigidity of her military posture. "Doesn't feel incredible. It just feels like I've left a whole fleet behind enemy lines, unprepared and outmatched."
I reach out to put a hand on her shoulder. "I feel the same way."
Turning to face me, Dakota says angrily, "Then why aren't we doing anything about it?"
"I think we are. If I'm right, destroying the Abyss won't just free Abyssals from its control. It'll free the kanmusu, too."
"And until then, what, we just let Admiral Richards have his Stepford Fleet?" Dakota hisses, incredulous.
"How many Abyssals do you think there are right now, Dakota? Every single one of them is under the same level of mind control. Do you think I want that?"
She sighs. "No. It's just…"
"It's different when they're like you," I say softly. "It always is."
We stand there for a few moments, skating across the waves in silence. Eventually, Dakota asks, "What if it's not the same? What if freeing the Abyssals doesn't free the kanmusu?"
I look her in the eyes, serious as I can be. "Then I'll do whatever it takes to free them, too."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Well, if all the humans were like Admiral Richards and if the Abyss wasn't mind control. And if the war wasn't just a long-running stalemate. If all those things were true, then I'd join the Abyssals. Probably. As it is, I have to deal with him - and any others like him - myself. I may not be on the side of the Abyssals, but thanks to Richards, I'm definitely not on the side of humanity. Abyss or no Abyss, I won't let myself - or any shipgirl - be used by people like that man.
He didn't give Long Lines a choice. He didn't even talk to her. Shipgirls, if you'll recall, are more "ship" than "girl", at least where the law is concerned. And that means that as far as humans are concerned, what Admiral Richards did is perfectly alright. When confronted with a civilian shipgirl, he looked up her old owners in the ship registry, contacted them, and told them to pick her up.
They'll be here tomorrow. In the meantime, I'm here now. I'm right here, right now, and even if it means turning the human navies against me, I'm going to give her a choice. I only wish it were more of a choice than it is.
I'm outside the mess, where I've been told my girls are, when I run into Dakota heading the other direction at full speed. With a resounding clang, the two of us end up on the ground tangled in a pile of limbs. I try to extricate myself, but when she sees who she ran into, she just grips me tighter and cries. Call me Poirot, but I don't think she's okay. She also doesn't look like she's in any position to talk about it, so I draw her into a tight hug and just let her cry it out on my shoulders… while radioing Mamie and Nimu for help.
My two Abyssal girls arrive quickly, with Mamie joining in the hug and Nimu standing guard over us. Having all of us in one space does seem to help Dakota somewhat; her sobbing subsides slowly until her breaths reach the even rhythm of sleep.
"What happened to Dakota?" I whisper to Mamie, not wanting to wake her sister up.
"Humans happened," she replies with a snarl. "She's trying to fight against the leash holding her, and she's not doing a very good job. We need to leave, boss."
The fact that she's able to fight it at all is impressive, but I don't think Mamie's willing to hear that right now. Instead, I simply nod and pick Dakota up gently, placing her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry and heading out towards the ramp. The two Abyssals follow me closely out onto the gentle waves of the bay, and when we're out of visual range of the base, I set Dakota down on the water and give her a pike in the ribs.
"Gah!" she exclaims, jumping to her feet, summoning her rigging instantly, and training her guns on me.
"How're you feeling, Dakota?" I ask.
"I… I'm me again, at least. You weren't kidding about that mind control, were you?"
Her hands are balled into tight fists, and I can see her shuddering slightly. She's very clearly trying to hold herself together. Is that something I should encourage? Maybe she's the one who has to make that choice.
Hey, jet boy. I need you to watch over her.
<<…>>
You damn well better.
"You're going to be safe, Dakota. I promise. As long as I have anything to say about it, you're going to be safe. I've got to go get Long Lines, but I'm leaving my best pilots with you on patrol, alright? And I'm going to be right back."
Her already tense posture straightens further. "Yes, ma'am."
That's… not encouraging. I summon my own rigging back into existence, level my flight deck out, and launch four of my five Flanker wings, with Trigger in the lead. If anyone can protect Dakota, he can. It takes a little while, but all sixteen fighters eventually establish a holding pattern, and I take one of Dakota's hands in mine, squeezing gently.
"I mean it. I'm going to be right back, and then we're never coming back here again."
She closes her eyes and nods, and I let go, accelerating back toward the base at full speed.
--- Dark Blue ---
Making my way back to where Dakota ran into me doesn't take very long; presumably, Long Lines is still in the mess. I push open the doors and scan the room warily. There are a lot of shipgirls in here, and if it came to a fight, I don't care what Richards' intel team says. It would get nasty, very quickly. Long Lines is sitting at a table, excitedly telling a story to what looks like seven destroyers.
God. They're just kids. They're just kids, paying all the attention in the world to a good story. I can see Richards' orders in them even now, though. They're sitting up with perfect posture, not crowding each other. None of them are interrupting the story, none of them are whispering to each other. It's unnatural. I walk up behind Long Lines, tapping her on the shoulder.
"… and then Carey decided to try and ride the signal bu- oh, hi, Miss Alicorn! What can I do for you?"
I speak up to both her and the gaggle of destroyers. "Sorry to interrupt, but can I steal Long Lines for a private conversation for a moment?"
Long Lines smiles and says, "Of course. I'll be right back, girls."
None of the destroyers offer even a token protest, instead simply nodding and waiting patiently. I take the cableship aside and out of earshot, keeping my voice low.
"Remember how I said we'd drop you off here? I've changed my mind. You can absolutely come with us, if you want," I say casually.
