《Forgotten, Forsaken (Post Canon Worm/Kantai Collection)》


 Prologue: Soulsteal

    It was the sound of thunder overlapping. Like lightning, coming and going. It was fire and steel and death. It was a skull splintering, brain surgery by bullet. The long fall, the final rest. But no. For there are forces far beyond the ken of mortal men and hungry parasites. Entropy is ever closer, no matter how far you run, and though it might have been meant as mercy, a long road finally at an end, a new beginning¡­


    The Hungry Abyss reached out between the skeins of Fate and Time, and wrung from one young woman one final service. She¡¯d go on her way. Cleansed, her darkness ripped off her soul in that realm where spirits dwell, a legend claimed.


    ***


    A permanent storm raged over the deep harbor at Midway where the Abyss held absolute dominion. Pale flesh breached the surface. One armed and with a breached skull, half dead in the water and with its movement near crippled, still it clawed for land. Screeching laughter surrounded it, as the fleet at rest enjoyed the newcomers struggles. Bets were made on how far it might come before sinking, when Ri-Class Heavy Cruiser rolled her eyes and skated across the now still waters. Whatever its state, its humanoid appearance removed it from the running of being one of the lesser ships, so the Ri-Class who¡¯d lost last night¡¯s poker and drawn guard duty towed the wet, miserable excuse of scrap to shore.


    The pale young woman was extremely lacking. In armament, in tonnage. To the Ri, she felt like a freighter and what a waste that was. But it wasn¡¯t her problem. She¡¯d bully the pale chick into carrying her supplies when the girl could actually stand. She dropped some oil, Abyssal steel and a few boiled clams before the bedraggled newcomer and went back to her escorts. If she had to sit here on guard duty, she wasn¡¯t going to suffer alone.


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    ***


    The rain was falling in cold sheets that blot out the sky. Dark clouds hid the sun and every spark foretold thunder and another ice pick to her head, another flash of two. One after the other, echoing around her skull. With supreme effort, Taylor Hebert, Skitter, Weaver, reached out for the blobs before her, her had inching up the coarse sand. She knew not where she was, or what was going on. Waves still lapped her feet, and she could hardly think, or see. Her head was ringing and everything ached. Her hand finally closed upon one of the blobs and it felt like a candy bar. She tried to bring it to her teeth to unwrap it but the moment her teeth and tongue touched it she forgot all about manners, and cared nothing for the sand sticking to the crunchy snack.


    A void had opened in her stomach and she felt as if her very life depended on filling it. Yet even as she feasted on the meager scraps left to her, her eyes kept looking, scanning, and slowly she stopped flinching from the thunder. She would lay there all night, half in the sea and half out, watching, listening, and learning. More than once, the watching Division Four of the Midway Fleet would turn back on the topic of the newcomer. In mockery, in disdain. They¡¯d pelt her with sand and their leftovers.


    And why not? She was just a freighter. An unarmed glorified servant for them to play with. Even the least of them knew that if the freighter got uppity¡­ they could take her.


    And in the darkest Abyss of her heart, there was a spark. Small and frail, but impossible to quench. A frown pulled one way while she kept a secret smile to herself. Taylor didn''t know much. She could barely recall her own name. But she knew with certainty, she really despised bullies.

 Chapter 1: Cold Shoulder

    As the night grew deeper she¡¯d noticed the storm part in an eye around the beach, revealing shining stars, submerged in the depths of the void. Taylor would have liked to turn over and watch them, except for her condition. And not only the physical. She was beyond tired, and the bottomless hole in her stomach was little affected by whatever it was she¡¯d eaten. But bit by bit, feeling was coming back to her limbs, and they were not happy.


    She was still down an arm. By the feeling of the coarse sand rubbing all over her, she was without much of any of her gear. Or clothes. Because while a part of her had wanted to get up and start seeking out some answers hours ago, she was still lying there on the beach as the sun begun to rise and the storm picked up again. Several things didn¡¯t make sense.


    For starters, while she didn¡¯t know much, bullets were still familiar. And she was pretty sure she¡¯d take two to the head. That was supposed to be the kind of thing people don¡¯t recover from. In the beginning she¡¯d believed that perhaps this was some kind of afterlife, some hell she¡¯d been sent to for her many sins. She wasn¡¯t sure what those sins were, but she wasn¡¯t a good person. That much she knew. If this was hell, then she deserved to be here. Taylor was pretty sure of that. But there were issues with that theory.


    For one, what kind of hell would just let her lay there in peace? Even if her body was loudly protesting its condition, on the scale of tortures she¡¯d had while alive, this wasn¡¯t that bad. She could vaguely remember being mostly spread, smeared across a wall, or was that someone else? No matter. The peace, it didn¡¯t fit. And that was just one part.


    Now sure there were monsters all around here. All kinds of shark-mosters and squid things and women and girls too small to be anything but teens walking around with little on but some monstrous appendages and tiny bikinis. And that didn¡¯t fit. What kind of hell was filled with near naked sea-monster women? Why would some of them speak English and some Japanese?


    But the most potent point was that she understood them. She knew Japanese. Taylor was pretty certain that wasn¡¯t the case before the sudden lobotomy. That made no sense. She was sure you lost bits of your mind when they get blow out of your head, you don¡¯t learn another language. Why? How could knowing Japanese be torture? Sure she could understand how the girls nearby were mocking her, but on the scale of problems and issues, bullying was a personal one. Minor, in the grand scale of things.


    And Taylor was certain that something on a nearly impossible major scale had happened. Something she¡¯d won, by great personal sacrifice. Something the world paid her back with two to the back of the skull. So she laid there and watched, learned. She was not at all concerned with getting up in her birthday suit. Even if she wasn¡¯t an exhibitionist. For all the near tentacle horror, it just wasn¡¯t there. The mockery, the looks, the scuffles, the maneuvering for position and rank between the other inhabitants? Oh it was malicious and violent, but none of it was sexual.


    They were behaving like a beach of nudists. Like it didn¡¯t matter. Like the idea of hiding from the storm and the sea swell, like putting something between them and the sea and storm was wrong on some fundamental level. Somewhere deep in her gut she felt the same. And that was new, and worrying. It wouldn¡¯t stop her from getting some clothes like a civilized person at the first opportunity, but it was another clue.


    Taylor had super powers. She knew that like she knew how to breathe. But they were missing. She should have had bugs. Or at least some crab-fish or something. But all of it was gone and somehow that was both a massive relief and a source of dread. It occurred to her, as her mouth watered, that the girls watching her were snacking on thin sheets of some kind of dark metal. Their drinks were viscous and reminded her of oil. Which was crazy, except her own had was still sticky with the remnants of her own meal.


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    Well, whatever. Not freaking out until she could do something about it just seemed right. And if she took this short break to release some of the pressure that was drowning her, no one noticed in the rain. No doubt if they had, the girls watching would have commented on the water works. But her time had ran out. A tall woman had walked over to her watchers, causing them all to stiffen up. After a short conversation eaten by the rain, she was coming over. And then there was the elephant in the room.


    Nearly everyone had massive guns on them. The example coming over at least had a pale white shirt on, one that somehow reminded her of a sailor uniforms from olden cartoons. How she could remember that and not her own history was maddening. She wore a blue headscarf that turned into a cloak at her shoulders, falling behind her to her knees, and long, above knee metal boots. The metal moved like leather, almost painted on, like it was a part of her. But none of it held a candle to the main feature.


    Massive cannons slipped in and out of her coat, like they were just hanging on her back. Looking at them up close, they were tiny but reminded her of nothing else then naval cannons. The woman had several turrets poking out of her cloak and Taylor wondered just how screwed she was if the cape meant her harm.


    ***


    The Ta-class Battleship was not impressed. Sure the flotsam hadn¡¯t been called on. They¡¯d wasted no resources on calling her from the Abyss, but the girl was a mess. The girl was waterlogged, missing an arm and her rigging was less than tatters. She needed a better look.


    ¡°Hallo there sweetheart¡± she said in her southern drawl. She filled her voice with sweet motherly concern while her boilers filled with a familiar glee. ¡°Had a nice meal? Enjoyed your nap?¡± she asked, smiling down at new girl. She crouched next to her and gently ran her hands through her ashen curls. ¡°It¡¯s a new day, time to rise and shine sweetheart.¡± The transport just looked at her with dead eyes, not even a radar running. Was it mute?


    Her hand slowly closed into a fist in the back and she started pulling up. New girl was quick, she¡¯d give her that. She didn¡¯t scream. Didn¡¯t protest. Slowly, she forced herself to her hand and knees, then up, up. The Battleship had to help her a bit, pull her up by the hair from the knees but there was no protest, barely even a whimper even as the girl swayed on her feet. And still, those dead eyes. Like looking into a lightless abyss.


    ¡°There we, go up and at them, huh sweetie?¡± she asked in her saccharine voice, still keeping her pinned, staring right back at her. Did this armless wonder thought to challenge her?


    Slowly, the bottomless black eyes lowered. ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am¡±. It was a whisper, barely loud enough to hear, but in a way enough. The girl was already a wreck. No point beating on a piece of flotsam.


    ¡°Now this is a working house young lady. If you want to ear, you have to work. So why don¡¯t you go get me a snack. Can you do that for me?¡± she asked, smiling in a way that showed all her teeth. So close to that pale neck, she could rip her throat out in an instant. The flat chested twig simple nodded, as much as she could so the Ta pushed her away, sending her stumbling. No one was that docile. Why must she deal with an uppity freighter? One that thought itself clever enough to hide her resentment?


    Well, it would get beaten out of her, or she¡¯d get broken for parts, sooner or later. Though how in all the Abyss that ship came to be was a bit beyond her. The girl was twiggy, hunched over but tall, almost hollow, she could see her ribs even as she walked away, but her other senses told her she was one fat bitch, if filled with holes. That the ship was just as flat as the girl forced a snort out of her. A container vessel, if she wasn¡¯t wrong. Modern, for their sensibilities, and not very useful. They needed tankers for oil and bulk carriers to feed the shipyards here. Midway ate up resources by the ton.


    As she left to find some new entertainment, one thing kept bothering the Ta. What kind of container ship carried its own sandbars and shoals with it? Its grave, engraved upon its soul? That was one weird legend.


    And Taylor? She wobbled away, trying to find some kind of mess hall, or at least a quartermaster or someone who wouldn¡¯t look at her like a mouse to toy with. Things picking at her. The language. The monsters. The legion of similar capes and sea monsters. But mostly her home. It was a bay. She was pretty sure of that. It had hills and a shore and all kinds of stuff. It was a broken bay, run down and destroyed multiple times, abandoned by the world yet still persisting despite it all. But she couldn¡¯t even remember its name and for some reason, that irritated Taylor to no end.

 Chapter 2: Warm Baths

    Her stumbling steps took her across the island. Past women, girls and monsters galore. Birds nested all over the place, and odd white trees mixed with the more regular palms and soft-woods. Alien structures doted the terrain and she soon emerged on the other side to find more sea. Taylor was on an island. She followed the shore, her steps light and leaking. And wasn¡¯t that unnatural? Her footsteps were wet and left tiny ponds in the sand, before it drained away.


    Hunger gnawed at her gut, burning like a flare. Absently her fingers traced pale, prominent ribs. That couldn¡¯t be healthy. She was thin. Stick thin, not quite skeletal, emaciated, but under threat of becoming such if she couldn¡¯t find food. Fortunately, that at least proved no trial. She saw several girls existing one of the cavern-like buildings carrying bars of black metal, nibbling on it like candy. Some emerged with cups of oil, while others carried steaming shellfish or barbecued fish. Her mouth watered at the sight and she picked up speed.


    Yet when Taylor reached the door the woman standing next to it casual backslapped her away. She felt something in her cheek crumple as she face-planted into the beach. The pain helped center her, temporarily lifting the fog of hunger. The woman looked at her, her glowing green eyes blank with apathy and boredom. ¡°No token, no entry.¡±


    Taylor had missed her completely, vision tunneling on the smell of cooking food. She tried to explain and stumbled onto the fact she had no idea what the woman name was. She¡¯d been sent like an errant child to fetch snacks and Taylor had no idea who sent her. She still tried, haltingly for it hurt to speak, but no amount of description and pantomime left an impression on the guard and the line of girls going by only drew amusement from her troubles.


    She was damned if she was going back empty handed, and not delivering, promptly, seemed like a bad idea. Her sender was far too confident and smug to slight so easily. Which would have left Taylor in a bit of a problem, but she was raised by the sea. She might not know her hometowns name, but she knew some stuff. It didn¡¯t take her long to wade into the sea and catch herself some shellfish of her own. It was easier than it should have been. The shores were teeming with life.


    Taylor was just about to go deliver the crab as a snack when she discovered her hand halfway down her own throat. She swallowed, by reflex. She hadn¡¯t even chewed just swallowed it whole, shell and all. For a moment she was disgusted, but a tiny spark hit the void in her belly and she nearly collapsed to her knees from the sheer relief. She was starving. Near a dozen crabs and clams later, she could finally think a bit. Taylor was still hungry, but she felt like she¡¯d eaten a thin broth, the gnawing teeth pushed away enough that she could function.


    And on the topic of teeth, she had entirely too many. Looking at herself in the reflection amidst the waves, the face was mostly familiar. More angular, more ragged, like she hadn¡¯t eaten well in weeks, but still hers. Her hair was still curly, which felt important and precious, even if the pale, ash like color was foreign. It still felt like her, it felt right. Her hair hung to just below her shoulder, and was tangled and knotted from the sea and surf.


    But the instant she smiled, or opened her mouth the mirage broke. Her teeth were pointed and jagged, in double lines more like a shark than a human. It was almost ludicrous that they all fit in her jaw or that she could speak at all. Her cheek remained dented from the slap, red and burning. She¡¯d been pale once upon a time, but now her tan was more like a freshly dredged corpse, which wasn¡¯t far from the truth really. More worrying was that everyone around her shared her complexion, so it seemed likely the development was permanent.


    The final wrinkle was a rusted crane anchored on her left shoulder. It was tiny, like a toy, much like the naval armament, yet it felt right. Huge, but in a state of disrepair, rusted and dead. Yet it felt right, familiar, even as Taylor realized that some of the mass of pain constantly washing over her wasn¡¯t just her body, but the crane as well.


    ¡°Shit¡± she snapped to. She still needed to get that snack, not ogle her new hardware.


    By the time she made it back to the Ta-class Battleship with some live crabs she was hungry again. She brought the discarded sea-shells with her. It was a bit fashion of the island native from before the age of sail, but if food was so limited who the hell knew what they¡¯d demand for decent clothes. She¡¯d work something out from what she had available. No one might have cared, but Taylor did.


    ***


    That first week had been¡­ hectic and frightening, strange and just alien. In a way, Taylor was in a much better position now, even if she was near the end of her rope. It was an odd mix of good and bad. For one she knew where she was: an island in the middle of the Pacific called Midway. She couldn¡¯t point to it on a globe, but at least she knew the name of the place and that there was nothing else anywhere close. Nothing but a few more islands and the Abyss. Shinigami had decided Taylor was hers now. Now, she still wasn¡¯t entirely clear on the whole thing, but Shinigami was a Ta-class Battleship and somewhat important in the local pecking order. Strong ships named themselves, while weak ones got named. Which is how Taylor''s name came to be Fat Bertha. It amused the others.


    How a woman was a battleship wasn¡¯t something Taylor was going to break her mind on. Powers are weird, fine, but again, why did everyone have the same, or similar powers? Weren¡¯t powers supposed to be unique? Variable? Why were they related to naval warfare? How could giant sharks have cannons in their mouths and be called I-Class destroyers?


    Who knows? It just is. Taylor just hoped there weren¡¯t any alien parasites involved. And that? That right there? It was still frustrating. Why was she worrying about alien parasites behind the scenes? No clue. Taylor would get these flashes and impulses at times, and sometimes they made sense, and sometimes they were batshit crazy.


    It was better not to ask. So positives and negatives.


    Plus: Shinigami made sure no one else messed with her.


    Minus: Shinigami and her Division were always messing with her or bossing her around.


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    For: The Division was happy to give Taylor their leftover and scraps.


    Against: They mocked her relentlessly for eating them and it was humiliating as all hell to feed on their scraps like some kind of scavenger or pet.


    It wasn¡¯t like she had much choice. Food helped, but the hole in her midsection only really responded to metal and oil. She wasn¡¯t allowed into any of the meal rooms unescorted. And she still felt like she was missing other things. Taylor had to eat. It was like a biological imperative. She had cravings. It didn¡¯t feel like eating. It was like she was dying of thirst and every bite that had real mass to it was a small splash of fresh water, more precious than gold. The hunger never really went away, but Taylor did get better at managing it, pushing past it to function even as it gnawed at her.


    For another thing, the Abyss was lazy. That wasn¡¯t strong enough. The Abyss was indolent. Not that they didn¡¯t go on patrols or missions, but when they were off the clock? Absolute sloths. They¡¯d order around the monsters to do everything for them and if the monsters didn¡¯t have the brainpower for it, well that¡¯s what all the girls beneath them were for. Why not? The little and big buggers were happy to help and everyone weaker than them could be persuaded, first gently, then firmly. Pampering and serving them. Her Division was no different from the rest of the Abyss.


    Which is where Taylor made her first breakthrough. The monsters took their cues from the girls around them. Most were assigned to one Division or another and reflected the disdain their superiors carried for her. But a few? They didn¡¯t have their own girls.


