Chapter 22
Taking care to avoid popping her head out of the water too often, the infiltrating submarine slowly gathered intelligence around the coast of the Florida Peninsula.
In truth, she had had far less of a plan than she might have given the impression of. Fortunately, it wasn't as if she was doing anything particularly dangerous at the moment. For now, her heinous deeds were limited to merely surveying the area, checking the shores for viable entry points—and exit points too; she couldn't forget about those.
The first entry point she had considered had been the sewer pipe she had used last time, but returning to find the grate not only still a gaping hole, but also entirely unfortified… Well, she couldn't be entirely sure, but it all but screamed 'trap' to her. Even if she were wrong, entering that way would mean tangling with the wildlife down below again… she'd keep the path in mind as an emergency exit, nothing more.
Instead, she found herself swimming up and down the coast, still within the limits of what she'd consider the city. Finally finding a position she considered 'safe enough' (a relatively deeper segment of shoreline, obscured enough for the water's distortion to hide her from the shore), she let herself sink to the bottom, coming to a comfortable rest against a nearby hill of sand.
She knew very little about the state of Florida as it stood—but she had been a spy against this place, long, long ago. While her memories from before were hazy, once she had sifted through them, they did include a few things that might be of use in this situation.
After all, she had little else to do in the dead of night. Despite her best attempts, she still was incapable of true sleep… leaving her with plenty of time to plot. Bits and pieces here and there bubbled up from her locked memories, a large chunk simply useless flashes confusing impulses and sensations. Feelings of rage, disgust, and inadequacy continued to trickle up, yet with no substance to tie to them, she never let them stay long. These unwanted emotions had worn out their welcome nearly immediately, and thus she did her best to forget them once more.
A smaller group of recovered memories though, she had made sure to write down, for they had seemed important. Thus, she now was in possession of a short list of numbers which she quickly identified as radio frequencies. Her memories involving her actual operations were always… different, than her other ones, more sterile and rigid, more defined. If her usual memories were shrouded in dense fog, then the operational ones were merely distorted by tinted and angled glass.
Assuming that any of these codes were still good, they could potentially be a lead… assuming that they were real. It was hard to tell these days, what with her becoming more and more aware of the Abyss's influence upon her mind.
She slumped slightly, watching the fish swim by, but shook her head. Despite how unlikely, a chance ignored was a chance wasted. She would have settled for more concrete, usable memories… like a buried treasure or weapons stockpile, but alas, these were the only leads she had.
Quickly reconnecting her radio, everything was in place, ready for her to begin. The faint sounds of the radio soon were in her ears… Too bad they were static. Utterly useless. Perhaps she could surface, to get a better signal?
She dismissed that idea immediately. What if a passerby—or even worse an enemy Shipgirl—were to spot her? She'd much rather remain below, out of sight. Sure, she hadn't seen any human-crewed vessels just yet… but in a place like this, how could they not possess at least a small fleet of support vessels? With so much neighboring coast, surely at least part of their economy would be tied to the ocean.
The fish nearby certainly looked tasty enough to warrant the industry for it.
Biting her lip, she shifted in place, already feeling restless and uncertain as she hemmed and hawed over her decision. As if in response, the distorted static echoing through her ears dropped in pitch like a stone.
Freezing in place, she rushed to double check her radio, thankfully, it remained fully functional. Why then, had the pitch changed? She hadn't moved that much… At least, she hadn't moved her… main body…
Frowning, she called one of her tendrils forwards, commanding the appendage to slither from side to side. With each movement, the received noise re-scrambled itself, crackling and popping with each motion.
Surely, these… appendages doubling as a antennae would be blatantly illogical, but then again, what was she herself if not a—
Biting her lip, she just forced herself to drop the topic. Questioning herself here would not help her any. Yes, it was strange to live again, after witnessing herself die… and yes, it was strange to exist in the state that she did. However, she was far from the only one breaking the rules of what made 'sense' these days, in the land where ships took the shapes of humans and walked upon the lands above. Thus, with only the slightest of defeated sighs, she lifted her two uppermost tendrils, stretching them towards the surface.