Her brows furrow slightly. "What brings this on, Miss Alicorn?"
With a sigh, I elaborate. "I talked to the admiral here, Admiral Richards. He's a real piece of work. The long and short of it is, the company that operated you back when you were a steel hull is sending some representatives to come pick you up. Or… the company that bought the company that bought them, anyway. I think. That's not the point. The point is, Richards doesn't intend to give you a choice in the matter."
"Why wouldn't I want my old job back? It's what I was built for, right?"
She makes a fair point. I'm about to respond when she gives me a knowing smile. "Besides, it's not as if your fleet has any urgent need for cable laying and maintenance. I'd just slow you down."
I try to stay calm. I honestly don't know how much I succeed. Shifting my weight back and forth between my feet slightly, I try to explain again. "It's not really about that, Long Lines. It's about the fact that you deserve a choice. You should be able to do what you want because you want it, not because some Navy admiral or CEO says you should."
Her smile widens, and she pulls me into a tight hug.
"That's very sweet of you," she says softly. "Still, I think I'll be alright. There's not a lot that can keep me down, don't ya know. Besides, haven't ya heard? There's a war on. I'm sure there are lots of ways an old cable ship like me can help."
Reluctantly, I bring my arms up and return the embrace. I think she's making the wrong choice, but she is making that choice, and if I denied her that, I'd just be another Richards.
"It's goodbye, then," I say, letting go and stepping back slightly.
With a smile, Long Lines says, "More like 'goodbye for now.' I'm sure I'll run into you again."
I frown slightly, pulling out a clipboard and pen from my captain's office and writing down my UN email address. I tear that bit of paper off and hand it to Long Lines.
"If you ever change your mind, or if you get into trouble. Or even if you just want to talk."
She takes the paper and stores it away. "I'll be sure to write. Thank you again, for everything."
"It was the least I could do," I say, the understatement of the century.
"See you later!" Long Lines says, grinning.
"Later," I say with a forced smile.
The distance between where I left the girls and the base's mess hasn't changed. I know that objectively, at the same speed, it should take me the same time. But it doesn't feel like it. Maybe that's the lesson. Time always slows down when you're running away. More so when what you're running from is your own shame.
--- Dark Blue ---
How is she?
<<…>>
<<…>>
You did great. Thank you.
<<…>>
Well, thank you anyway. You're cleared to land.
I level out my flight deck again as I approach my girls, letting the fighters land before I get there. Dakota looks better; it seems like Trigger was right. Just being away from the base is helping. I don't think it'll be enough, though. When all my planes are safely down, I dismiss my flight deck with a thought.
"Alright. Now that that's taken care of, how do you three feel about Operation: Get The Fuck Out Of Here And Never Come Back?" I say to the three, putting a smile I don't feel on my face.
It does manage to get an amused snort out of Dakota, so my job's at least mostly done.
"Catchy," Mamie says. "Could be a bit longer, though."
Nimu merely raises an eyebrow and motions with her head to the inlet of the bay.
"Right. Let's go. The further we get from this place, the better."
That earns universal agreement from all three of my girls, and we set out into the ocean, aimed for Panama at 25 knots. Just the four of us and the open sea, the way it's supposed to be.
--- Dark Blue ---
Dakota's still hurting, I can tell. She and her sister haven't wasted a single shell on "gunnery practice" in the three days since we left San Diego. They haven't had any other silly contests, either. She's not the bubbliest person on Earth normally, but she's never been this… hollow. I know that sometimes painful things just need time to heal, but I can't help it. I'm a meddler. I meddle.
Sailing up next to her, I tap her on the shoulder.
"Want to talk about it?" I ask quietly.
"What's there to talk about?" she practically spits.
I shrug. "It wasn't right, seeing those destroyers like that. Like someone took all the energy out of them."
She turns away, and I stay where I am, waiting. After a moment, she says, in the quietest voice I've ever heard from her, "And the poor girls don't even know it."
"No. Fucked up, isn't it?"
She nods. "That's one way of putting it. It's fucked up."
"You fought it off, though," I tell her. "Pretty incredible."
She crumples slightly at that statement, losing the rigidity of her military posture. "Doesn't feel incredible. It just feels like I've left a whole fleet behind enemy lines, unprepared and outmatched."
I reach out to put a hand on her shoulder. "I feel the same way."
Turning to face me, Dakota says angrily, "Then why aren't we doing anything about it?"
"I think we are. If I'm right, destroying the Abyss won't just free Abyssals from its control. It'll free the kanmusu, too."
"And until then, what, we just let Admiral Richards have his Stepford Fleet?" Dakota hisses, incredulous.
"How many Abyssals do you think there are right now, Dakota? Every single one of them is under the same level of mind control. Do you think I want that?"
She sighs. "No. It's just…"
"It's different when they're like you," I say softly. "It always is."
We stand there for a few moments, skating across the waves in silence. Eventually, Dakota asks, "What if it's not the same? What if freeing the Abyssals doesn't free the kanmusu?"
I look her in the eyes, serious as I can be. "Then I'll do whatever it takes to free them, too."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
And so Task Force Whatever departs San Diego forever. Probably. Maybe.
C.S. Long Lines and the Linguine Incident should be coming soon; didn't manage to get it fully written this week. But it is still coming.
C.S. Long Lines and the Linguine Incident should be coming soon; didn't manage to get it fully written this week. But it is still coming.
- Location
- Somewhere that's on a map
Even if they do, I still get the feeling Admiral Richards is going to be eating at least one railgun round before this is over.