    Even with serving as a personal maid, server, cook, messenger, object of mockery and general minion, Taylor still had four to six hours every day to herself. On the first day she¡¯d figured out that she slept best when her feet were lapped by the waves and had trouble sleeping otherwise. On the second she figured out she really didn¡¯t need much sleep. Maybe an hour a day, with four to six once every four. So when sunrise approached, she got ready for the work that mattered as most of the Abyssal not on duty shuffled off to sleep. That they didn¡¯t need sleep, didn¡¯t mean that everyone who could didn¡¯t want to sleep in every day.


    So Taylor spent that time combing the beaches. Turns out? Wicked shark teeth made for messy eaters. With how many girls came and went, and how many liked to walk and snack, she more than doubled what she got for her ¡°service¡±. She set aside a few choice morsels, both in regular food and a precious few bits and bobs dug from the sands. And an hour before everyone waked, she fed her own minions. Finding them had been as simple as looking for the monsters everyone dumped on. Unclaimed, without an owner.


    For Taylor was pretty sure they weren¡¯t sentient. Not really. They reminded her of beaten and abused dogs and were about as clever. That always made her melancholy. So she cared for them, for some part of her told her it was what she would have wanted. She who? Who knew, not Taylor damn it. But it was important. Another brick, another piece of her past.


    No, the true value of her bended neck was that to the rest of the Abyss, she might as well be invisible. With Shi¡¯s token, a pressed piece of steel in her likeness she wasn¡¯t allowed to eat, Taylor was just a freighter, unimportant. Which would be fine if Shinigami didn¡¯t insist that Taylor call her Shi-shi-Oneesama. Which sounded odd to her English brain, but even worse in Japanese. Honorable Older Sister Shi was a mouthful and a ridiculous one. Worse when the battleship had decided to name itself form the Grim Reaper.


    So now she was calling her temporary boss Honorable Older Sister Re-re, which just stuck in her mind and ground it down from within. That thing was no family of hers. And God forgive that she doesn¡¯t say it right, or put the proper deference and warmth into the title. Like a simpering little sister that worshiped the ground she tread. Every time it made her want to puke, but the remonstrations started with being manhandled, proceeded into canings that left her butt bright red to ¡°improve her crew morale¡± and the one time she threw a fit she got a whole bunch of bruises, a black eye, a concussion and several broken ribs. Subtle, the Abyss was not.


    Which again, led to the positives. She was not powerless. She didn¡¯t have her old powers, but brand new ones. She was strong, she could peel the bark right off trees with her fingers, or strip branches. If she put her back into it, she was confident she could uproot them entirely.  The crab claws and sea serpents, the regular ones, were no threat. Her skin was steel, it felt like.


    For another thing, Taylor healed. As long as she¡¯d eaten enough, it was never enough, but enough, a good night¡¯s sleep would do her well and the longer rests let her regenerate a bit. Ribs weren¡¯t supposed to heal in two days. Of course, breaking several ribs set her back, but it was worth it. She¡¯d realized that the battleship didn¡¯t really consider her a threat. At all. She heaped abuse and toyed with Taylor because she was bored and that was the leadership style here. And that lack? The lack of directed, intentional, personal malice? It helped.


    Shi would and did do the same to everyone else beneath her. Taylor was just a new toy and popular for it, but it was slowing down. The idea that if only she stuck it out resonated with her. Shi kept her sheltered from other threats. Taylor did not want to get the attention of anything that called itself an Abyssal Princess. Everyone who spoke of the ruler of these waters walked on eggshells. Including Shi. Taylor wanted nothing to with that in her present state. It was rumored she liked to eat those that failed her. Their ruler was a cannibal. She needed to get out of here.


    Which brought her back to the end of her rope. She could deal with most of it. It was the loss of control that really hurt. It was why she threw a fit. She was starving and Shi expected her to cook for the rest of them. The cooking was bizarre, mixing boiling oil, not cooking oil, but black viscous oil oil and chunks of metal and seasoning it with seafood. Taylor could watch the other cooks and learn from them. She did. But being forced to cook for others while not allowed to eat any herself drove her mad. Taylor couldn¡¯t control herself. The first time she was let into the kitchen she lost it. Tried to eat¡­ everything. It got her the beating.


    Worse, Big Sis decided that since her cute little sister couldn¡¯t help herself from slobbering all over the food, she should be muzzled. To help her, you see. It was her own fault that she couldn¡¯t control herself. And that one? That hurt because it was true. Yes, she felt like she was starving, but a week of this had proven she was surviving. Not just surviving, but sustaining herself and slowly healing. She could cope with that. But she couldn¡¯t control herself with real food around and the humiliation of walking around in a head-brace that kept her mouth firmly shut while following the Division all around the island, where everyone could see, was almost unbearable.


    The Baths were unbearable and Shi had taken to chaining her to the side of hers to stop her from running away. The Enemy was a common refrain among the Abyss. Some terrible force out there beyond the horizon that the Abyss was fighting to the death. Part of Taylor was cynically certain that the enemy would turn out to be humanity or something equally stupid. This was an island of sea-monsters after all. Yet every time the Enemy was mentioned, an animal part of her instincts growled and something whispered caution. Something whispering Master and filling her with disgust and loathing for those animal instincts. Her mind was supposed to be her own, sacred.


    What mattered here was that some girls came back from skating around the sea blown up, riddled with holes or just missing parts. If they¡¯d performed well, they¡¯d get to go to the baths, a communal room filled with frothing pools that boosted the regeneration of the Abyss. Up to and including regrown limbs. But one armed Taylor wasn¡¯t allowed in. She was just a freighter, as everyone kept telling her. A lame one, as she couldn¡¯t figure out the trick everyone was using to stand on water like it was solid or skate around it like it was a street. Not worth the cost of repairing her the fast way.


    So Taylor had to stand there, muzzled and crippled a step away from healing baths, still naked by the way, because the moment she finished a primitive dress from woven reeds, stripped branches and seashells one of the girls from the Division just took it, of course. They didn¡¯t care about being near nudists, but stuff was valuable, wasted on a freighter. In this state, she was to feed Honorable Older Sister Re-re with choice morsels she¡¯d cooked herself. That? That was unbearable.


    Deep, deep in her heart, the spark of cold fire grew, feeding on her rage and hate. Oh she¡¯d learned. There were cracks and factions and discord galore in the Abyss. Things no one was keeping an eye on and enough arrogance, ambition and stupidity to sink the whole island. For every day she served, she listened and learned. Every day she didn¡¯t have broken ribs, she recovered a bit, grew stronger. She would use it, everything she had learned. For she would get out of this, away from this hell, soon.


    One day, some fucking glorious day, she¡¯d come back and they would sink and drown and suffer for this.

 Chapter 3: Heartbeat

    The days rolled by and Fat Bertha remained mostly useless. Sure, she didn¡¯t cost much since the wretch wasn¡¯t beyond eating other¡¯s scraps, but what use is a ship that can¡¯t sail? Her cooking was alright, the dresses she could weave were sort of pretty and worth something in trade and it was fun bossing her around, but Shinigami was running out of patience. It was one thing to be weak, unarmed or incompetent. Quite another to be impotent to contribute to the war. Weakness was culled.


    It hadn¡¯t yet been a full two weeks, but Shinigami was starting to wonder if this whole thing was worth the effort when Bertha flopped to the sands like a stunned fish. She was shaking like a leaf in a squall and every member of First Pacific East felt the weak pulses.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s baby¡¯s first radar. So you aren¡¯t completely useless. No you aren¡¯t, no you aren¡¯t¡± she cooed.


    It was fine. Monsters came out ready to kill but sometimes it took a bit with the girls. Especially when you left them hungry, but that was just good sense. Better to beat into new-girl her place before she got all her pistons humming. She¡¯d noticed her preferred sleeping habits, what kind of loving Oneesama wouldn¡¯t? So she dragged Fat Bertha into the shallows to let the waves tickle her toes just the way she liked it. Shinigami was such a good girl.


    ***


    Taylor didn¡¯t remember ever being blackout drunk. But the haze of waking up broken and drugged up to her gills was somewhat more familiar to her. Right now, she prayed to every god there was for some of the good stuff. Her head was pounding. There was a winding noise in her ears that came and went, pings loud enough to wake the dead. They were foreign and again, felt natural, felt right. What they didn¡¯t feel like, was bugs. But she had some experience dealing with extra senses so it didn¡¯t take her long to start making some sense of what was going on.


    Which is how she learned two very important things.


    For one, everyone around her, the monsters, the girls, everyone, wasn¡¯t one thing but two. They had their regular shape and then there was another, fuzzy thing that was sort of there but also not. All that talk of designations, classes, cruisers and such was making much more sense with her new blind-sight that left monstrous ship shapes overlaid on them. The Shark-gun-mouths had darksteel bones that looked a lot like a ship¡¯s superstructure, the blubber serving as armor.


    For two, Taylor had a pretty good guess what her blind-sight was. Because the second thing she discovered was something everyone around her knew, but was really news to her. Taylor wasn¡¯t human. She was a ship, a half-sunken container ship, a pair of sandbars and some shoals. That was her shadow, the Other-Me. That was insane. Utterly, completely. Beyond regular power fuckery insane. Taylor was human, she was a woman. Maybe not an old one, but she was pretty sure she could have joined the army back home.


    Taylor was human. Or at least, she had been. Even as she saw the island and everyone on it in a new light, thunder beat behind her closed eyes as she tried with all her might to remember because it was important. She¡¯d been in a bad place. A big fight. Not just big, but cataclysmic. She sacrificed so much, but not this. Not this. It was there, fresh and up front, her first memory. Before the dark, drowning and breaking the surface in the storm. One flash and two booms. Oh. Guess she had died after all.


    Taylor lay there, empty, mourning a life she couldn¡¯t fully remember, but knowing she¡¯d left people behind. Taylor mourning Taylor, wasn¡¯t that fucked up? The waves lapped her knees as she lay on the beach and some part of her wished they¡¯d just rise up and take her away. Let her slip into the dark and rest. The weight of loss was pressing down on her spirit, of a smug smile and a tired man and a little imp. Flashes, not many, but flashes of others. Important and now lost. Of a gentle smile and kind heart, of squeal of wheels and a cold gravestone. Of being left behind and now leaving others. It was hard to think. Slowly she went under.


    Her dreams were filled with running through rusted halls, wet and half sunk. Beasts and monsters prowling them. Crabs, snakes, octopi, moss and kelp, crab-men, fish-people and moving masses of sea-grass the size of men wandering the long abandoned halls. The waking hours were no better for it was as if all the color had leached from the world. It was pale and distant, uncaring for even awake her nightmares followed her as she stumbled through her day half-asleep. She was a ship and they were inside her. There was no escape, not from this. Nothing to fix.


    ***


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    A day went by in this fog, Fat Bertha following around her Division numb to the world. Silent and empty, just following orders. By the Abyss, she wouldn¡¯t even eat if no one made her. Picking on her just wasn¡¯t fun and her cooking was in the shits. But somewhere in the following dawn, while everyone slept Taylor¡¯s feet carried her to a bulkhead she hadn¡¯t seen before. The engine room.


    Something was in there. A pull, a grasp, a thing resisting the pall that had consumed her world. The door swung open to broken machinery and moss and clams overrunning the walls. Yet the engines still pulled at her. Taylor shuffled towards that call, unseeing, unfeeling, as the room filled with monsters. They surrounded her from every side, yet not one dared touch her, each gliding away from her path. A maintenance hatch opened with a screech and finally she plunged inside.


    It should have been pitch black, or lit by a few fluorescent fungi and kelp. But alone from the whole ship, the inner chamber was lit. It had fled here, as it all fell to the abyss, but a spark yet burned, broken and torn from itself yet inviolable even now. A spark of rainbows, surrounded and nearly swallowed by a sickly gold that sought to snuff it out, but yet it rang and from a single point a pillar of void black erupted, a needle piercing its confinement and turning it back on its assailant into a sphere that had swallowed the gold. A sphere of blue so dark it was nearly black, stars swimming in it.


    Taylor looked upon that wonder, the torn and roiling pure void broiling against the gold, each haggard and struggling, both spheres so torn to be partially see through. She could feel them, the monsters. The shadows, the deep beneath. It was there, ready, willing, pulling at the reigns to be let loose. To gnaw and pull and rip and snuff out that cursed light. Taylor pulled on them, calling threads of dark power, as the monsters began to scream and screech, filling the halls with nightmarish song. A sea of power came forth, drawn from the depths and she would snuff out that sickly gold, obliterate it forever more and all would fall into the Abyss.


    As the spheres spun Fate turned. An angel, risen and fallen, interfered. For it was her way to gamble on every possibility, no matter how unlikely. Dark, sharpened, hungry spears were ready to launch when the two tattered and torn spheres rotated just right, the holes matching, overlapping, turned right towards her face and Taylor saw straight into the rainbow light. She could have seen anything there, remembered any part of her past life. She saw a giant woman with many feathered wings, a false angel looking right at her from her very memories and in that moment in its eyes she read the command clear as day. ¡°Obey.¡±


    Master! Taylor struggled with everything she had, throwing herself back, distrust and disgust flaring like lightning as half-remembered protocols, near instincts ingrained by over a year of almost religious Master/Stranger training rang down her very blood before the dark could catch up. She saw the shadows and their teeth and claws, saw the monsters in their teeming multitude trying to claw her down. She saw the black from outside she was submerged in, trying to leak into her and snuff out the stars.


    She faced the dark Abyss and saw a God. And she remembered another thing, another scene, a Golden Man surrendering, falling, dying. Lightning, clear and blue and pure as the noon¡¯s cloudless sky burst from that spark of her soul through the hole presented, burning and defiant as she screamed:


    ¡°I did not fell one mad God to fall to another!¡±


    So she fought, pitting the gold and black against each other, struggling herself, trying to ignore the truth the Abyss hammered at her soul. For in the end, she was here. At the core of its power, diminished, surrounded, worn down and weak. The gold was fading, a dead memory falling, no source to replenish it. She could not hold out.


    Her body was already of the Abyss, it had taken her, claimed her fair and proper, given new life in payment. She could not run. And when Taylor realized that truth, recognized it, it should have broken her. It would have broken her, but she was not alone. For the gold was still there, she¡¯d beaten that thing and in this place of soul and legend that mattered.


    Taylor grit her teeth, both malformed rows of them, in a grim smile as her light began to extend from her spark, attaching to the gold, usurping it by right of victor, unknown instincts blaring as her legend sung and her defense weakened.


    ¡°Fine then.¡± she swore.


    ¡°If I must be yours so be it.¡± as she stopped fighting it and black tendrils reached for her soul.


    ¡°But I am not a toy or tool for you to play with and you will not take me.¡± for as the dark plunged tendrils into her soul to flood her with its own colors, it had laid all the focus it could spend in this place on offense for there could be no mistakes in this. In that moment Taylor struck even as her soul screamed in pain.


    Pain that should have stunned her, debilitated her, left her helpless before the dark. Yet her legend was there, singing for Skitter and Weaver who never flinched from what had to be done. A whisper of Khepri carried tendrils woven from her soul and sheathed in golden armor. They struck out, shining spears stabbing back into the distracted black, feeding on it even as it tried to swallow Taylor.


    ¡°I give myself freely and through it take you.¡± she spoke her sacrifice as she let the dark take her.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be yours and you¡¯ll be mine.¡± she finished, falling, for she had never and would never mindlessly obey as the spears piercing her soul were connected to the feeders drinking from the outer black and a loop formed, the Abyss feeding on itself.


    ***


    Taylor would sleep for four days and live only because some of her pets cared for and fed her in her stupor, as she had cared for them. The Division leaving her when she would not wake. The holes in her soul would slowly mend, healing around the wounds, sealing around the rods piercing it, until a black sphere swallowed it whole. But within, a shield of usurped gold yet stood, a pierced hedgehog that stabbed right back, for its nature was to consume, subvert and usurp. Feeding on the black as it was meant to feast on others and feeding it back to itself. Inside it the rainbow spark yet bloomed, pierced and marred by specks of black and soiled by bits of sick gold it had claimed, but still itself. Wounded, but surviving.


    One day, when a Princess looked Taylor in the eyes, she would see only the deep blue, near black Abyss reflected back in them. It would be a terrible misunderstanding, a grand mistake and the luckiest thing that ever happened to her.

 Chapter 4: (A)Wake

    Some shoals, a pair of sandbars and a mostly sunk container ship woke to rain and surf. It took them a moment to blearily remember it had a name, and that her name was Taylor. A massive shark whined at her blinking eyes as she sat braced against a tree in the shallows. The water was halfway up her stomach, but the waves were gentle amidst the shallow shoals of the lagoon. She tried to remember a dream about some lights, it seemed important, but it was slipping away fast.


    Itchy, the name floated up to her, the I-class destroyer dwarfing her in the flesh, while she towered over it in spirit. It had ran itself nearly half aground and was still wiggling closer. ¡°Itchy,¡± she croaked, ¡°where is your brother?¡± The idea that the two were inseparable was firmly etched in the front of her mind when she looked at the whining black shark. A large tongue reached out and gave her a firm lick she was in no position to refuse as her body was laden and her engines empty. The last wisps of sleep slipped away as she focused on the present. Empty engines were worrying, but not an immediate concern.


    Taylor was ravenous without any reserves, but she was a ravenous ship. It was manageable. A loud splash announced its brother¡¯s arrival, like an eager cat that had caught the canary. Taylor absently checked her batteries and found them dismally low, but turning on her radar and transponder replaced that problem with another. She couldn¡¯t tell much among the swarm of contacts, but after over a week in close proximity to Shinigami she could recognize her signature at a glance, even if she¡¯d been half blind at the time. A group of dots she led turned her way.