With only a little bit of finagling, the two appendages were soon positioned properly, and the distortions of the static faded, replaced with crisp white noise. All this, with only the barest tips of black metal sticking out of the water, a far less detectable position than fully surfacing.
Metaphorically cracking her knuckles, (for she was terrified that if she actually moved, it'd ruin her extremely fragile reception setup), the Princess began tuning her radio, working down her list of leads.
By the fourth station, she was sure that any information she might have on hand was entirely worthless. Despite it all, she kept going, too stubborn to quit. Once more, her prior memories were proving inadequate and inaccurate.
It wasn't as if literal years had passed between then and now, and it wasn't as if the Americans would be intelligent enough to change their codes in the meantime, now would it?
She grumbled, crossing off the last station on her list. It wasn't as if she could abandon the fool's errand that she knew it was halfway through, after all. Despite how unlikely, there was always the smallest of chances that she would be wrong. It was only a waste, after all, after she had already tried and failed.
Of the frequencies she polled, more than half merely resulted in static, being inactive, if not fully deprecated. Yet more were broadcasting nonsense, which her associated codes were able to translate into equally as understandable gobbledegook. She had had a single success… but unfortunately, even though she had decrypted the signal, making sense of the contents of the signal was an entirely different beast. Thankfully, her new radio did possess recording capabilities, so she saved a five minute snippet of the transmission. It'd probably be junk data, but… no reason not to, right?
The most understandable of the secure frequencies were the three or four number stations… and she had just given up on those immediately. She didn't have the time to try to crack those ones, not by a long shot. With a few weeks of effort, perhaps she could get something done… but not on a time sensitive mission like this one.
She grumbled, and mentally crossed off her now-useless list of frequencies. It seemed that her memories were completely worthless after all. If even her mission relevant memories were inaccurate, then it simply wasn't worth sifting through the dreck even less potentially useful.
With her initial plan in tatters, the Submarine was left without a direct goal, and was soon merely flipping through frequencies, going down the list as she attempted to draft a new plan. At the very least the civilian stations were understandable.
The first and most obvious thing she noticed about the civilian frequencies was the sheer pervasive presence of advertisement. She couldn't listen to a single channel for more than five minutes without having an ethereal, sleazy human attempting to sell her something.
Filtering out the advertisements, there were of course talk shows or other propaganda, which while potentially an information source, were too biased to treat as fact. Besides, she cared little about the price of oil or the voting practices of the humans at the moment. Even the phrasing of the weather stations greatly varied in phrasing and tone. How could these humans get anything done in any reasonable amount of time?
What was enjoyable, though… was the sheer quantity and variety of music populating the radio waves. While she herself wasn't quite sure about many of the genres, especially the more aggressive and fast ones (how could one possibly make sense of the lyrics when they were yelled so quickly?), more than a few were almost enjoyable. More than once, she found her thoughts of a new plan halting, as she merely listened.
Whether for better or for worse, it was the intrusion of another unwelcome and irritating advertisement that knocked her back to her senses. Sheepishly turning the volume on her radio down, she tried to regather her thoughts, while a thankfully slow and calming Classical piece provided ambience.
Despite what she expected, she had actually learned quite a bit from the civilian channels. A majority of the advertisements upon the radio waves were for luxury goods and services. Hotels, fancy cars, and similar—all expensive—items. All of these things pointed towards a thriving tourism economy somehow still existing… amidst a bloody war between artificial humanoids and those who had wronged them. There was also an excess of crime being reported… which seemed to be almost normal here, if the joking tone of the radio host was any indication. Incredibly weird crime too, if the few reports she had overheard had been any indication. What sort of maniac robs a corner store with nothing more than a palm frond?
Shaking her head, the Submarine smiled, finally having a lead. This was likely a corrupt resort city, then… meaning it likely catered to helpless and clueless tourists in need of supplies and direction. And if they expected crime… Well, surely they could overlook one more misbehaving wrongdoer. As long as she stayed within their blurry lines, they'd blame their own people, not an infiltrating Abyssal.