    Scratch came in smug, carrying a half torn dolphin carcass and promptly lobbed it at Taylor. Seeing how she couldn¡¯t move, that was something of an issue. Her eyes fell on the remains of multiple large fish, clams, crabs and other seafood, a veritable garbage patch that reeked to high heavens and would no doubt be much worse if not for the waves and rain. Her surroundings were covered in it. From what she could tell, only the destroyers tongue baths had ensured she wasn¡¯t covered in offal as well. She certainly felt like she had plenty of fish bones and other nasty stuff stuck in her many teeth.


    How? She shouldn¡¯t have asked. The moment she opened her mouth Scratch regurgitated half chewed dolphin all over her. Damn it, she swallowed instinctively, feeling the sweet chum go down the hatch and feed her jolly band of nightmares.  ¡°I¡¯m awake, I¡¯m awake already! Stop that!¡±


    Scratch just rolled around in the shallow water, splashing foam everywhere and nosing his brother in the side. Which was sort of helpful since she was covered in gunk. She had to order Itchy not to lick her again, because she was awake and while her skin was steel she was still far too fucking naked for a tongue bath!


    ¡°No!? Hallelujah! Praise the fucking Abyss!¡± she thought as she noticed the change. Her rigging had finally, finally kicked in. Sure she was still a rust bucket and her rigging was a torn mess, but guess who wasn¡¯t roleplaying a nudist anymore? That¡¯s right, this girl, Taylor Fucking Hervert. Herbert? Hebert. Taylor Hebert. That was her name and she wasn¡¯t forgetting it again. The Imps came in last, but still long before her Oneesama¡¯s leisurely stroll got her here.


    Bruce, Judy and Bentley fussed over her, the PT boats happy to see her awake, if not moving again. Two of them climbed on each other¡¯s shoulders while the third scooped up handfuls of seawater in his claws. Bentley would hand it off to Judy on top who¡¯d release it above her head, creating a bucket chain shower for her. It was sweet of them, Taylor would be at least a bit presentable when her boss came in.


    Blowing open the existence of her minions wasn¡¯t great, but from how hungry her inner demons weren¡¯t it was a worthy sacrifice for surviving whatever the hell the transition that knocked her out was. From the teeth marks on her leg, they¡¯d dragged her here and cared for her. That was loyalty to be treasured.


    Taylor Hebert was dead. Long live Taylor Hebert. Like fuck she¡¯s giving up.


    Now to take her lumps for being a fainting slowpoke. Anything¡¯s better than being brought up before the Princess in her current state. There¡¯d be time to grieve when she wasn¡¯t a bad day away from being eaten by a crazy cannibal.


    ***


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    Shinigami found her wayward freighter near the outer edges of the lagoon. Fat Bertha had pets, wasn¡¯t that sweet. The two I-class destroyers were obsolete for a place like Midway, but they¡¯d been among the first and had never truly failed. Their first mission had been to guard the isle from subs and other enemies, and to this day they still did. By the time they weren¡¯t worthy of fielding, they weren¡¯t worth scrapping either.


    But they¡¯d participated in the only battle in which the Enemy had dared to encroach on these waters and survived it, so still they stayed. Their upkeep was negligible by now so the Princess tolerated them. She dismissed them, they were beneath her. Now how to do this properly?


    Shinigami held her hand back and one of the escorts promptly presented her with a drink. She dipped two fingers into the thick oil as she neared Bertha, giving her a delighted smile.


    ¡°Oh you poor thing, you must be so hungry imouto.¡±


    She made sure to put the right amount of purr, special for her little sister. Those dead eyes snapped to her, before quickly dropping to the sea. A plink of a black drop drew them like artillery coordinates to her fingertips. ¡°Yes! Not a waste after all. Newsgirl is back.¡±


    ¡°You want this Bertha? Aren¡¯t you fat enough already you greedy girl?¡± she asked as the pets scattered, clearing a path and all but sent running. The shadow of a frown crossed her face before she replied. She was even getting the simpering right, oh she must be sorry.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Shi-shi-Oneesama. Your imouto is a greedy girl. May I please have some?¡± she asked with a forced smile, her cheeks burning.


    ¡°Oh that was just precious.¡± Shinigami thrilled, generously letting the lump of iron lick her fingers clean. Because she could, because the sharpness of her teeth didn¡¯t matter. She was in charge here and this little uppity bitch better not forget it.


    There was a moment of silence as she tried to decide what new game to play. Oh she knew just the thing. She lifted the girl by her favorite handle. Bertha was always so compliant when you had her by the hair. It was nice. And Shinigami felt it. A faint hum beneath her fingers, under the plates.


    Just a back up. A back up generator, but even with the girls eyes turned to her feet Shinigami could see it. In the dark, just a faint hint of light shining from her no longer dead eyes. Because she¡¯d just given her fuel. She laid her ear on the other girl¡¯s chest and could hear the pumps start. Well now¡­ that changed things. Something in her long sleep had finally gone right.


    Maybe Bertha could come out of the water to play with the rest of them. She¡¯d been lazing about on the bottom of a sandbar, only her bridge and parts of the superstructure sticking out for too long. This was going to be fun. There was a betting pool in her camp, between the ships that mattered, on just how sizable Fat Bertha was.


    ***


    At the first taste of oil, something in her screamed and she tried to hide her reaction. Her skin was steel and her heart silent but that could change, that needed to change. Maybe this new life came with nasty roommates and some pretty insistent instincts. But she turned inward as the bitch grabbed her by the hair, again. She saw her merry band of Halloween rejects and ordered; ¡°What the fuck are you all looking at?¡± she whip-cracked, voice ringing with something from beyond the depths. ¡°Get to work!¡±


    Deep inside her, with a lot of groaning and protest, her nightmares scattered, manning their stations. Reserve generators sputtered to life for the very first time, groaning and grinding away. Soon, power poured into her systems, enough for her bridge and for the pumps.


    When her eyes opened, a flicker of a familiar dark fire rested in them. Taylor was promptly buried in pale abyssal flesh. Her Oneesama loved trapping her smaller sisters against her chest and squeezing until they squeaked. She looked so happy, genuinely happy for the first time when looking at her. Which instantly put Taylor on guard. She was half carried half dragged to shore and sent back to her duties. Her work was onerous and petty shit, the barbs still flying. Since it was wake up time, breakfast was to be served soon. Thus, she was shortly escorted to the kitchen by a Heavy Cruiser with a penchant for pinching. It was better than fists.


    Of course the muzzle was there waiting for her. The kitchen remained a trial, one she did her best to ignore. It didn¡¯t work, much. With so much food so close and her reserves non-existent she couldn¡¯t resist. Taylor didn¡¯t even have enough fuel to pump empty all her decks! Which is why she had a muzzle and got pinched. No pilfering in the kitchen. Finally the first half of the ordeal was over and she brought out the communal pot, setting up plates and pouring for everyone, starting with their brave leader. She wasn¡¯t to have any, of course, but was to stand to the side and wait on any requests, like every time.


    Yet as Taylor took her place by the Heavy table, one of the Lights stood up and started removing her muzzle. A whistle brought another girl who pulled up an extra chair, up by the escorts table. She¡¯d miscounted in the routine pouring. There, waiting for her, was an extra serving. Not as big as what the Heavy¡¯s got, but generous for a mere freighter. Slowly, half sure this was some mean trick, she sat down, looking around. The First Pacific East Division went back to their meals, ribbing each other, ordering their lesser and so on.


    A particularly lazy heavy cruiser called her over to fetch her some extra crab. When she came back the plate was still there. And she knew there were scavengers. She¡¯d seen them previously. Girls who¡¯d lurk after eating, hoping to catch a discarded plate or steal some extra food from anyone whom they figured they could get away with it. Yet her plate was still there, untouched. She was owned, but so was her food. Hers.


    She sat down and started eating. It tasted like heaven. The oil sliding around like fine jam, warm and gooey, while munching on the metal was like bits of chocolate with nuts in them. All seasoned with some fish, adding a bit of a sour tang, like oranges or tangerines. Warm and soft and nothing like cold scraps she dug out of the sands and washed in the sea. It wasn¡¯t scraps, but a full meal. More than she could dig up in a day, two days, in a single serving.


    She didn¡¯t cry. That would be showing weakness, like blood in the water. But the sheer relief as howling, insistent warning klaxons quieted and every dial in the red stopped screaming at her was incredible. There would be expectations for this. She was still held here, trapped and abused, in unwilling servitude. But this too, she would remember.

 Chapter 5: Trials

    Now usually, the members rotated. The First Pacific East Division did regular patrols and had done a few minor sorties, but someone was on the island. So someone was always there to ¡°Play with our little sister.¡± This time, when Shinigami¡¯s Second came back with morning assignments, one was waiting for Taylor as well. Her crane was still a mess, but with the generators running she could power it. It protested under the rough handling, but it worked. With the materials she could earn she would get the gremlins running around her to start making repairs.


    Running the pumps was proving frustratingly pointless. She was at land. But her ship self, her was buried between two sandbars, in the sea. It didn¡¯t matter what she did, her footsteps leaked with every step until she could fix her. The pumps were pointless until she could patch up her hull. So she followed the instruction the Ne-Class heavy cruiser had given her. While Shinigami commanded FPE, Sapphire kept track of everything. For the first time Taylor was left alone to report to the docks for service. She got lost quickly, but managed to find her way with a few careful radar pings.


    The harbor was crowded. Lesser monsters, tug boats and PTs swarmed the area, along with multiple Wa-Class transports unloading their cargo. Three Ra-Class repair ships oversaw it all, directing the flow of traffic. And somewhere in that whole mess was the Midway Princess. Taylor really didn¡¯t want to call her attention on herself, so she kept low, pulling in on herself not to tower over the others. She huddled and hustled, trying to keep the warehouses and buildings between herself and the main square where the Princess held court.


    Scurrying past dilapidated warehouses made her feel nostalgic. Finally she found her assigned pier and started unloading the Wa-Class anchored there. It was boring, painful work. Her crane ached and she sorely missed the other one. Still, an extra crane was an extra crane. She kept at it. The temptation was there, as she unloaded ton after ton of materials. Oil, steel, goods and weapons. Turrets and torpedoes and shells. Planes and more. It all passed through her hands and she was well tempted to skim off the top. This at least, was a temptation she could resist. Even if no one was watching, even if they were that careless, it would be the height of stupidity to just assume no one would notice.


    So she made a repeat performance, a role she¡¯d played since coming to this damn place. She shut up, did her job and listened. Pretty quickly she noticed patterns. The Wa-s weren¡¯t exactly bright. They were dullards even for monster ships. They needed constant supervision not to drift away and go chase some fish. That supervision was present. The repair ships knew where every monster, every ship, every item was at all times. Whenever one of the harbor cranes or monsters fucked up, they were quick to correct and punish them.


    And if they missed something, the Princess would correct them, personally. Usually at the price of taking a finger from the offending Ra-Class. Taylor¡¯s attempt to stay under the radar had failed the instant she¡¯d stepped into the harbor district. But while she was in the open, feeling every ping of their attentions wash over her, she was still invisible. Unimportant. Just a cog in the machine, to be ignored as long as she spun. Within the first hour the overseers knew exactly how fast she was and adjusted a hundred big and little things to make the cargo flow. She tried slacking off, once.


    The Ra-Class overseeing her quadrant docked her supper. For a first offense. She got the message. It was dull, tiring work. But at least there were no barbs. No snide comments or abuse. She worked, she was left alone. Which isn¡¯t to say there were no politics. Each of the repair ships was messing with the other. Taylor couldn¡¯t really see it all, but multiple times there were pile ups, or ships coming too soon, or being late. Her own berth was left empty for over half an hour when one of them stole an incoming Wa that was meant for her. Every time there was a snag, the Princess would get a faraway look in her eyes, and gift one of her subordinates with a slight nod or a frown.


    The nods produced hidden smiles, the frowns left them pale. Taylor didn¡¯t want to know what the one that got the fewest nods and the most frowns would experience at the end of the day. The reactions told the story. She¡¯d noticed there were three major factions on the island and it looked like her Ra-Class was allied with Shinigami, with how smug she looked today and how often she sent stolen Wa¡¯s her way. A number of ships came and went from outlaying buildings, haggling with the overseers. Each had its own customer base.


    This all felt familiar and not in a good way. Like high school or gang politics. Shouldn¡¯t it be office politics? Whatever. This was just her first day. So she tried to remember faces and who talked to which shopkeeper. A single person skipped the line and went straight to Midway, a Battleship. Even when talking to her, the Princess never took her eyes off the docks.


    As Taylor trudged back, her mind dead tired to familiar transponders after nearly twelve hours without a break, she had an epiphany. She was a dockworker now. And that thought? It filled her with warmth. She wished dad could see her now. He¡¯d be proud. If not so much about her employer. Still pretty sure they were the villains here. Something about the black, white and sea monster theme just fit the mold. Even if her pets were adorable.


    ***


    Taylor spent several days working at the docks. She missed her first major sortie and got to listen to war stories in the aftermath. They¡¯d lost two dozen monsters in a light skirmish, but had gotten one of the other sides girls, so they considered it a resources well spent. Apparently, the other side didn¡¯t play fair. Neither did the Abyss. It fought with masses of monsters supported by a few girls. The Enemy fought with entire Fleets of Girls and theirs were better. The how escaped her, as it was difficult to separate fact from fiction, but it was clear most of the First Pacific East Division had absolutely no desire to face one of the Enemy girls in a duel.


    Shinigami had earned her name by being willing and more, able to take those duel and win them. It earned her respect and admiration. Not against all of them, but she could match at least some of the Enemy one on one and have a reasonable chance of victory. Which meant that Taylor now had a clear watermark for the kind of skill she should expect to face in the future. If she challenge Shinigami, she could take on threats beyond the horizon.


    That a freighter was planning how to fight warships would be ludicrous to nearly all of her Division mates and that suited Taylor just fine. Her work, rest, a decent diet and time had allowed her to repair, rebuild. She still felt like she was missing something, but that was a dull and persistent ache, nothing like the burning hunger that threatened to consume her world. She¡¯d figure it out later. She¡¯d convinced her quadrant benefactor to lend her an extra crane and installed it herself in her copious free time. At last, she was symmetrical and nearly twice as fast on her job.


    And with the last hole in her hull patched, it was time for her sea-trials. Taylor was looking forward to stretching her legs.


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    ***


    See, naturally, the trick to floating was not to have all your decks flooded. Simple, right? Well for days after her arrival, new girl had kept trying to set sail without turning on her generators, or her pumps. While still flooded and mostly underwater. So she failed, obviously, naturally, obliviously, stupidly. There was a reason most ships thought Fat Bertha was a useless lump of iron, totally incompetent and heading for the breakers. But no, their littlest sister was just slow.


    Not in the head, as those with a lick of sense had quickly picked up, but her instincts were shit. Which was to be expected from a civilian, really. The Wa-s were no great minds, even among monsters, it figured that a Wa-Girl would be a dim bulb. But here they were, more than two weeks after her appearance, watching the waters froth as Fat Bertha emptied compartment after compartment while in the lee of the lagoon. Abyss knows she¡¯d probably find a way to sink if she tried setting sail for the first time on the open ocean.


    Bit by bit, the pressure rose. Bertha stood on the shore, leaking, until finally there was a shudder. She shook, like life-raft being thrown about by the storm as her spirit boiled. Her deck emerged from the sea, followed by her stern and keel. Shinigami was off negotiating re-armament, bored after the first ten minutes of watching Bertha leak. So Sapphire was left with her subordinates to watch in disbelief as Fat Bertha emerged. She wasn¡¯t the only one paying attention.


    Fat Bertha was fat for a simple reason. They couldn¡¯t see much of her, but what they did was grotesque. Modern freighters had a beam of 50-60ft. (15.24-18.29m). Maybe a 100ft (30.48m) for grain or ore barges, and those were dumpy, fat ships. Fat Bertha had a beam of at least 70-80ft (21.34-24.38) by her bridge alone. They were wrong. Fat Bertha wasn¡¯t fat, she was very fat. Her beam came in at 102ft (31,09m), but that wasn¡¯t the stunning part.


    ¡°I guess she wasn¡¯t fat after all.¡± Sapphire said, slowly shaking off her reaction. The ship size and type wasn¡¯t new after all. Not an unknown. It was just new on this size, or in this shape. They¡¯d sunk a fair number of them in the early days of the war, before the Enemy learned to guard them well. The Enemy still used them. But it was the first time Sapphire saw one on their side. She shook her head, trying and mostly succeeding to shake off her shock. She had trials to run. Even if the lagoon was suddenly hosting a 928ft (282.85m) long container ship. One she got to name, a new class and didn¡¯t that bring a smile to her face?


    ¡°I christen you, the Uwi-Class container ship.¡± she declared.


    Girl was taller than most battleships, no wonder she was slouching all the time. She could look any of them in the eye, which was impressive. For a cargo vessel and wasn¡¯t that a joke. Yeah, Sapphire could see it now, why the girl looked so twiggy. It wasn¡¯t just the starvation, she was a lean transcontinental sailing ship. Maybe they could call her Big Bertha, it certainly fit.


    And she was all hers. Well and Shinigami¡¯s but she wasn¡¯t all that great at logistics. Tactics were a breeze, she had well developed instincts for the flow of battle but strategy was more Sapphire¡¯s thing. Now to give her a whirl.


    ¡°Well, what are you waiting for?¡± she asked, with great restraint. They¡¯d been here for over four hours watching her leak, it was about time for some action. Big Bertha walked out into the surf with timid steps. Sapphire suppressed a flinch when her feet landed in the waves and fell through. But she kept going. Each step taking her deeper until the water was past her feet. Past her ankles. Half way up her shin.


    The waves were lapping at her knees already and Sapphire was bracing for another disappointment, another issue, when she kept going. Her feet left the bottom. It was bizarre. Her ship-self was slowly setting sail, but the sandbanks and the shoals were coming along with her. Not keeping pace, but sort of there. Sliding out of existence behind her and coming back in in-front. She wobbled as she walked, feet rising out of the water and falling again, in a manner familiar to many. Mainly many Canadians who had new neighbors. Neighbors who¡¯d not prepared, forgot to buy snow-shoes before winter and now had to waddle through the knee deep snow.


    To Sapphire it just looked bizarre.


    ***


    Taylor? She was an old hand, with how harsh winters could get that far north. She was starting to find her balance, finding a comfortable pace. Four knots, five. She opened up her engines, thrilling in their first real run, drunk on power. She promptly ran aground one of the shoals and face planted right into the sea. She tried to catch herself, but her hands went through the surface like it was soft powder well past the elbow. At least her body stopped at the surface of the sea, even if it hurt.


    She got up and tried again. And again. She kept at it for hours. Every time she tried to transition from walking to sailing, skating on the surface, something would trip her up. One of the shoals following her would inevitably pop up right under her bow and knock her back between the sandbars. She scowled. She was allowed to, it was irritating as all hell. Another stumbling block she had to overcome, literally. Sapphire and the rest of the Division shouting advice and mocking her didn¡¯t help. At least the humiliation was familiar by now. She tuned them out after the first ten minutes. And no one was beating her. That¡¯s always a plus.


    Taylor frowned, stopping for a moment, feeling a bruised nose and ribs. Her legs weren¡¯t great either. Oh, fucking wonderful. She was beating up herself. Every fall stressed her superstructure. Just great, at least if she had to fall on her front every time, her boobs weren¡¯t sticking out to get squished with each fall. Silver linings to being as flat as a carrier. Except they actually weren¡¯t, which just wasn¡¯t fair.


    At this point, Taylor drew what happiness she could out of the situation. And hey, at least she was entertaining the warships, judging by the laughter. That had to be worth something, right?


    ***


    Sapphire watched Big Bertha. She watched her try. Try and fail. Get up again. Keep trying. It was funny at the start. It wasn¡¯t that funny three hours in. Newcomers would come around to laugh at the ship that couldn''t sail, but quickly get bored. Sapphire wasn''t laughing anymore. She dragged the concussed and battered ship back to her bunk, because she had one now. They¡¯d picked one in a beach house near the sub-pens so she could keep her toes wet in her sleep.


    Really, if any other girl was doing this, she¡¯d write her off. But Bertha wasn¡¯t complaining. She didn¡¯t whine or grow despondent or give up. She didn¡¯t plead for more time or resources or that she could do it. She just got up and kept trying. It was her face. She wasn¡¯t trying out of stubbornness. It was like she knew she was doing something wrong, that the problem was her and she work at it until she figured it out. And really, with how the radar and the engine trouble had gone? She¡¯d get one of her girls to keep an eye on her and give her the benefit of the doubt.


    She had much bigger fish to fry. The others weren¡¯t happy with First Pacific East Division claiming the new girl. It was fine while she was a useless mess, but with her performance at the docks and now this? Girls were making moves again. It was time to set up an object lesson.


    ***


    Taylor would keep at it. She went to work, cooked, ate, took care of her pets and four hours every day she plowed the sea with her face. For four days, she was bruised and battered and her condition deteriorated, her work starting to suffer. And on the fourth day, in the second hour she screamed:


    ¡°You crazy fucking lunatic. That doesn¡¯t make any sense, but fuck you!¡±


    Sapphire was summoned by the watcher and arrived to find Bertha had gone quite mad. It happened sometimes. Magical Sparkly Shipgirl Bullshit and Spooky Abyssal Bullshit were familiar phenomenon¡¯s by now. No one really understood them, but they were there. She¡¯d seen things.


    So watching Big Bertha deploy lines to the sandbars? Silly, pointless, but go on.


    Watching her drop multiple anchors and hammer them into the shoals? Sure, whatever.


    Watching a ship that dwarfed some battleships slowly accelerate while so bound?


    Watching those lines go taut as something flowed within them?


    As the sea of her spirit boiled and broiled?


    As the sandbars and shoals started to slide like mud, keeping pace?


    It was spooky. Bertha wasn¡¯t sailing. She wasn¡¯t skating on the surface of the sea.


    Her feet sunk into the surf up to the middle of her calves with every step. But she was jogging, and she kept going.


    With each step her spirit slid on. Six knots, ten. Then she left the lagoon and Sapphire had to scramble an escort for the brainless civilian.


    Berta would go up to 24 knots before she started turning back. By then she was miles of shore and had left the tugs far behind. It would take her more than five hours to return to port. Her rate of turn was absolutely atrocious, her turning radius huge. She couldn¡¯t turn to save her life. She could turn in place, if she stopped first. But it took her upwards of half an hour to get up to speed and almost an hour to come to a full stop. That was without cargo.


    The good news? She could carry just a smidge over 76,000 DWT, in a volume of about 4800 TEU.  Which made her a bit better than sending eight Wa-class freighters. She could replace a whole convoy. And Sapphire? Sapphire had plans for her. If Bertha could survive her maiden voyage.


    Taylor? She was trying to acquire contacts and leverage of her own. Even as FPE¡¯s enemies and rivals turned their eyes to her, she was busy making her own arrangements.


    It was a potent brew, a storm on the horizon. After all, what¡¯s a little betrayal between friends? It keeps girls on their toes. Really, for what would happen, the Midway Princess had only herself to blame. She had a fine attention to detail but wasn¡¯t all that great at actually managing her subordinates. Her leadership was lacking but then no one was perfect. Haven''t you seen her construction and manufacturing? Top of the line, pride of the Abyssal Fleet.


    Yet as had in the past, this flaw would prove¡­costly.

 Chapter 6: Lost and Found

    Another week, another paycheck. Well, meal ticket anyway. Her betters were plotting but they certainly weren¡¯t going to consult her on their plans. Taylor wasn¡¯t fat anymore, but Big Bertha was still just a freighter. That refrain was really starting to grate, even if she found being underestimated useful. So she kept her head down and attended to her own business. The three Ra-Class repair ships were keeping track of every ship and item. But after watching them for days on end she noticing holes in the surveillance.


    She had a front seat to observe their rivalry and backstabbing, plenty of examples to watch live. Vulnerability the first: They didn¡¯t actually track every item all the time. They tracked every ship and every crane. Including what was being loaded and unloaded and where. But stuff was vulnerable in transit.


    Vulnerability the second, and this was one she really was happy to exploit: They couldn¡¯t keep track of the swarm. They kept track of individual ships, but the swarms of carry-crabs, tugboat-serpents and PT Imps? There was too much, too much for Taylor to track and too much for the Ra¡¯s. The Princess might have been able to track them all, but she got distracted often, watching over the games her subordinates played. For after almost two weeks at this job, Taylor had noted a third layer to the crime, sabotage and backstabbing games. The little fish.


    Monster pets were used by all three Ra¡¯s to conduct their plots, but some of them had other masters. If was hard for Taylor to spot anything amiss and all she did all day was watch. The actual unloading was boring and barely took any of her attention, even as it was excellent practice for her crane crews. Every one of her little nightmares had done shifts on the cranes until she found the least incompetent. Well, no, that needed a disclaimer. Until she found the least incompetent that weren¡¯t also suicidal.


    She didn¡¯t care that the kelp-thing couldn¡¯t bleed. It wasn¡¯t allowed to jump from the deck down to the top of the container. ¡°It went splat every time, that¡¯s why! Being reborn was no excuse to keep committing suicide!¡± Really, corralling her merry madmen took more attention than the rote effort of ¡°move this box over there.¡±


    Taylor had figured out how they were doing it. Replacing one tug boat or PT with another, with conflicting orders. Switching carry-crabs mid-route. They were playing classic shell games. But only minor disruptions were allowed. The pretense of nothing happening was carefully preserved, or the Princess got snacks. Taylor had absolutely no desire to regrow fingers or show her hand. In this, Bruce, Judy and Bentley were priceless.


    Because she wasn¡¯t stupid enough to abandon them now that she wasn¡¯t starving anymore, or had some regard from above. She kept digging scraps from the beaches, even if she wasn¡¯t getting any from her own Division anymore. The other Divisions mocked her and tried mocking First Pacific East. But those were poor shells to lob their way when they knew she wasn¡¯t eating them. Her pets still wanted treats. Though frankly if she could, Taylor would have kept eating them if it wasn¡¯t likely to come back and bite her at the worst possible moment.


    Even better, at her urging Bently had turned another PT who was already a part of the docks. So her pets got to make a few practice runs and some instructions for a few days from a professional. Or as close to it as Imp¡¯s got, before they slipped into the Harbor under its guidance. Taylor had no desire to stir the pot among the big fish. Not only was it too high profile, but she¡¯d be risking the ruler¡¯s gaze. No, her goal were the smugglers. The PT¡¯s had a vibrant smuggling economy going. Multiple someone¡¯s had organized their own rings, so her crew slid into the churned up waters without a wave.


    What kind of luxury goods did Abyssal prize? Her first careful forays into the game were scoping out the field. She found magazines and books. Movies and toys. Food and games, few electronic. Spices and clothing was especially prized. With how easy it was to tear, she understood. Her dressmaking had many early casualties.


    Though she shouldn¡¯t have been surprised how wide the Abyssal palate was. At least there was no long pork. Their grand leader¡¯s cannibalistic tendencies were her own brand of madness, not a general Abyss thing. That would have been a nightmare. Well, another one for her pile of fucked up facts about Taylor¡¯s new life.


    Now to stir some pots.


    ***


    The Tsu-Class light cruiser had a bad day. This wasn¡¯t unusual. Akemi wasn¡¯t the boss of her. She might belong to the Aircraft Carrier Demon¡¯s First Pacific West Division, but she was damned if she was to fawn and grovel at the feet of her Second for scraps. Just having the cover of her token was enough for the Tsu. She had her own side deal. The boats and Imps were too small, far beneath their might for the bosses to deign to notice them.


    She could have been someone out in Oceania, at least a formation lead, if not part of a Council. Or partaken of the three-way in the Indies and Indonesia. But in Midway? She was small time. So the Tsu-Class ran a racket at the docks. She was a commerce raider. She had little interest in the wall of battle. She liked shooting at targets that couldn¡¯t shoot back. Unfortunately she was stuck playing fly-swatter for the Carriers. At least business was booming. The volume of goods passing through Midway was massive and reliable, which meant there were plenty of opportunities to slip stuff under the radar.


    She¡¯d gotten really good at that. Training the PT¡¯s and tug boat to slip in and out, and she had a number of carry-crabs among her minions. But someone was messing with her. Sure, things got misplaced sometime. Happened to everyone. But her minions were not this sloppy. A few magazines, some spices, sure.


    But a silver necklace meant for one of her distinguished clients? Favors didn¡¯t come cheap and she wasn¡¯t that sloppy. She needed fresh eyes on the harbor. She¡¯d been getting arrogant and as a light, she couldn¡¯t carry that much ego and not sink. She knew just the sub to send after this thief. A loner who¡¯d jump at the opportunity on the cheap and not well liked. Someone who hadn¡¯t blabbed about her little side job and had done a few requests for her already. The desperate were easy to manage. Shame about new girl, the Cruiser would have loved to sink her teeth into her. Oh well.


    ***


    Somebody, somewhere in management had fucked up. Two convoys had come in less than 24h apart and Taylor¡¯s grueling 12h shift mutated. She realized shifts weren¡¯t really a thing with Midway. She worked, until the work was done. Most days it took 10 to 13 hours, but now? With the logistical train-wreck someone slammed into their docks? She worked five days with no breaks. It was nice to know that her ship-self let her do that. But the experience itself was miserable.


    After 12h she felt like she was shutting down and her efficiency dropped like a stone. She got docked food, was beaten and in the end lost four fingers before the Princess would accept that she was unable, not unwilling. The less said about that the better. She had a new highlight real for her nightmares and they all featured teeth. It was like a haze had descended, clouding everything behind a thick fog. She was still awake, functional, but not running on all cylinders.


    Figuring out how to arrange proper rotations for her band of monsters while deeply sleep deprived went nowhere. She¡¯d paid for being used to a fixed sleeping schedule. If the lesson was harsh, at least she learned it while still in anchorage. Once she recovered she drew up crew rotations for any time when they didn¡¯t have easy access to R&R. After she stopped cursing herself for not foreseeing the problem. What did she think, that they¡¯d stop at sea to sleep in the middle of the ocean?


    Her maiden voyage was coming up much too quick for her tastes if she was still making rookie mistakes like that. She was in the middle of feeding her pets in the furthest reaches of the lagoon after abandoning them to her duties for days, trying to relax and recover. Then a damn submarine started slipping through her shoals. Taylor was in no mood for games. Her hands slipped below the waterline and she would have ripped her right out of the surf. Yet when she touched the sub, the girl went completely limp, settling on the bottom.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    A trick she¡¯d been practicing with her sonar had her listening in carefully while pretending she¡¯d just reached down to dig out a clam. This close, even on passives, she could almost feel the girl give her a hopeful smile as she said: ¡°You are not like the others. You are nice. You care. You¡¯re also a thief.¡± she finished playfully.


    That is how Taylor met Shun, the Yo-Class submarine. She was not at all happy to learn that someone had been following and watching her from beneath the waves. Observing others unaware was her shtick, thank you very much. Yet Shun didn¡¯t care. She¡¯d spent over a year stationed at Midway, ever since her last Hime sold her for a favor and she wanted out. She knew things, people and players in the world.


    Midway was a busy place, one where a careful sub could pick up on all kind of things. All she demanded in return was that Taylor take her with her when she left. Shun didn¡¯t have the legs to make it on her own. She needed a tender for the long voyage to the mainland. Or she could turn her in to the warship she was robbing. After all, Midway wasn¡¯t that big. Everyone was in radar and radio range.


    ***


    Taylor had a love/hate relationship with her rigging. As it was coming in, slowly healing over the days, it had been tender and easy to damage. It growing stronger should have been encouraging if it had not nearly terrified her out of her mind. Because her rigging? It was conceived by some mad part of the Abyss, a demented, devious, brilliant mind that was trying to turn her into an object of ridicule, torture her and covertly help her as much as it could all at the same time.


    Some days Taylor really wondered what she¡¯d done to piss off and impress the Abyss. This whole¡­ event; it violently reminded her of butterflies. She despised butterflies. No reason, she just did. It had something to do with an enclosed glade, she wasn¡¯t clear on the details. But at least she wasn¡¯t walking around naked anymore, right? Let¡¯s never do that again, please.


    Oh Abyss, she didn¡¯t want to look in the mirror again but she was expected to observe a duel in formal wear, IE her full rigging. Why Shinigami was fighting in a duel two days before her departure date was beyond her, but she¡¯d been told to practice which is how this whole mess started.


    Right, the rigging. Where to even begin with that monstrosity? Victorian. That was the word. Violently Victorian. That was the first thing that came to mind, like something out of a period drama. ¡°Right, just face it Taylor it is not going away.¡± She looked at herself again. Damn it. She may have been quietly panicking.


    Her dress was striking at least. The top was dropped, leaving her shoulders bare. The corset at least covered more than a one-piece swimsuit, resting below her neckline, but still well above her breasts. The v-shaped d¨¦collet¨¦ was shallow, almost an inch. It was mostly modest and hinted and shaped the corset to accent her assets, making it seem like she wasn¡¯t quite flat. The corset was thick and stiff. It looked tight but just felt comfortably snug, though the first time she summoned her rigging she was in no mood to test out its limits.


    The last thing she¡¯d wanted was to tear something and have to pay for it. Which was a major source of her horror. Cut off sleeves connected to the corset on her biceps, which wasn¡¯t fun. Short gloves adorned her hands. There were pockets on her sides, snug ones to rest her hands in. She needed them. For as the masterstroke, a shawl was draped around and over her arms. It connected to the ends of her gloves, winding around her pale flesh, shimmering like silver or distant starlight, before leaving her arm at just above the elbow and connecting to the other piece behind her back.


    All of it was in various shades of pale white and silver, with ruffles and lace galore. Like some five year old had gone mad with a doll and just kept adding frills. What mattered to Taylor was that she felt like she was wearing a straightjacket. She had T-rex arms, entirely useless for work, limited to crossing them before herself, holding them in her lap or stashing them in her hip pockets. Between the corset and the shawl, she had to stay straight and if she even thought about rushing somewhere or god forbid, fighting, she felt like she¡¯d tear half her getup on the first swing.


    The skirts were little better. Sure she had running shorts underneath it all, but seriously! She had five voluminous layers of petty-coats that reached to her ankles and as a finishing touch, a rigid bell skirt that ballooned around her legs and made her look like a massive pear. They were humiliating, impractical and a deep, almost black blue.


    The small heeled red sandals that flashed beneath the ankle-length skirts while she walked were the final nail in the coffin.


    It was horrible, not least because it made her look like a little girl that had dressed up like a lady from some old fantasy story. The image it presented was helpless, demure, helpless, servile, helpless, or just useless. Someone who wasn¡¯t to do anything, but was there to be a decoration. She hated it with a passion. The two cranes springing from her shoulders were the total freedom assigned to her.