As long as she avoided doing anything superhuman this time, and kept damage to a minimum… she'd have plausible deniability. At least, as long as they didn't attempt to arrest her… She doubted she could bluff her way past such intense scrutiny. No, she'd need to remain out of the direct sight of the law, and avoid raising any red flags.
She rubbed her hands together as she smiled wickedly, finally having a place to begin.
She'd acquire a map… and plan from there. After all, how hard would it be to find a tourist information booth?
Bensen stretched as he leaned back, his shoulders popping. He yawned, once more cursing his now-empty pack of mint chewing gum.
It had been a slow Thursday for the Welcome Centre. The juice bar to his left had only seen the slightest of activity, and the beautiful day outside beckoned like a temptress, mocking him for being trapped inside, instead of relaxing in the sun.
He grumbled quietly, glancing at his coworkers beside him. To his left, Carol was scrolling Tumblr, and to his right, Jake was watching Youtube, feet up on the counter with his chair against the wall.
He couldn't blame them, really. With the whole Abyssal Apocalypse thing going on out on the water, times were tough for the tourism industry. Were it not for the massive government stipend they've been giving out, well… He doubted the Welcome Centers would've stayed open.
Sure, there were more than a few tourists coming in from other states, as well as the occasional batch of overseas tourists coming in by plane. However, it was far from the usual. With peak season up on the metaphorical horizon, he wondered how many would flock to Florida's bright shores this year.
A dozen? Maybe two? As much as he loved less-busy days, even the most hectic and chaotic of workdays had nothing on the agonizing experience of sitting behind the counter all day with no visitors whatsoever.
He groaned, shaking his head. Next time, he'd bring something to distract himself with. At this rate, he'd go crazy just sitting around doing nothing, knowing full well that if on the rare chance someone did show up while he had skipped out, it'd be on him—
The jingling of the front door open was a welcome relief. Gently elbowing Jake awake, and tapping Carol's shoulder, Bensen faced the front door with his best customer service smile.
In strode a pale-skinned woman wearing a sunhat and a set of expensive-looking clothing, including sunglasses, purse, and bracelet. With crossed arms, she stood there, standing just barely inside of the building. He couldn't tell what she was staring at, what with the sunglasses, but it definitely made him uncomfortable.
"Errr… Welcome? Do you need something?" he asked, wondering just what this woman wanted. Between the outfit and the body language, she definitely gave off the look of a tourist. Her too-strong perfume was definitely strange though—it smelled a lot like seawater.
The woman paused, probably blinking behind her sunglasses, before softening her posture. "Uh… Yes, please."
Unable to quite place the woman's accent, the clerk shrugged. Definitely a tourist then. Well, surely at least a few had arrived over the past few days. With a practiced motion, he gestured her over, and walked her through the Center's services.
Thankfully, the woman had been relatively polite, if a bit snipped in tone. She had asked for a map of the Miami area, to 'help her find stores and things'... As well as a cup of juice to go.
She had paid entirely in cash, and had demanded exact change back, with no tip.
It was then that Bensen noticed the price tags still attached to the woman's clothing.
As if following his gaze, the visitor blinked and stared at her tags, halting for a moment.
"Oh, you like them? They were very expensive. See?" she spoke, without the faintest hint of emotion. To emphasize her words, the woman flashed the price-tag emblazoned top in front of him, the faintest hints of a disgusted expression crossing her otherwise-unreadable face. In her defense, it was a rather expensive top…
Immediately, all tension left Bensen's body. Ah. So an uppity, wealthy tourist… or a crackhead. Either way, not his problem anymore since they had what they needed, right?
Clutching her cup of juice, the tourist hummed for a moment, before speaking up. "Do you uh, have a place I can freshen up?"
Another easy request. A few minutes later, the woman had returned the washroom key and was on her way out of the building.
"Have a nice day, and welcome to Miami!" he called, as the door closed behind the woman, leaving him without anything to do once more.
With that, Bensen leaned back. Carol had started scrolling her phone again the moment the tourist had walked in (assuming she had ever stopped) and Jake had poured himself a cup of juice, nursing a sore spot where he had been sleeping on his chair.
Shaking his head, Benson smiled softly. Well, at least he had helped someone today. It was good to know that this government money was going to a good cause, right?