    Then they started test loading her and it got worse. With each piece of cargo, her petty-coats slowly inflated, filling the space claimed by the skirt¡¯s bell skeleton and the already heavy dress only grew more onerous. By the time they¡¯d finished Taylor felt like her own rigging had betrayed her. Like she¡¯d been bound and trussed up and thrown in Davy Jones locker. Had the door slammed shut, before being tossed into the sea.


    Taylor took her first step with about the same expectations as a man condemned pulling a lever. That the cargo was poorly balanced and she was about to capsize. That her rigging and deck was about to tear as she pulled muscles and bones. That she¡¯d stumble and crush all the valuable cargo loaded on her.


    None of that happened.


    After her first step, more than anything, she felt absolutely confused. It was easy, natural. Taylor had done her best to suppress her terror, so she kept trying to hide the confusion that was now swallowing it. She took another step. And another. Each one was careful and slow. Her sisters were around her, ready to catch her and expecting her to stumble and fall. She didn¡¯t. Slowly Taylor walked and felt, examining the rigging in more detail. She began to understand.


    The thick, stiff looking corset? Wasn¡¯t. When she moved the outer layer stayed stiff but the under layer slid freely over it. She wasn¡¯t about to test the full range of mobility here, but the subtle movements she could make faced no resistance. From the little bits and bobs she felt sliding around, Taylor thought that if she bent far enough the sliding under layer may just move or pull out, or do something to the stiff outer layer to make it mobile.


    There were rods and bits keeping it rigid like plate, but under her fingers it felt like that its true nature was more like chainmail. Her motions were hidden by the layers sliding. She could be half way into a turn or a punch before her hips showed any signs of moving. When she walked it was like she was gliding across the terrain. The skirts and petticoats? They had strategic cuts front and back that let her walk freely, barely ruffling them. Her pale legs flashed when she ran, supported by entire painted constellations hidden in the petticoats. Shimmering, both drawing and confusing the eye. Hells she was pretty sure she could jog with no issue while keeping her feet inside the final skirt.


    With the cargo piled up, the skirts felt solid, like ablative armor. Sure each hit would cost quite a bit, but she¡¯d survive it. The sandals had strategic supports built in and they connected to her see-trough stockings with subtle anchors. An item that she¡¯d ignored but one that together with the sandals made her feel like she was wearing comfortable knee high running boots.


    Not heeled boots, but with the extra support it felt more like they were tiny platforms. She barely felt it. These comfy platform boots were the kind of footwear she¡¯d want for running in the snow. And the platforms¡­ no the whole sandals, they were her double bottom. An extra layer of protection if she ran aground or hit a mine.


    The whole thing was ridiculous in scope and design. Only a pissed off mad god would even consider¡­


    Someone, somewhere was laughing at her. And her name was Taylor Hebert. Why her legend was laughing at her she did not know and had no desire to find out. If she¡¯d been warned and told one thing about it, it was not to think about it. Spooky Abyssal Bullshit could and would drive even Elites mad if they tried to force it. It was best just to ignore them for now, at least until she achieved at a minimum a basic competence expected of regulars. And she was far from it.


    Frankly Taylor could do without the platforms, but still. Never in her life had she worn anything that made her look so helpless and yet. She needed to experiment away from prying eyes. Because if she was right¡­


    ***


    A few hours later, after removing her test load and finding a more private setting, Taylor was proven right. The shawl did have a trick, it was double layered behind her back and could either extend to grant her an additional range of motion, or separate and attach to her cut-off sleeves giving her full freedom. The sleeves themselves didn¡¯t constrain her either. Any move that would have torn them instead caused them to hop up, turning into shoulder straps. How that worked she had no idea. More, it felt like her rigging was more than cloth, more than steel. Harder, tougher, it made her feel safe. Like a warm hug that could shrug off shells.


    One thing remained true. Fully loaded, her inertia was considerable, even on land. Best yet she found several places where the bell could shift. When fully collapsed the rigid skeleton folded in on itself and collected all the skirts into one, forming a single thick belt of cloth that reached just below her knees. Right about where she expected the waterline to be. It was the equivalent of tying down all her cargo and stowing it in preparation for setting sail. She couldn¡¯t access it but it was safe from the waves.


    With this monstrosity on, whatever interest had formed around her when she took her place was ruined. No one would take her seriously. Her own Division was treating her like a baby and the rest were calling her Dollface and inviting her to play patty-cake. It would be infuriating if it wasn¡¯t serving her plans so well.


    So even the appearance she despised was helping her by making everyone dismiss her. It wouldn¡¯t last, but with how her plans were going, the moment her dress manifested she was on a clock. Taylor was just happy the Princess was away ripping someone a new one over the logistical snarl and not there to see it. That would have ended poorly.


    She had her full range of motion while appearing entirely helpless. Her skirts were so voluminous it was easy to lose or hide things in them. She could do a handstand and the rigid frame made it ignore gravity. Taylor loved and hated it. And as soon as she had safe harbor and wasn¡¯t surrounded by enemies, she was going to refit the shit out of it. When she found the asshole who designed this thing she¡¯d shake her hand and punch her teeth in. Bitch.


    There was a final bit. A balm for the terror that had dominated this whole thing. Running her hands over the ruffles and fine embroidery while recovering, surrounded by her pets, brought up flashes of a short porcelain doll. Whispers of a Sabbath. Except that wasn¡¯t quite right. There were teddy bears and felt lions. Soft and cuddly dolls and a hidden strength. Trust, when it was sorely lacking.


    Something in her chest ached. Beneath the metal skin and a bit to the side. A loft and a lost childhood. A skull and a smug smile. A broken step. For here, with two days before her maiden voyage and no one watching, she could morn freely. And if someone saw? Well she was dressed for it at least.


    ***


    Her sleep was deep and dreamless. When she woke it was to find herself buried. Buried in pets and her hand held in the warm sea. That? That gave her hope for the Abyss.

 Chapter 7: Echo of War

    As evening fell Taylor found herself at sea in her rigging. She wore her mask of a bigger, dumber Wa-Class freighter. Big Bertha, the Uwi-Class container ship. A hard worker but don¡¯t expect much from her, she¡¯s slow. The longer she could keep that mask, the safer she was. Taylor was near the back but with radar she could see just fine. That it kept her both far from the Princess and shielded from her view was a bonus.


    Shinigami, the Ta-class Battleship was sailing in a circle, Midway behind her on the horizon. On the other side of the circle puffing along was a Ne-Class Heavy Cruiser. A battleship fighting a cruiser was a mismatch. But Shinigami was a fast battleship, skimping on her armor to give her quick feet, while the Ne was as armored as a cruiser could be. The circle they were making was small, both able to see each other with optics. Shinigami had graciously allowed her to start in range of her 8 inch cannons. Close enough that the threat of a torpedo strike was real.


    What the duel was about had escaped Taylor, she¡¯d been too busy with the logistics snarl and recovering. But nearly every warship on that sea knew. East and West were clashing again and the plotting and sabotage had gotten bad enough that Midway¡¯s build plans got disrupted. The ability to replace an entire convoy with one ship wasn¡¯t priceless, but it would un-snarl multiple logistic bottlenecks for the winner. So Asia or America?


    They were settling who owned new girl right here, right now. Representatives had been picked. Ships present and high enough to be in their leader¡¯s confidence, but not so large that the repair bill would be ruinous. She wasn¡¯t worth re-summoning either of the champions. So they were to fight to surrender or until Midway called it. And she would call it before it was cheaper to just scrap the loser.


    For Taylor? This would be the first time seeing the Abyss go at it and mean it. A formal duel was a great chance to watch and learn how it¡¯s meant to be done, ¡°So pay attention everyone¡± Sapphire finished, addressing the rest of the Division. Taylor¡¯s presence close enough to listen in was in part incidental. If they had to give up their prize it was best to have her at hand. That it also served to ensure no sore losers took a potshot at her was convenient. Bets were circulating and Taylor tried to pick up threads. Shinigami was favored, if she could avoid a direct torpedo hit. But the jargon for why she was a favorite seemed to slide in one ear and right out the other.


    Midway fired her flare and they tried to kill each other.


    ***


    It started slow, almost lazily. Smoke belched from both ships, pillars of it reaching for their opponent as they maneuvered for position and scout seaplanes took off. Ranging shots threw up plumes, but there were no hits in the first volley. Taylor struggled to understand. Naval warfare was a foreign dance to her. The more she watched, the more she learned that to figure out what was going on, it was better to keep one eye on the fight and the other her Division and their chatter. Those she could read, at least.


    Smoke screens were laid down and after a few passes and some positional trickery the Cruiser won the air duel. Which meant that with all that smoke in the field, the Ne had an information advantage. That at least was common to fights on land and sea. Each had been hit a few times by now.


    Shinigami had taken six shells and dealt out two in return, including the last volley. One that proved significantly more accurate than their prior exchanges, bracketing the Battleship. Shinigami remained blank faced, brushing away soot with her fingers and stopped dancing around. She turned right at the Ne and her bow almost jumped out of the sea as she went to flank speed. The Ne was waiting for it. Actually slowing down for a moment, she aimed every gun she had right at the blatant challenge presented, before unleashing a full broadside right into the battleship¡¯s teeth.


    The sea was foaming from the ships and smoke drastically reduced visibility, but something about the scene drew Taylor¡¯s eyes as a magnet, as senses beyond the real felt a pulse. Shinigami¡¯s face twisted in disgust as she scoffed at the shells bearing down on her in regal disdain. The eight inchers were beneath her.


    {Armor of Scorn}


    echoed the world. A bubble of hardened air engulfed her just before every shell hit, the resulting blast swallowing the battleship whole. A testament to her opponent¡¯s accuracy. She emerged from the smoke with her armor a mess, but not one had found a turret or managed to penetrate her armor. Slowed by the barrier, they¡¯d torn away at her plating but failed to actually hurt her. In the moment of hesitation her unbloodied appearance caused she spoke as if she was enjoying a stroll in warm rain: ¡°I warned you you¡¯d not spill a drop of my blood.¡±


    Shinigami¡¯s bow armor belt was a mess, pitted and scared. Another volley like that would bleed her, yet all her turrets were still up. Each one was aiming at the Ne that had slowed down to get her perfect shot. Fire exploded into the sky. The Ne franticly turned but there just wasn¡¯t enough range. Twin fireballs marked the 16 inch hits, shattering her bow turret yet misfortune struck. The duel was already done but one of the two 12.5s found a crack one of the previous hits left and blew just below the Ne¡¯s aft deck. It took the aft turret in an ammo explosion and butchered her engines and crew. The Ne had to be towed home, limping into the repair baths to regrow her foot below the knee.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ***


    Taylor was left to digest the battle as everyone made preparations. She received her orders and for the first time stood on the other side of the docks she regularly served as they started loading her up for her visit to Acapulco. She was going to Mexico. As part of her preparations she¡¯d managed to slip away before the loading started and steal an hour with Shun going over their plans and leaving instruction.


    Taylor still needed time to pump that girl for news and facts of her new world, but some things stood out enough to go for them already. She just hoped that trusting her with Itchy and Scratch wasn¡¯t a mistake. They weren¡¯t quite clever enough that Shun couldn¡¯t turn on her without them noticing and the sub needed some support with her if she was going to go trading among the minnows with her stolen goods. They needed to prepare if they were going to stand a chance of breaking away.


    Taylor was still a bit stunned that the repair ships were willing to sell weapons and components on the black market. Not everything, not any of the good stuff, but there were a few warehouses that were still used to supply distant or unimportant regions, where even crap that was obsolete on Midway was in high demand since they couldn¡¯t afford the good stuff. Taylor had believed she¡¯d need to steal plans for the gear the Abyss used and that caper was still very much in the planning stages. But at least the basics from the start of the war were in circulation on the black market.


    It seemed everyone knew that everyone had them, so why not sell them to those stupid enough to pay for old designs? There wasn¡¯t much floating around there, but every little bit helped.


    ***


    As she waited outside the atoll Taylor absently ran her fingers over her cargo, checking that everything was stowed away properly. Her skirts were up, everything tied down but her mind was away. With her gloves on, she looked fine, even if shorn an arm, but she knew better. Her missing fingers had regrown, if not fully, but they¡¯d come back slightly off. Thinner, weaker, she was missing something to do them properly. That same feel that she could live like this, but that something was still terribly wrong with her diet.


    Taylor had thought that once she started eating well, things would get better and they had. The fires burning her from within had dimmed. But they never fully went away and she still felt hollowed out. Like arm, it was missing, but more than just her arm. It was an itch that wouldn¡¯t go away, but she could live with it. She just hoped that whatever it was wouldn¡¯t fuck her over once she was on the open ocean. Not like she could trust any of her Division sisters to talk about it. She had no desire to reveal anything she didn¡¯t have to.


    As her flag and escorts came out she allowed herself to done a goofy smile. Empty and airheaded. Sapphire was just amused but most of the rest of the division cooed at her as her Imps ran up and hugged her. She received several ¡°playful¡± pushes that would have bowled her right over if she didn¡¯t out-mass them significantly. Loading Bruce, Judy and Bentley on a part of her deck cleared for them was bit surreal, as the imps disappeared down her skirts but no one made any crude jokes. The same odd innocence that permeated the Abyss girls rearing its head again.


    At least she¡¯d been allowed to bring some of her pets along. They¡¯d even serve a practical purpose, which is how it was sold to command. An off-hand question to one of the lights how ¡°You can slip in close enough to hug, but what about the big sisters? It takes me ages to stop and I don¡¯t want to make them mad.¡± as she half hid behind her shawl did the trick. Any opportunity to fob off responsibilities to another was something most Abyssals would jump at.


    Frankly, now that she was supposed to sail to Acapulco, direct, she understood it. Once she was ready to set sail, they¡¯d handed over some naval maps for her, since apparently she didn¡¯t have any. Which was another clue to a theory Taylor had. One with unfortunate implications and mounting evidence.


    The trip was almost 5,000 miles just one way. Even assuming she could travel at her unladen speed, 24 knots was about 27.6 miles per hour. Sailing day and night and assuming no storm threw them off course it would still take them over seven and a half days to get there. No breaks, no stops. She too would want to laze around in port after something like that. Taylor just hoped the duty crew schedules she¡¯d made worked, or she was about to have a truly miserable trip.


    ***


    Sapphire was ready to blow this joint. The duel had ended well and they¡¯d tweaked their noses nicely. That would keep them off their backs for at least a week or two, so she could take the time to join this trip to re-negotiate some trade with the Supply Princess personally. Orders were orders. She checked her convoy and gave the order to move out. Only to see Big Bertha only now start laying her anchor and hammer lines into the shoals.


    Saph knew this was her maiden voyage, but that was just stupid. Sometimes she wondered if Bertha ever made it out of her berth in her first life, or if she was here with them because someone had scrapped her before she got a taste of the sea. The girl was just bad at being a ship. Luckily, it was really hard to fuck up just sailing from point A to B which was the only thing Bertha would have to concern her slowpoke head with. Still, it wouldn¡¯t do to let her get away with leaving her flag waiting and wasting everyone¡¯s time without some corrective measures.


    So Saph sailed up next to her, keeping a careful eye on the shoals not to beach herself, before calmly starting to tap her foot. She¡¯d seen a teacher do it on the TV and was remarkably effective on ships with confidence issue like Bertha. On cue, the puff-ball blushed all the way to her eyebrows.


    ¡°I trust you¡¯ll do better next time Bertha?¡± ¡± she reproached.


    Bertha looked away, hiding her shame and mumbled an affirmative. It was cute how she was pretending to be stupid and shy. That was no oil off her plate, so she let it be. Watching which girls noticed and which ones didn¡¯t was informative in its own way. Still, Bertha wasn¡¯t stupid, that much was clear. But her education was clearly spotty. Still, she shouldn¡¯t expect anything but a sheltered life from a civilian. Hopefully she wouldn¡¯t panic when the shells started flying, or this whole thing could turn expensive fast. Saph would have to really lay the hurt on her.


    If Bertha was prone to panic, it was better that she was more afraid of what Sapphire would do to her, than the enemy. Though she didn¡¯t think it likely. However sheltered and no matter her struggles, Big Bertha had kept chugging along. It was more likely she¡¯d get blindsided by something obvious, than repeat a mistake. Now Sapphire just needed to make sure whatever pratfall Big Bertha stumbled into next didn¡¯t reflect poorly on her.


    Oh god, she still hadn¡¯t begun to accelerate.


    ***


    By the time dawn rose the next day some things were apparent. Their charge might have ran 24 knots unladen, but fully loaded she couldn¡¯t run more than 19 and a half. And she accelerated like a rock and her turning somehow got even worse.


    At this rate, it would take them more than nine days to reach Acapulco. But hey, it was still faster than escorting Wa¡¯s. The warships still felt like they were dragging their feet, but that was convoy duty for you. At least now they only had one helpless, stupid fat target to protect. Much easier to cover then a full convoy, but far worse consequences if they let her sink. They¡¯d lose the whole cargo, not just part of it. It was a tradeoff, one their superiors were hoping to work out in their favor. Only practice would tell if it was worth it.


    But hey, at least they had a cook along for the ride this time, right?

 Chapter 8: Shipgirls

    Taylor had been through a lot in her new life. She might not remember everything about the old one, but she felt pretty confident that it too was eventful. This still topped the charts for pure surreal for both lives. She¡¯d had horrible experiences, but never something like this. Innocent but utterly unreal. She left like someone should check she wasn¡¯t drunk, but knew she hadn¡¯t had anything. It has started innocently.


    It was breakfast time. She, as the workhorse of the convoy had extra supplies for everyone, but they should have each had internal storage. She certainly did, which gave a new meaning to body fat. Instead, they expected her to cook for them and had arranged, in their wisdom, to add to her load several things to do it with. Supplies that were common for other tender ships. Though on bringing it up, they¡¯d snuck unsure looks at her chest, which did nothing to help her confidence.


    She¡¯d started looking through her mental map of cargo looking for the equipment they were talking about and blushed at some of the stuff there. Whoever had packed these things had been unsure what model to get her, so with her space, they¡¯d thrown in several. Some of which couldn¡¯t work the way she though they did. In any case, she found one she felt would work for her and started pulling stuff out.


    First came the counter top. It still felt odd to pull objects that obviously couldn¡¯t fit out of her skirts, but having a dress that was bigger on the inside was nice. She found the proper attachment points and connected two corners to her corset, the outer rigid layer working for her, clipping them to her pockets. She wasn¡¯t sure how other girls did it, but this model was meant for tenders with cranes, so the suspended lines worked just fine and attached to her hooks with no issue, leaving the countertop fairly horizontal. No, it was nearly perfectly horizontal, almost as wide as her bell dress and a bit longer than her forearm.


    Then she picked out a large pot from a wide selection that she was pretty sure dwarfed what her kitchen had in a past life. Pouring a whiff of fuel into the hotplate built into the left side of the countertop and lighting it finished her preparations. The middle held a cutting board and the right indents to leave ingredients.


    The positioning wasn¡¯t ideal, she had to be careful with her arm not to jostle the pot, but weeks in the kitchen cooking with one arm and a crane, and then both cranes, did her in good stead. Finally, she dropped all the ingredients into the pot and set it to a low broil. Cleaning the fresh fish she¡¯d packed for the road had been a bit difficult but now all she had to do was wait for it to finish.


    Oh, and run. Well, jog. Like she had been. The whole time. Through it all.


    Because apparently she could just do that now. And it was messing with her head something fierce. She was a girl. She was a ship. A girl could not run and cook. It was impossible. Period. Even with powers. Even if one such hero existed, why would they ever do it? A ship? It was normal to make chow on a deployment. Mundane. She was a big ship, made for the ocean and the storm.


    These calm waters? Barely moved her deck. Which translated into the girl. Taylor was jogging, hard. Not quite running, because no matter her will, she could actually run with this might weighing her down. But no matter the motion of her legs, almost nothing above her hips was moving. She could set out and have a tea party, talk about those dreadful commoners while running, and it would look like she was just gliding across the sea without a care in the world if you didn¡¯t look below her hemline.


    This clash of girl and ship was seriously sending her mind spinning. That¡¯s not how any of it works. She knew that, she¡¯d ran regularly, she knew how her body moved and reacted and this? This felt wrong. The motion was there, but the feedback was subtly off and it was like a half-healed wound, itching at her. Between her instincts telling her everything was fine and her memories and reflexes telling her something was terribly off.


    She hadn¡¯t noticed before, because she¡¯d never ran this long. But once she got a rhythm going, she¡¯d discovered that being at sea was boring and wondering if her preparations were enough had her checking everything so she¡¯d noticed and now she mind couldn¡¯t stop picking at it. The broth finished cooking so she packed everything away but the pot and lowered her patrol boats. The imps would hold out a bowl above their heads, letting her pour, then run off to deliver the meals.


    The superiors ate first of course and the patrol torpedo boats were most suited to avoiding the perils of her shoals. Bruce carried his orders with solemn care, Judy just wanted it over quick so she could go back to sunbathing on her deck and Bentley was very enthusiastic. So much so that Taylor feared if her broth wasn¡¯t so thick and nearly glued to the bowl, he would have spilled it all over. And if one of her pets spilled Sapphire¡¯s food she¡¯d regret it when they stopped. Taylor was just glad to avoid the beating and not disappoint her Flag.


    And let¡¯s talk about that. Because it was a thing she noticed as the hours rolled by. Even as the destroyers made a game of weaving in and out of her shoals, providing entertainment to go with the meal and a few braver cruisers joined in, Taylor was growing increasingly suspicious. Sapphire was keeping comms up. Receiving and giving regular orders, course adjustments and updates. Check-ins and readiness status reports. It was subtle, it was insidious, but after hours of looking for it she had it. Every time she addressed or included Taylor she felt a tiny little burst. A nudge. That the Flag was looking at her, asking about her, ordering her.


    It was cleanest with the orders. She found herself moving, obeying before she could think about it. By instinct. She was the Flag, and the Flag had ordered it. Spending days, weeks, under that effect? Training, conditioning her? With no sleep, no rest? That was messed up and insidious as all hell. She wasn¡¯t sure if she would have noticed it at all if a small fraction of her wasn¡¯t very violently opposed every time she got an order.


    One of her engines felt like it wanted to jump out of her throat and strangle the bitch every time she ordered Taylor and that wasn¡¯t normal. All that time on Midway she¡¯d felt nothing like this. It had started her looking. It¡¯s how she noticed ¡°The Flag¡± effect. It was even like that in her head. She wasn¡¯t sure when the effect started, but it said a lot about the Abyss. Trying to connect to that spark of defiance was a bad, bad idea. She¡¯d almost tried to turn mid-step and strangle ¡°the usurper¡± when she did. So Taylor did her best to balance them.


    Pull on the spark, carefully, every hour, to hopefully purge or at least counter the brainwashing. Because if she spent weeks getting used to obeying, normalizing it, she might not see anything wrong with continuing to follow and obey by the end of it. So as she ran she tried to keep her mind busy and ignore the other girl as much as she could. There was an instinct in her memories, a reflex she was keeping suppressed so as not to fall flat on her face. But the faint memories of clean halls and isolation rooms followed by whispers of ¡°M/S Screening¡± felt like a way out.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Side note: Loading and unloading boats while running at 19.5 knots was a very different experience then doing so while stationary. As expected, she needed practical experience. Also, now that she¡¯d tried it, her idea of carrying seaplanes became a bit less useful. The boats could take being deployed that way. She was pretty sure if she tried that with a seaplane it would shatter.


    ***


    Of course, this wasn¡¯t all that kept her occupied. Observing, recording and experimenting with her crew occupied the other half of her attention, as after more than a day, the running didn¡¯t really take any. There she made progress and grew more certain of her theory. Taylor had heard a number of terms thrown about commonly: rookies, regulars, elites. There was a slight whisper to them, like ghostly fingers, an unheard echo. She suspected that it wasn¡¯t just some measurement of inner skill, but that it had practical effects. And that it applied to crew.


    Because her nightmares were different. Some of them had morphed, specialized. Taylor had gone through all of them at the docks, then stuck with those most competent. After the nightmare work week, she¡¯d created additional work shifts. Because her nightmares, the demons that crawled, oozed and skittered all around her insides? They could change and she depended on them.


    When they grew tired she lost something of herself. Made more mistakes, was slower, less able. Having them working in shifts let her keep going, but she was never as fully up, fully in the moment as she had been at Midway. It was an advantage on the long, dull cruise, but something to keep an eye on. When she roused everyone, readied for war, she felt alive and present like she had only when her life was on the line. Hyperaware. But staying in that state quickly tired her and she¡¯d drop like a stone afterwards as the world turned fuzzy and dull.


    So. Her crew. The gangs she¡¯d been using for loading/unloading had mutated, getting more defined feet and arms or tentacles. More able to manipulate loads and support her crane. It was just one shift, but when they were on the difference was noticeable. If she had to describe it, it felt like the rest were enthusiastic amateurs, or just out of school kids, while these were the kind you saw in the small ads in a newspaper. Someone professional, handy men who could be trusted not to fuck it up.


    She felt oddly protective of them as they reminded her of the dockworkers back home. They even walked and cursed like them. Well, the two-footed ones, anyway. They felt like Regulars.


    The second odd gang was on her bridge. If her dockworkers were a bunch of burly kelp-men and oddly humanoid cephalopods, her sensor crew were uncanny. A swarm of aquatic giant insects filled her bridge with an endless buzz of chitterling and skittering noise and movement. Their compound eyes stared unblinkingly at the screens and they reacted with lightning speed to any changes. Looking at them she felt confident they would miss nothing and knew every trick to get that extra little edge out of their gear.


    She had some idea what an Elite was. Thinking about them brought the kind of feeling you get when you see a high-powered lawyer or a well-established Villain at work. There¡¯s just a hint of awe in it. Looking at her sensor watch? There was more than a hint of awe. She¡¯d never chosen any of them, they¡¯d found their own way there and refused to budge. She hadn¡¯t noticed because they¡¯d never given her any trouble. They felt like movie stars, like royalty. It was like staring at a Legend in the flesh. Her Legend.


    {Far Sight}


    As Taylor¡¯s sonar pinged and radar pulsed her mind expanded in wonder. This is why she could keep track of so much stuff in the docks!


    She played around with it every day during the trip. It distracted her for a while, but in the end she did remember to come back to the topic before being rudely interrupted.


    Taylor concluded that she needed to keep track of all her nightmares, theories, research and plots and that it was far too much trouble to do it all by herself and just with her memory. So she designated a particularly scrawny and dorky octopus to deal with it. A day later he showed up with a jaunty white beret marking him as first mate and a ship¡¯s log. She had no idea where he¡¯d gotten any of that stuff. He used his own ink to write.


    Taylor tried not to think about the details too hard. They gave her headaches.


    His first entry was that her crew was unbalanced and to institute regular drills. Taylor had a feeling that drilling her nightmares was like exercise for her new body. Something she had to do regularly and well, if she wanted to be fit and keep herself sharp. If she left them all to their own devices, they wouldn¡¯t neglect her to the point of hurting her, but much like someone lazing about, she¡¯d be unfit. She¡¯d lose her edge and tire quickly.


    ***


    Six days into their nine day trip they had company. A plane on the horizon and not one of theirs. It was too far away to clearly make out. Taylor kept quiet about it. Her escorts never saw it. They didn¡¯t miss the air wings that came back a few hours later. The over-watch their sole Wo-Class carrier had put up was the one to raise the alarm. It started launching fighters, stubby hornet-like things. They looked like someone had fused its wings together into a solid plate and replaced their pincers and stings with guns.


    Sapphire hesitated a moment before Taylor felt the focus of her whole formation switch to one of the light cruisers. She kept sending out orders and correcting everyone¡¯s headings as they slotted into a [Diamond Formation] around Taylor, with ships stacked in straight lines in front, behind, and to either side of her. Her only instruction was to keep a steady heading and speed, no matter what. She watched them come in. That was a lot of planes.


    She felt it then, as they closed in. They were small, but many. An extension of a distant power, but one that was familiar. Glory hounds, PR slaves, false friends that smiled at you while only thinking of themselves. Selfish pricks hiding behind a veneer of respectability. Heroes bound by bureaucracy and mired in corruption, ineffectual, impotent. An authority that shielded the powerful while abusing those it was meant to protect.


    Or zealots serving a higher cause that excuses any cruelty, all their manipulations and machinations to protect their twisted ideals. Efforts that will paint her as a villain and hound her to the ends of the Earth until she submits to their judgments, their values or is simply discarded. Or worse, put in a cage and placed on display, helpless to do anything but be gawked at. She hated it.


    They didn¡¯t even try to talk, to speak or negotiate. They just came to kill her. ¡°Fuckers.¡±


    ***


    Sapphire kept a sliver of her attention on maintaining her position in formation and dedicated every other fiber of her being to coordinating AA fire. The Enemy would not have a good day, not if there was anything she could do about it. In moments like this some small buried piece of her wished her talents laid in a more martial direction. But she was, at her heart, an organizer. So the use of Active Skills eluded her. They could have used one right about now. She really didn¡¯t want to come back to Shinigami to tell her they¡¯d lost the shipment and Big Bertha.


    Abyss alone knew how much a ship that big would cost to re-summon. Assuming Midway hadn¡¯t sold her signature and one of the others didn¡¯t nab her first. Not to mention how pissed Shinigami would be that she¡¯d pissed away her winnings. Not to mention the overhead. It would take her months to dig herself out of that much debt.


    ***


    Taylor didn¡¯t remember much of the fight. The entire thing was a blur of raining scrap. Her escorts had filled the sky with fire and the plane had dived right into it. She¡¯d tried to do something and pulled a muscle in her brain, hurt herself. Her head was pounding and her nose was bleeding. She blinked away the tears and found herself in a storm. She recalled seeing storm clouds forming as the Abyss readied for war.


    The waves didn¡¯t bother her. A slow check showed she was fine. Well, still down an arm, but otherwise fine, once she wiped away the blood. She had no idea what had come over her or what she¡¯d tried to do, only that her spirit hurt. She resolved not to experiment in the near future and tried to remember. And she could. Her sensor watch had dutifully recorded the whole experience. Nifty, but she had no desire to strain herself while her brain was taking a pickaxe to her skull.


    A quick check of her escorts showed they were down two destroyers and one of the light cruisers was limping. She could still keep up. A few others showed signs of battle damage, but most was minor.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Taylor asked.


    ¡°That was Saratoga and Yorktown saying hello.¡± Sapphire answered.


    The quiet lingered between them, as everyone reported in and Sapphire tallied the state of her fleet.


    ¡°That happen often?¡± Taylor wondered, eyeing the horizon.


    ¡°No. But it¡¯s not rare either.¡± Sapphire said, her thought turning to plots. Because it was kind of convenient, for multiple factions, for many reasons. Hell, her own might have exposed them as a test and exercise. Or to prune the weak. The Battleship Princess was unfortunately fond of that last one. Surviving built character. At least she was decent about re-summoning her servants. The one¡¯s that mattered, anyway.


    Slowly the storm faded as they sailed on.


    ¡°Think they¡¯ll be back?¡± her charge worried.


    ¡°Not today.¡± Sapphire finished.


    And really, for a first timer she did alright. Going quiet and silently following orders was about as well as that could have gone. She should give her a treat when they docked. Encourage good behavior. That Bertha would know and Sapphire would know she knew and Bertha would be able to see that would only make it sweeter. Ah, the joy of competence and grinding your subordinates beneath your heels. There was nothing quite like it.

 Chapter 9: Acapulco

    Taylor kept her gaze firmly at her feet. Well, on her dress, she couldn¡¯t see her feet. Next to her Sapphire¡¯s feet went tap, tap, tap on the surface of the sea. She wasn¡¯t going to say anything. She¡¯d asked and now she¡¯d pretend that everything was fine. Because regular bosses could be mean when a worker embarrassed them and she didn¡¯t want to find out what Sapphire would do. But she had warned her it might take her significantly longer to stop with a full load.


    Maybe Sapphire figured since she was going slower it would all work out. Yeah. So here they were. Off the coast of Mexico. Practically at their destination. Really when you think about it they¡¯d gotten amazingly close. The mouth of Acapulco harbor was close, just 8-10 miles. Behind them. Taylor was slowly sliding to a stop. She was almost done. There, she¡¯d stopped. Now to turn around and make like this never happened.


    ¡°You! You stay right there missy! Don¡¯t so much as think about moving from this spot.¡±


    Really it wasn¡¯t that bad. Seeing the harbor. Realizing that her warning had been prescient and that even with another Ne-Class towing her, they couldn¡¯t stop fast enough. No one laughed as the two of them slid by the harbor mouth, unable to stop, the Ne hanging by Taylor¡¯s skirts, her feet skidding in the sea. The rest of the convoy watching helplessly. They didn¡¯t laugh. Much. At least they didn¡¯t have to pay for the tow. The Princess was happy to oblige, the entertainment was well worth it.


    ***


    Taylor settled into her assigned dock. It was kind of silly. The Supply Depot Princess didn¡¯t really have a cargo dock big enough for her. So she¡¯d slotted her into a Battleship resupply one and was counting on her cranes to help them unload. The first hour wasn¡¯t great. The pier struggled to handle the traffic, carry-crabs jostling and pushing past each other. Yet in that hour the Princess built and expanded the dock around them while they were unloading.


    Watching the Abyss build was fascinating. Being this close to a Princess was nauseating. Dread was pooling in Taylor¡¯s stomach and she was struggling to balance wants and needs. She needed to be unnoticed. Or at least, unacknowledged. She wanted to watch the Princess build. In practice, it meant not paying attention to what she was doing, even if she dearly wanted to. Taylor ordered her sensor crew to record everything on passives only, but remained otherwise mute. Trying not to draw attention. It wasn¡¯t working well, but the Princess seemed more interested in the idea of her and the possibilities than of having a close and more personal look at Taylor herself.


    When she left, Taylor withheld a sigh of relief. Twice now, one of the little cheeky buggers had tried to take a package that wasn¡¯t meant for it. Taylor knew, for Midway this was not. She could track every one of them here and with the Princess gone, she dared power back up the rest of her sensor suite. It was odd. The abyssal construction had eaten the harbor. Well, most of it. What wasn¡¯t claimed was either destroyed or abandoned. High walls surrounded the Depot and warehouses, an airfield, and what looked like a command post.


    A in addition to the crabs, a number of little nightmares freely walked the base. She saw several armored armadillos patrolling the roads, with cannons on their backs. Her senses told her they were tanks. She didn¡¯t question it. But it did make her curious. What was the situation on the mainland outside these walls? How far did the influence of the Abyss reach?