In truth, she had had far less of a plan than she might have given the impression of. Fortunately, it wasn't as if she was doing anything particularly dangerous at the moment. For now, her heinous deeds were limited to merely surveying the area, checking the shores for viable entry points—and exit points too; she couldn't forget about those.
The first entry point she had considered had been the sewer pipe she had used last time, but returning to find the grate not only still a gaping hole, but also entirely unfortified… Well, she couldn't be entirely sure, but it all but screamed 'trap' to her. Even if she were wrong, entering that way would mean tangling with the wildlife down below again… she'd keep the path in mind as an emergency exit, nothing more.
Instead, she found herself swimming up and down the coast, still within the limits of what she'd consider the city. Finally finding a position she considered 'safe enough' (a relatively deeper segment of shoreline, obscured enough for the water's distortion to hide her from the shore), she let herself sink to the bottom, coming to a comfortable rest against a nearby hill of sand.
She knew very little about the state of Florida as it stood—but she had been a spy against this place, long, long ago. While her memories from before were hazy, once she had sifted through them, they did include a few things that might be of use in this situation.
After all, she had little else to do in the dead of night. Despite her best attempts, she still was incapable of true sleep… leaving her with plenty of time to plot. Bits and pieces here and there bubbled up from her locked memories, a large chunk simply useless flashes confusing impulses and sensations. Feelings of rage, disgust, and inadequacy continued to trickle up, yet with no substance to tie to them, she never let them stay long. These unwanted emotions had worn out their welcome nearly immediately, and thus she did her best to forget them once more.
A smaller group of recovered memories though, she had made sure to write down, for they had seemed important. Thus, she now was in possession of a short list of numbers which she quickly identified as radio frequencies. Her memories involving her actual operations were always… different, than her other ones, more sterile and rigid, more defined. If her usual memories were shrouded in dense fog, then the operational ones were merely distorted by tinted and angled glass.
Assuming that any of these codes were still good, they could potentially be a lead… assuming that they were real. It was hard to tell these days, what with her becoming more and more aware of the Abyss's influence upon her mind.
She slumped slightly, watching the fish swim by, but shook her head. Despite how unlikely, a chance ignored was a chance wasted. She would have settled for more concrete, usable memories… like a buried treasure or weapons stockpile, but alas, these were the only leads she had.
Quickly reconnecting her radio, everything was in place, ready for her to begin. The faint sounds of the radio soon were in her ears… Too bad they were static. Utterly useless. Perhaps she could surface, to get a better signal?
She dismissed that idea immediately. What if a passerby—or even worse an enemy Shipgirl—were to spot her? She'd much rather remain below, out of sight. Sure, she hadn't seen any human-crewed vessels just yet… but in a place like this, how could they not possess at least a small fleet of support vessels? With so much neighboring coast, surely at least part of their economy would be tied to the ocean.
The fish nearby certainly looked tasty enough to warrant the industry for it.
Biting her lip, she shifted in place, already feeling restless and uncertain as she hemmed and hawed over her decision. As if in response, the distorted static echoing through her ears dropped in pitch like a stone.
Freezing in place, she rushed to double check her radio, thankfully, it remained fully functional. Why then, had the pitch changed? She hadn't moved that much… At least, she hadn't moved her… main body…
Frowning, she called one of her tendrils forwards, commanding the appendage to slither from side to side. With each movement, the received noise re-scrambled itself, crackling and popping with each motion.
Surely, these… appendages doubling as a antennae would be blatantly illogical, but then again, what was she herself if not a—
Biting her lip, she just forced herself to drop the topic. Questioning herself here would not help her any. Yes, it was strange to live again, after witnessing herself die… and yes, it was strange to exist in the state that she did. However, she was far from the only one breaking the rules of what made 'sense' these days, in the land where ships took the shapes of humans and walked upon the lands above. Thus, with only the slightest of defeated sighs, she lifted her two uppermost tendrils, stretching them towards the surface.
With only a little bit of finagling, the two appendages were soon positioned properly, and the distortions of the static faded, replaced with crisp white noise. All this, with only the barest tips of black metal sticking out of the water, a far less detectable position than fully surfacing.