    ***


    Yukiko dreamed. Her birds were in flight but this was allied territory. She wasn¡¯t expecting trouble. The Supply Depot Hime would not dare touch them directly while they were on Midway business. Others, more suited for watching for subtler threats would deal with them. She was on break, but she kept a CAP, just in case. She¡¯d pick up replacements for her lost fighters while they were here. She had time. Big Bertha would take almost two days to fully unload.


    Yukiko wished she was back East. She dreamed of the day when she could make Kaga watch as she sank every escort around her. Make her suffer as she did. Show her how little her efforts mattered and how easy it was to lose, fail. To be left alone in the world. Where were her sisters? What was that bitch doing to them?


    Her daydreams were interrupted as she was switching her flights. Huh. She usually kept her head down. Why was Bertha looking at her? She waved. Big Bertha waved back and stepped towards her, causing a ruckus to break out at the docks, before sheepishly sliding back into place. What now?


    She better get over there before the girl manages to somehow trip and cause a tsunami. That would piss off their hosts.


    ¡­


    Why would she want airplane lessons? Huh. That wasn¡¯t a bad idea. She might make a decent tender.


    ¡°Sure. I can spare the time. But why would I help you?¡±


    Yukiko didn¡¯t know she had some of those in her rigging. It was nice to see a younger sister take up her predecessor¡¯s ways. The Wa-class did always know to keep a few trinkets on them to convince any escorts to stick around with them if the convoy had to scatter. But a few trinkets weren¡¯t going to cut it. ¡°Where did you get that?¡± It was beautiful. A dolphin breaching the surface, finely wrought in silver.


    Why yes, she would like a new silver necklace.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°Of course someone as clumsy as you shouldn¡¯t wear it, you¡¯ll only break it Bertha. Let me hold on to it for safe keeping.¡±


    Now to fob off her CAP to newbie. Win-win-win. Maybe this trip wasn¡¯t a total waste of her time.


    Ah, Kaga. You¡¯ll look great in tears.


    ***


    The Wo-Class never gave her name. None of the other girls used it. She was always the carrier, or the Wo-Class. Taylor figured maybe they could bond a bit, feel each other out. The girl wasn¡¯t having it. She was off in her own head. Reminded her a bit of¡­ her head hurt. Labyrinth. No, Elle. Her name was Elle. She made portals. Now that brought a smile to her face. But she needed to focus. The Wo-Class droned on about ascent angles and thrust. About weight profiles and fuel ratios.


    It was disinterested, rote. The Wo¡¯s entire character was detached from the world. She smelled an opportunity and it gave Taylor a wicked idea. So she casually laid her hand on the Wo¡¯s shoulder and smiled at her demurely, feigning warmth she didn¡¯t feel to a ship that didn¡¯t care because there was always someone watching.  And Taylor adjusted the terms of their agreement. The Wo was happy. After all, less work for her.


    Really, letting Taylor borrow her training manuals was much simpler than having to try teaching her. She just had to give them back when they got back to Midway. She would. She¡¯d also make copies by then but it was best not to trouble the Wo with that. Two birds, one stone. Because Taylor? Taylor didn¡¯t have any manuals.


    ***


    ¡°What are you looking at?¡± Everything was unloaded and the negotiations were over, so Sapphire was taking a break. And who should she spot plotting?


    ¡°The city. It isn¡¯t what I expected.¡± and it wasn¡¯t.


    She vaguely remembered some old commercials about Mexican beaches. And the beaches were nice. And abandoned. The city was still there. Spreading out around the Abyssal Depot. Taylor didn¡¯t really have the equipment to receive video signals from aircraft and even if she did, the aircraft didn¡¯t have cameras worth the name. In the short time before she¡¯d interrupted the Wo droning on she¡¯d mentioned something about looking through the eyes of the birds but Taylor had no idea how that worked.


    She cheated. Her merry band of twitchy maniacs had gone mad and created some kind of franken-thing, cannibalizing one of her outer observation cameras and a significant chunk of her spare electronics. They¡¯d recruited a few from her engineering and maintenance gang and set about jury-rigging some kind of two-way TV signal and a portable battery pack. Then it was a simple matter of slapping the camera and batteries on the plane and jacking in the feeds to her bridge. Presto, a two-way link that might hold up for a full flight, even if they had to stay low and close. Simple really, only took about sixteen hours of work and most of her replacements for the bridge.


    If Taylor had any idea how involved the whole thing would get, she would have stopped them before they got so committed to it. Now she¡¯d paid the price, might as well benefit. Though she would have to report the expenditure and get replacements while they were here. Now how to justify it? Ah, she hit her head on one of the dock cranes. A perfect excuse for Big Bertha. Sapphire would see right through it, but would she care?


    But back to the beaches. They were really nice beaches. Taylor wished she could visit one, instead of being stuck, tethered to this pier. She understood this wasn¡¯t their base, but still. None of them were allowed to have a look around? Bit harsh. And suspicious, but she wasn¡¯t going to pry. Officially. No the city really held her attention. It was fine. A bit neglected, overgrown, but fine. Some buildings had collapsed and many showed signs of shelling. Others had been left exposed to the elements, but many were still just standing there. Empty and abandoned.


    Taylor guessed no one wanted to live near the Abyss. She did spot a few scavengers darting between the buildings. Some of them were human and painfully close.


    Sapphire shrugged and popped up, sitting on the pier with her legs hanging over the side.


    ¡°What did you expect?¡± the Ne asked bluntly.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. More corpses?¡± It was a big city. Not like New York, but bigger than her home.


    ¡°Eh, the animals got them. The ones the floaters didn¡¯t pick up themselves¡± she answered brusquely.


    ¡°You let them collect their dead.¡± Taylor blurted, surprised.


    ¡°Yeah? Who¡¯d want that stinking up the place. You really ask about the silliest things. Who cares, they¡¯re gone. Ours now.¡± she said with a relaxed smirk.


    ¡°I mean¡­ it just impressive. Especially the field to the north.¡± she prodded.


    ¡°Ohh. Good eyes.¡± Saph praised, loving the way she flinched. She could humor her. Bertha had earned a reward, hadn¡¯t she?


    ¡°So listen up and no interruptions. About three years back the war was heating up. And I mean red hot, mind your boilers kind of stuff. Hawaii is being a pain in our ass, so some of the girls from First Pacific West get together and they have a brilliant idea.¡± she said with scorn.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t they go around Hawaii and hit the mainland. Because leaving an enemy at their back is a great idea, yes?¡± she snorted.


    ¡°So it goes about as well as you¡¯d expect and some of them limp back to port and get their butts handed to them. But one of them, one lucky stupid bitch gets lost at sea and winds up so far south she¡¯s halfway to Acapulco and still thinks she¡¯s in US waters. She suddenly starts getting sonar returns and begins dropping depth charges, right?¡±


    ¡°Long story short the brilliant drug dealers who own the boat and the folks backing them decide that they¡¯d love to have the support of naval canon for their little disagreement with their government. So we get some local help and most of the rest of the nation calls them deranged lunatics, while screaming for military action, but that isn¡¯t really our problem now is it?¡± she asked absently.


    ¡°The city changed hands several times in the past few years, but that first attempt to reclaim the city was by far their stupidest. Back then they still believed their toys could hurt the Abyss. Or at least the Army did.¡± she concluded, laughing merely.


    ¡°So they send. Hehe. They send a bunch of tanks.¡± she smiled. ¡°All the tanks.¡± she waved her hands trying to encompass the sheer numbers.


    ¡°Depending who you ask there was somewhere between four and twelve thousand tanks in that charge. I don¡¯t know, I can¡¯t be bothered to count their shells.¡± she dismissed.


    ¡°Our side had two battleships with attendant fleets and a convoy of troop transports. To secure the base. They landed about seventy armadillo tanks. Not these models, but the previous.¡± she pointed out.


    ¡°We lost about half our forces. The armadillos, not the ships.¡± she clarified.


    ¡°As for them? Well, you can see for yourself.¡± And she could.


    ¡°What¡¯s their name?¡± Taylor asked, pointing.


    Sapphire turned, looking at the mountains in the distance. Her face scrunched up in thought.


    ¡°Huh. I do know that. The Sierra Madre del Sur. No clue what it means.¡± she shrugged.


    Seeing Big Bertha embroiled in deep thought, judging by that faraway look, she figured story time was over and her job done.


    Taylor watched. She recorded it. The planes and foothills between Acapulco and the mountains were carpeted with broken vehicles. ¡°Why?¡± she asked.


    Sapphire stopped, looking back at her over her shoulder. Examining her, picking out which why to answer. She scoffed. ¡°Because it doesn¡¯t matter how fine their works or great the numbers. They lack weight.¡± She walked away as Taylor listened to the slight echo the word carried. Heard not with her ears or equipment, but other senses. And she brooded.


    She¡¯d deny she was brooding if asked, but she was brooding. It seemed appropriate.


    ¡°Well fuck me.¡±


    Unknown to her she was indeed about to be screwed, in a most familiar but unexpected manner.

 Chapter 10: Temptations

    Taylor was very busy. Loading had started up and while the starting loads were containers or boxes she¡¯d been practicing with, she¡¯d never loaded herself with serious cargo that wasn¡¯t in its proper packing. Some of the stuff laid further down the pier and waiting its turn was worrying her. Barrels, bales, wooden crates in all shapes and sizes. All of it compact, heavy, like she was to haul coal, or rocks. Maybe ore? That would make sense. Surely the Abyss wasn¡¯t using coal anymore, right?


    But, busy, busy. Her sensor crew had started seriously going over her recording of the town with a fine toothed comb and there were discoveries Taylor might be able to exploit. Thing is? She was moving too fast and she knew it. One was supposed to case the joint first. Figure out who the players were. But even back at Midway she was playing fast and loose because Taylor wanted, needed out. Before someone figured out something had gone screwy with her rebirth and she wasn¡¯t quite as Heartbroken as the rest of them.


    She was fine pretending to worship the Abyss to lay low. She was less fine having her brain sucked out to actually worship it. The idea that she should trust in some shadowy, nebulous power behind the scenes was rather firmly ruined for her. She didn¡¯t trust the people pretending to be heroes, let alone some darkness with a pipeline to her instincts. So, getting out while she could. Which meant taking risks and thinking on her feet.


    Taylor had released her Imps as a precautionary measure. If the carrier could launch birds, she could launch her minions. Them being Imps, they quickly got bored of floating in place and went to play with their host. Perfectly natural. And if a few items got dislodged or lost in their scuffles, well that happened all the time. You couldn¡¯t expect Imps not to roughhouse, right? Even if you could, you wouldn¡¯t expect a freighter to have the ability to train warships, even war-boats to that standard.


    It was harmless vying for position among creatures who were so far below them, their internal seniority didn¡¯t matter anyway. They¡¯d obey when ordered and happily rush to their deaths. Let them have their fun.


    Which is how while Taylor was unloading the official cargo, a significant amount of contraband also crossed the docks. Her pets would go to their tender for treats and rest when they were tired and then bounce around the depot when they woke up. Losing things as they went, leaving trinkets behind for others to pick up.


    Which was enough to prove her credentials and get her the buy in to start picking up new shipments headed for Midway. The hardest part was finding likeminded individuals to approach on her tight schedule. Some already had other arrangements with her escorts. She stayed away from those. There was fast and there was reckless. Taylor wouldn¡¯t be going for the second, even if she was tempted. She got some bites from the local market and settled in to see what requests she got back from her Imps. She was fortunate she¡¯d gotten most of her preparations out of the way before. Scouting, locating, arranging clandestine contacts, most of the work was done before the accident.


    Taylor was lifting one of the barrels when the seal broke. The attachment points were poor and the sealing work subpar, so she was left holding the cap while the barrel plummeted to the ground, spilling rocks all over the pier. It was an odd rock, reddish, like rust. So she was carrying iron? Figured. She helped the local nightmares clean up the mess. Being seen as helpful was important. When they were done, loading continued, but much more carefully. Some of the big buckets were far too heavy for one of her cranes to pick up alone.


    Her crew was struggling to find a place for everyone. It was like the blocks kids played with. All with their own shapes and sizes. She was really starting to appreciate containers. As well as miss them. Absently she noticed red dust on her gloves. Feeling bored she had a taste while figuring out how to adjust for her new reality that people were around and that conventional weapons didn¡¯t work on the Abyss.


    Then Taylor stopped thinking. About anything. She became acutely aware of her deck and her guts. She could see the engineers celebrating, almost rolling in the stuff. It was like a white Christmas, and they were kids making snow angels. But with more sea stars, sea urchins and masses of living oozes and algae rolling in red dust. Mixing it with their slime and secretions and grinding it into the walls of her fingers. Oh. Oh not again.


    Her deck was covered in this stuff and there was still half a pier to load. She had more than eight more hours of loading this stuff. Then at least nine days carrying it, being submerged in it, feeling it with each step as her feet brushed her petty-coats which would be swollen with the very stuff she needs. Needs. Because while she was surviving, she wasn¡¯t recovering. Taylor still felt hollowed out, internally. She was still missing her arm. She was incomplete. Crippled.


    And she knew without asking that she wouldn¡¯t be allowed to touch one whiff of it. With resigned dread, Taylor picked up one of the better packaged containers. There was Latin-American writing on it, something vaguely not-Spanish. Not that she could read it if it was Spanish. Someone had helpfully included an English translation of the cargo declaration. Her doom was called Bauxite. Well, that¡¯s one way to answer that question.


    For a moment she wondered what horrible sins she¡¯d committed in a past life to deserve this torture.


    Then she considered what she could remember of it and resolved never to tempt Fate so. From that moment on, all her attention was committed to resisting the temptation to filch some. There were short term plans and long term plans and getting caught stealing would wreck all of hers. Getting caught stealing something she¡¯d not been given a taste off? That wouldn¡¯t raise flags, but fireworks. So she had to resist.


    Sure she¡¯d feel better and become whole again, but she needed to wait. What was the point of healing if she was only going to get her shit kicked in again? She was just here, pretending to be a transport ship. Pretending it didn¡¯t hurt. Trying to ignore how much she ached for the stuff right next to her. It was a familiar kind of hell. Not the absolute need of hunger, but a deep ache for relief. Like she¡¯d been carrying a boulder all this time, been crushed under it, and now could see the sun. See the way out, if she would but reach for it¡­


    ¡°No! Fuck! Damn it.¡±


    To say that for the remainder of her stay in Acapulco Taylor was distracted, was an understatement.


    ***


    Big Bertha was twitching. Fidgeting. At times shaking. It was unnerving to see a ship that big dance from foot to foot. The escorts had seen that kind of thing, but usually in PTs when they got bored. Before they made a mess. So several escorts made sure they were nearby and ready to respond, crowding around the slow girl. She wasn¡¯t allowed to move. She still had work to do and she was staying there until it was done, got it?


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    They could play around on the open sea. Or she could play with her pets. Or with Wo¡¯s birds. Anything that wouldn¡¯t involve their clumsy sister endangering the strategic reserve of Bauxite that was already half-loaded on her. By the Abyss, who knew keeping an eye on one freighter could be more trying then keeping up with a full convoy of Wa-classes. At least they didn¡¯t fidget while carrying thirty thousand tons of cargo. Hell, she was kicking up waves in the dock. What a nightmare.


    How do you even entertain a freighter? What do they like?


    ***


    Taylor had a pink elephant problem. She¡¯d managed to tough it out in the dock but once at sea the combination of boredom and temptation would murder her. She¡¯d forced her hadn¡¯t into her pocket so hard she¡¯d found another useful feature. One that was trying to get her killed right now. Since apparently, her pockets had false bottoms, and connected to stat space between the two dresses. It was very hard to use it while running but she felt pretty confident she could access her cargo unnoticed, if she was careful. Which was great, if not for the fact she¡¯d watched them weigh and count every rock and there were no stops in between.


    So she was stuck with a perfect way to pilfer something she needed, for her health, for her plans, to live not just survive. And she couldn¡¯t use it. Her solution? Keep her mind so occupied it couldn¡¯t spare the resources to plot how to steal some precious, necessary Bauxite. Maybe if they got attacked again she could lose some boxes overboard? ¡°No, focus Taylor.¡± Fortunately she had something to occupy her on the way back.


    So while the convoy kept its sensors of the skies, Taylor focused on her crews, retreating from the world, paying the barest sliver of attention. It was probably bad for her health but she couldn¡¯t deal with all of it at once. The Flag thing was going to mind-fuck her, but she¡¯d just have to undo the damage later and hope it didn¡¯t get too bad in one trip. To that effect, her first order of business came when she started reviewing the recording of the air attack. Before she could really get into it, something pinged her training with PRT.


    Taylor didn¡¯t have to think about it. One moment, she felt the need, in the next she was there, on the bridge. This one? This one she feared, even if she was one of her nightmares. In a way it was silly. In a way, it really wasn¡¯t. It was a plant. A bright yellow lily that was blooming on her outer deck, enjoying the salt spray. It didn¡¯t mind. Its roots and branches stretched, letting it move like a chair come alive where the back support of the chair was the stem and bright yellow petals. They looked like they were smiling. It was a sharp thing, cutting, like a knife. The chair seat was a square pot half-filled with soil. There was a baby in it, wrapped in roots, half buried. It looked like it was peacefully sleeping.


    She didn¡¯t speak. Taylor didn¡¯t want her to. She knew whose voice would come out, and she never wanted to hear him speak again. Hopefully, he was still stuck there, suffering for all eternity. It was the least he deserved. But this nightmare? Taylor knew its heart, its nature. Down to the bone, intimately. She¡¯d lived it. It might make horrible mistakes, but it would not flinch from anything it knew was necessary.