Metaphorically cracking her knuckles, (for she was terrified that if she actually moved, it'd ruin her extremely fragile reception setup), the Princess began tuning her radio, working down her list of leads.
By the fourth station, she was sure that any information she might have on hand was entirely worthless. Despite it all, she kept going, too stubborn to quit. Once more, her prior memories were proving inadequate and inaccurate.
It wasn't as if literal years had passed between then and now, and it wasn't as if the Americans would be intelligent enough to change their codes in the meantime, now would it?
She grumbled, crossing off the last station on her list. It wasn't as if she could abandon the fool's errand that she knew it was halfway through, after all. Despite how unlikely, there was always the smallest of chances that she would be wrong. It was only a waste, after all, after she had already tried and failed.
Of the frequencies she polled, more than half merely resulted in static, being inactive, if not fully deprecated. Yet more were broadcasting nonsense, which her associated codes were able to translate into equally as understandable gobbledegook. She had had a single success… but unfortunately, even though she had decrypted the signal, making sense of the contents of the signal was an entirely different beast. Thankfully, her new radio did possess recording capabilities, so she saved a five minute snippet of the transmission. It'd probably be junk data, but… no reason not to, right?
The most understandable of the secure frequencies were the three or four number stations… and she had just given up on those immediately. She didn't have the time to try to crack those ones, not by a long shot. With a few weeks of effort, perhaps she could get something done… but not on a time sensitive mission like this one.
She grumbled, and mentally crossed off her now-useless list of frequencies. It seemed that her memories were completely worthless after all. If even her mission relevant memories were inaccurate, then it simply wasn't worth sifting through the dreck even less potentially useful.
With her initial plan in tatters, the Submarine was left without a direct goal, and was soon merely flipping through frequencies, going down the list as she attempted to draft a new plan. At the very least the civilian stations were understandable.
The first and most obvious thing she noticed about the civilian frequencies was the sheer pervasive presence of advertisement. She couldn't listen to a single channel for more than five minutes without having an ethereal, sleazy human attempting to sell her something.
Filtering out the advertisements, there were of course talk shows or other propaganda, which while potentially an information source, were too biased to treat as fact. Besides, she cared little about the price of oil or the voting practices of the humans at the moment. Even the phrasing of the weather stations greatly varied in phrasing and tone. How could these humans get anything done in any reasonable amount of time?
What was enjoyable, though… was the sheer quantity and variety of music populating the radio waves. While she herself wasn't quite sure about many of the genres, especially the more aggressive and fast ones (how could one possibly make sense of the lyrics when they were yelled so quickly?), more than a few were almost enjoyable. More than once, she found her thoughts of a new plan halting, as she merely listened.
Whether for better or for worse, it was the intrusion of another unwelcome and irritating advertisement that knocked her back to her senses. Sheepishly turning the volume on her radio down, she tried to regather her thoughts, while a thankfully slow and calming Classical piece provided ambience.
Despite what she expected, she had actually learned quite a bit from the civilian channels. A majority of the advertisements upon the radio waves were for luxury goods and services. Hotels, fancy cars, and similar—all expensive—items. All of these things pointed towards a thriving tourism economy somehow still existing… amidst a bloody war between artificial humanoids and those who had wronged them. There was also an excess of crime being reported… which seemed to be almost normal here, if the joking tone of the radio host was any indication. Incredibly weird crime too, if the few reports she had overheard had been any indication. What sort of maniac robs a corner store with nothing more than a palm frond?
Shaking her head, the Submarine smiled, finally having a lead. This was likely a corrupt resort city, then… meaning it likely catered to helpless and clueless tourists in need of supplies and direction. And if they expected crime… Well, surely they could overlook one more misbehaving wrongdoer. As long as she stayed within their blurry lines, they'd blame their own people, not an infiltrating Abyssal.
As long as she avoided doing anything superhuman this time, and kept damage to a minimum… she'd have plausible deniability. At least, as long as they didn't attempt to arrest her… She doubted she could bluff her way past such intense scrutiny. No, she'd need to remain out of the direct sight of the law, and avoid raising any red flags.
She rubbed her hands together as she smiled wickedly, finally having a place to begin.
She'd acquire a map… and plan from there. After all, how hard would it be to find a tourist information booth?
Bensen stretched as he leaned back, his shoulders popping. He yawned, once more cursing his now-empty pack of mint chewing gum.
It had been a slow Thursday for the Welcome Centre. The juice bar to his left had only seen the slightest of activity, and the beautiful day outside beckoned like a temptress, mocking him for being trapped inside, instead of relaxing in the sun.
He grumbled quietly, glancing at his coworkers beside him. To his left, Carol was scrolling Tumblr, and to his right, Jake was watching Youtube, feet up on the counter with his chair against the wall.
He couldn't blame them, really. With the whole Abyssal Apocalypse thing going on out on the water, times were tough for the tourism industry. Were it not for the massive government stipend they've been giving out, well… He doubted the Welcome Centers would've stayed open.
Sure, there were more than a few tourists coming in from other states, as well as the occasional batch of overseas tourists coming in by plane. However, it was far from the usual. With peak season up on the metaphorical horizon, he wondered how many would flock to Florida's bright shores this year.
A dozen? Maybe two? As much as he loved less-busy days, even the most hectic and chaotic of workdays had nothing on the agonizing experience of sitting behind the counter all day with no visitors whatsoever.
He groaned, shaking his head. Next time, he'd bring something to distract himself with. At this rate, he'd go crazy just sitting around doing nothing, knowing full well that if on the rare chance someone did show up while he had skipped out, it'd be on him—
The jingling of the front door open was a welcome relief. Gently elbowing Jake awake, and tapping Carol's shoulder, Bensen faced the front door with his best customer service smile.
In strode a pale-skinned woman wearing a sunhat and a set of expensive-looking clothing, including sunglasses, purse, and bracelet. With crossed arms, she stood there, standing just barely inside of the building. He couldn't tell what she was staring at, what with the sunglasses, but it definitely made him uncomfortable.
"Errr… Welcome? Do you need something?" he asked, wondering just what this woman wanted. Between the outfit and the body language, she definitely gave off the look of a tourist. Her too-strong perfume was definitely strange though—it smelled a lot like seawater.
The woman paused, probably blinking behind her sunglasses, before softening her posture. "Uh… Yes, please."
Unable to quite place the woman's accent, the clerk shrugged. Definitely a tourist then. Well, surely at least a few had arrived over the past few days. With a practiced motion, he gestured her over, and walked her through the Center's services.
Thankfully, the woman had been relatively polite, if a bit snipped in tone. She had asked for a map of the Miami area, to 'help her find stores and things'... As well as a cup of juice to go.
She had paid entirely in cash, and had demanded exact change back, with no tip.
It was then that Bensen noticed the price tags still attached to the woman's clothing.
As if following his gaze, the visitor blinked and stared at her tags, halting for a moment.
"Oh, you like them? They were very expensive. See?" she spoke, without the faintest hint of emotion. To emphasize her words, the woman flashed the price-tag emblazoned top in front of him, the faintest hints of a disgusted expression crossing her otherwise-unreadable face. In her defense, it was a rather expensive top…
Immediately, all tension left Bensen's body. Ah. So an uppity, wealthy tourist… or a crackhead. Either way, not his problem anymore since they had what they needed, right?
Clutching her cup of juice, the tourist hummed for a moment, before speaking up. "Do you uh, have a place I can freshen up?"
Another easy request. A few minutes later, the woman had returned the washroom key and was on her way out of the building.
"Have a nice day, and welcome to Miami!" he called, as the door closed behind the woman, leaving him without anything to do once more.
With that, Bensen leaned back. Carol had started scrolling her phone again the moment the tourist had walked in (assuming she had ever stopped) and Jake had poured himself a cup of juice, nursing a sore spot where he had been sleeping on his chair.
Shaking his head, Benson smiled softly. Well, at least he had helped someone today. It was good to know that this government money was going to a good cause, right?
(she really needs a proper name doesn't she?) 