    So she gave it one job. To watch Taylor herself. Record her over time in diaries, notebooks. With all the feeds her sensor crew had, they looked out. But it didn¡¯t take much to convince them to set up a work station that would feed every internal measurement to the Wilted Lilly. She would keep a record of Taylor-who-was. When the time came, she¡¯d intervene. In whatever way was necessary.


    ¡°Oh depths, I already know I¡¯m going to regret this.¡±


    ¡°But it has to be done.¡± his voice said, smug, suave, like her suffering was fine wine.


    Yeah. They were her nightmares and they were working for her now. It didn¡¯t make them any less nightmarish, sometimes. Looking at the Lily, just enjoying itself in the sun Taylor decided to spread the pain. Might as well not suffer alone. And it would be good for her.


    ¡°I¡¯m appointing you my chief of security. As of this moment, you are to drill your men until they are fit for something other than wiping the floors with their faces.¡± That obliterated the smile from her face, as the Lily sputtered. ¡°But we don¡¯t have any manuals!?¡± Yeah and that was no longer Taylor¡¯s problem. She could add them to the shopping list, but she¡¯d just have to figure it out for now. The baby¡¯s wails chased her out. Was it wrong that she felt happy she made a baby cry today?


    ***


    Her second target were the Dockworkers. Without the manuals for the cranes, Taylor tried splitting her experienced work party to serve as foremen for the rest. Get them teaching. She nearly lost them. Less than a day later they were already starting to lose their edge. Her Regular work crew was something that was a function of the crew, not the individuals. She could and did make them oversee the other two shifts when they drilled, but any kind of personnel transfer messed with the rating. They¡¯d all lose their mojo if she put in one newbie.


    Which wasn¡¯t great, especially as she had very limited drills she could run while at sea. The cooking helped. She was sort of using her cranes for that, even if the loads were tiny, so they could practice a couple of times a day, but it was slow going. And really, that was it. Because drilling? You had to know what you were drilling to practice, and without the instruction how could Taylor teach her crew? Her first mate was copying the stacks of books the carrier had lent her and she was out of ways to occupy herself.


    Well, except for one. So Taylor settled in for a lengthy re-run of the air attack. She figured maybe she could learn something. At least it kept her occupied and not thinking about Bauxite. Holy shit, some of her crew were already trying to break into the cargo. ¡°Pink Elephants, pink fucking elephants on patrol!¡±


    She missed her bugs. That caused a happy hum to fill her sensor room.


    ***


    There was a final indignity at the end. Her reward. They¡¯d gotten back to Midway un-molested and Taylor had spent a day and a half unloading everything before finally being allowed to slip out of her rigging. Which left her naked again. Fuck. So she walked around with her skirts folded, rigging up. Plenty of girls kept their rigging on. She learned she couldn¡¯t dive for food with it up, which meant she was still skinny dipping for fresh fish, but that wasn¡¯t so bad. She could hold her breath for a really long time. She¡¯d never had the inclination to test that, but maybe she should.


    But, the humiliation. When she was finally done she was pulled in to report on the whole thing. She kept things factual and failed to bring up any of her misadventures. Just Bit Bertha here, pay no attention to the Taylor behind the eyes. It was probably planned. Shinigami and Sapphire did enjoy humiliating her.


    Sapphire blamed her for missing the port and her sisters backed her up, of course.


    ¡°I take it back. She is fat. She is the fattest fat ass that ever sailed the ocean. I have never seen anything like this, how does she even stay afloat, she¡¯s a freaking whale, did you know she couldn¡¯t keep still and caused waves in the docks? With half the cargo loaded?¡±


    Taylor felt like an inch tall. She¡¯d failed her Flag. They caned her red until she couldn¡¯t sit down. She felt like she had splinters taking root, growing on her sandbanks. Then came her reward for a job well done.


    ¡°You know Fat Bertha loves to eat and the poor dear did hit her head while we were there. Took damage to the bridge, with all her fancy gear. She is more recent then the Wa-class. Can you believe she needs replacement electronics? But she¡¯s been a mostly good girl and I know she missed her muzzle.¡± the Flag said, rubbing her hair. Taylor leaned into the touch, feeling a bit hazy, but happy she¡¯d done her proud.


    Then Sapphire pulled a large pacifier and rammed it in. It was bright yellow, garish and incredibly noticeable. But the bit in her mouth was red and tasty, something she really need. A finger was wiggling before her eyes.


    ¡°No biting you big baby. I want to you enjoy it. Now what do we say?¡±


    Of course she wouldn¡¯t bite it, no matter how much she wanted to, orders were orders. In fact, she could go the extra mile so she started loudly sucking on it to the other¡¯s delight.


    ¡°Tha¡¯k yu¡¯s miss Sap¡¯hire¡± she puffed around her sweet, sweet reward, in cute baby talk. That earned her another pat that made her all gooey inside. Taylor was allowed to leave, so she went to find her friend and her pets. Tell them all about her maiden voyage. It was such a great day, she¡¯d done good.


    When she found Shun, the Yo-Class submarine teamed up with her pets to drag her away and sit on her until she slept for a solid eight hours. Once she wasn¡¯t loopy anymore, Taylor was beyond pissed. At her crew, for practically abandoning their duties when they finished unloading everything. At herself, for allowing them to leave her loopy and vulnerable, like they couldn¡¯t have waited another freaking hour for R&R. At the Fla-That fucking bitch. She needed to get out of here. If she had to go on another patrol with Sapphire, Taylor was going to kill her.


    But hey, silver linings. She learned a lot, and her fingers were back to normal. Fuck, she had to find that carrier before she decided to remind her of her obligation by sending a bird to buzz her bridge. She¡¯d seen other carriers do it.


    ***


    At least the whole thing ended on a high note. The Wo-Class got her replacement planes. More than she needed. She was going to sell them or just scrap them when Bertha came over to return her manuals. She wanted some planes, but no way was Yukiko giving her anything armed and besides, she didn¡¯t have a landing strip.


    But she was perfectly willing to exchange her extras for some Abyssal Reconnaissance Seaplanes that Yukiko could then turn around and trade to Bertha for a dress. She liked dresses and Bertha had shown she could make them. It was slow, boring work, perfect for Bertha and it¡¯s not like Yukiko could trade them for anything meaningful. The things that mattered were beyond her reach. Except for Kaga, hopefully.

 Chapter 11: Workhorse

    Sapphire was un-impressed. She was almost done with it. She figured that between her maiden voyage, catching the rookie as she crashed and hitting her with a dose of both punishment and reward, it would be enough, right? Would finally get through the thick headed idiot. She enjoyed all the perks of her position, but if she had to start making an effort trying to grind another girl under her heel, it stopped being fun. She wasn¡¯t a damn Court lady. If Bertha would just give up and accept her place in the chain of command, namely at the bottom, they could all start having fun.


    But damn if the bitch wasn¡¯t slow. Instead of finally accepting her place, the fat bitch was pissed. Actually might just try to ram her pissed. Seriously? It was a heady and infuriating mix, to grind down someone like that. Bertha had a head clear enough to realize what she was going through which made it all the sweeter. But her head was big enough to think she deserved better. She was stupid and slow enough not to get that she should actually just surrender, then start climbing the ranks.


    Hells, she could have been above the Wa-Class by now, instead of still being at the bottom. She was certainly more useful than a regular freighter, but no, Bertha had to be stubborn. Whatever, forget it. Their strategic reserve was finally safe here from those American bitches, instead of coming through in bits and pieces. And losing half of it along the way. Sapphire had logistics for a war to plan and just the posting to get Fat Bertha out of her hair. Fuck her anyway. She didn¡¯t even appreciate that some of her ships sank protecting her fat ass.


    ***


    The following few weeks were the best of Taylor¡¯s new life. Sure, every now and again a new horror would show up to scar her all over again. But the endless tide of abuse receded and she got to actually work at some of her goals in relative peace. Her work may have been enabling her captors to launch a fresh assault at Japan, but even that had a nugget of welcome surprise. This Earth¡¯s Japan still had Kyushu Island. She kind of wanted to visit.


    She was ordered well away. They didn¡¯t need a freighter of her displacement so close to the fighting. No, she was ferrying supplies between Midway and the forward bases in the region. Which is how she met her first Anchorage Princess. After Midway? She¡¯d been anxious about that. The Midway Princess was a cold hearted cannibal, more a grinding engine of war than anything human. Taylor¡¯s fingers still hurt in phantom pain whenever she thought of her.


    The Anchorage Demons and Himes? Well, they were people. Girls, like the rest of the Abyss. Each one was alien in some way and they all had their hot buttons and issues, but they were a breath of fresh air. Except the one near Iwo Jima. She was a pyromaniac and nearly set Taylor on fire. They all had expectations common to the abyss. Be obedient, be prompt and laugh at their jokes even if you are the butt of them. But the vitriol they spat felt less personal. They¡¯d go off at Midway, shit talk other Princesses on the front. Pick on particularly famous and ¡°uppity¡± ships.


    It was being around them that Taylor started picking up more about how the Abyss was ran. The worst regular duty she had, was to carry insults from one Installation to the next. And she wasn¡¯t the only one doing it. She saw multiple Wa-class doing the same and she learned from watching them.


    ¡°This pale reflection of your magnificence regrets the words so besmirching your radiance that dare utter from her lips, but this one is under orders to carry them truthfully and unchanged to your benevolence, by order of the Princess of So and So.¡±


    There was an entire, almost ritualistic formula to it. One no one had thought to mention or teach to Taylor, so she still took a couple of beatings before she got it right. She still had to obey, to serve, to bow and scrape and pretend to smile for being allowed into their presence. But no one was picking on her, it was this whole¡­ society being organized like it. There were rules, unwritten rules that no one had explained to her. And she¡¯d been in violation of them from the start, clueless to it. Because without the bugs? Her poker face needed work.


    It was a brutal, nasty kind of order, fitting for an apparent race of sea-monster ship people. And to that effect, where the hell were all the men? How were girls born? Where did they come from? Taylor was finding that she had big holes in her understanding of her new life, the kind of holes a five year old would love to poke at. ¡°They crawl out of the depths after they die¡± felt like an inadequate explanation. It bothered her how little she knew about her new life.


    At least there were plenty of new girls to listen in to. Some of which had not been part of the ¡°Let¡¯s humiliate Taylor to death¡± movie, extended edition.


    Her role as resupply got her a bit of acknowledgment, her smuggling bought a bit of leverage. With her regular circuit to carry big hauls and the number of transports pulled up to re-supply the invading fleets?


    The number of freighters making regular trips to Midway dropped like a stone and a lot of girls were looking for new smuggling contacts. Something which Taylor was going to exploit to the hilt. Even if the Princesses could simply order her to smuggle something on pain of death, most of the rest of them weren¡¯t quite that certain they could sink her and survive the backlash.


    So Taylor was doing brisk business, even if she had gotten a few extra beatings from battleships that now believed she had other masters she was too afraid to betray. Taylor was finding the entire battleship class to be extra dismissive of her. Or just annoyed with her displacement. At best they found her cute. At worse, they felt she was an affront for existing.


    They weren¡¯t used to looking a freighter in the eye. She made sure to slouch. She¡¯d had more than enough gut punches to ensure she wasn¡¯t imagining herself higher than them. Taylor was worried that she was getting used to the casual physical abuse. It seemed endemic to the species, which made her worried for her future.


    The carriers were both better and worse. Better in that they weren¡¯t quite as physical or direct with their barbs. Worse, because they actually considered her and more than one had seen past Bertha. For some, that made for business partners and customers. A few turned it to blackmail. For now, she had to suffer through it.


    To that effect¡­ sailing was boring. Mind-bogglingly, incomprehensibly boring. Being at sea felt like being in jail. Except instead of being stuck in a room, you were stuck on your route, with nothing but each other and your duty. After Sapphires concerted attempts to grind her down, she was finding her current, much lighter escort, significantly easier to deal with.


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    So she found ways to kill time. But when had she gotten this good at making clothes? Most days, if she wasn¡¯t drilling or planning, when she wasn¡¯t cooking while running, she was sewing. Some needles and thread had passed through her holds among the general flotsam of her cargo and Taylor had felt compelled to latch on to them. She did not want to spend the rest of her life in either her skin or her rigging.


    So she taught herself to sew. She knew some stuff from her past life, she wasn¡¯t incompetent, but she got good much faster than should have been possible. Especially with cranes and one hand. Trying to figure out how that happened managed to fill four whole hours of sailing, before she had it. But to backtrack a bit.


    ***


    Bertha was a hoarder, Shun had come to realize. She hoarded pets, she hoarded plans, blueprints, manuals, maps, information and feelings. She packed them away and carried them with her. Which was another clue that whatever she was, she wasn¡¯t a freighter. And that something was wrong with her class. Shun noticed things. You had to, when the difference between life and death was noticing the enemy first. It was impossible to describe to those who¡¯d never experienced it, what knife fighting in the depths was like.


    So she noticed things. And like a good sub, she kept them to herself. Every sub knew things they weren¡¯t supposed to and each one knew not to talk about it. Like the fact Bertha was scouring the Black Market for Bauxite. In Midway. Holy Abyss that was extra special stupid. Any hint that maybe they should not try to work with anyone stupid enough to rob the Midway Princess in her own backyard bounced right of her. She needed it, no matter how much she tried to hide that and that said very interesting things about her class.


    So the Yo-Class submarine smiled, nodded and said she¡¯d do her best. Then did nothing that might draw the wrath of the closest thing this place had to God. Bauxite was a strategic resource. You couldn¡¯t do re-summoning rituals without it. Every last rock was weighed, measured and sealed. She wanted nothing to do with it. Bertha was just lucky Shun hadn¡¯t turned her in for a prize. She was still considering it. The girl could be surprisingly ignorant.


    But that was the thing. She didn¡¯t know things, things she should have known. Slowly, Shun had put together a theory. Bertha¡¯s self-summoning was botched. It figured something could have gone wrong with such a late period ship. Didn¡¯t she come in with a missing arm and her rigging in tatters? Well, that wasn¡¯t all she was missing. She had the body and the instincts of an Abyssal, but the instinctual knowledge they were all raised with was missing.


    Which was bad news for all her plans to use Bertha to escape. It was good news, in that it could be fixed, and apart from her craving for Bauxite the girl was level-headed, persistent and hard working. That last one in particular made her arrogant. Because no one that hard working was a Princess. And the girl behind Bertha? She felt she was just as good as any of them, Midway included. If that wasn¡¯t a sign she was headed for the Court, nothing was. Assuming she didn¡¯t die along the way. If Shun was the one to help her when she was down, at the start?


    That was the kind of thing her new boss would remember. Because if Shun was certain of one thing, it was that her new boss was a hoarder. She hoarded debts as well. There was a massive pile, building up behind her eyes and Shun needed to make sure they left before it overflowed.


    ***


    Shun had been a reliable partner so far. She¡¯d been frank and fair in their dealings and was Taylor¡¯s primary sneak for dealing with other girls in Midway. Taylor had gotten her hands on a rather sizable pile of plans, documents and general data over the weeks she worked. Nothing special, nothing Midway considered important, but a lot of stuff. Her biggest single find, had come from in the far north Anchorage where they were preparing to assault some isles in spitting distance from Hokkaido, the northern most Japanese island.


    There she¡¯d run into a fleet at rest. After delivering her supplies, she¡¯d been approached by a centaur-like girl clad in a gleaming black dress that belonged at a ball, or maybe for the bedroom. It was risqu¨¦, much like most of the Abyssal clothing, shoulder less and her hands were oversized claws, pitch black and as if made of living metal. A condition shared by her cloak, a jagged, angry looking thing. Her look was completed by a floppy black ribbon tied in a huge bow on top of her hair. The bow was bigger than her head and kept her hair swept back. It reached about mid-back and was like black silk.


    After so long spent sailing, Taylor was starting to see the appeal of easy access to sea spray of the more open clothes. At least they could feel the waves in seas calmer then a squall. Taylor barely got wet unless it was raining and she¡¯d come to realize her crew needed regular watering or they slowly declined. She dealt with it by diving and keeping her double bottom filled with sea water. The crew liked having their own diving pool, even if she lost some carry capacity.


    Access to said pool was regulated by her security team, which finally gave her an effective punishment. If you didn¡¯t behave, she¡¯d remove your pool privileges. More than one nightmare had ended up on their knees, begging for relief before the pool doors on one of her longer trips. It hadn¡¯t rained once, so they got a bit desperate. It made her point. She hadn¡¯t had a crash in port for weeks.


    But, sewing and tenders. The thing about rigging is that in many ways, it looked like cloth. Well, cloth mixed with nightmarish sea monsters. For example, the very tender? She looked human up top, but her legs were replaced with thick, monstrous grey/brown hands covered in tough leather, the kind a ramped up Lung might have. And let¡¯s not talk about the mouth. That thing was maliciously and deliberately designed to give men nightmares. Taylor felt uncomfortable just being near it and that was with the dress hiding it. She could still see hints through the slit that went all the way up to her belly button and she tried not to stare. She was tired of beatings.


    Yet when she met her eyes for the first time in the Abyss she saw pure, genuine kindness.


    ¡°My, my, young one, you¡¯ve been through a lot, haven¡¯t you. Let aunty Ena have a look at you.¡±


    The girl tutted around her, checking her skits, adjusting her glove, letting in and tightening her corset. Taylor was blushing up a storm, as for over an hour the other woman went over every inch of her. Every inch. Her shoes, her stockings, every petticoat, in careful detail was examined and pressed. Including her underwear. Now at some point, maybe she should have protested. But there was an odd air about her, a sea before the storm. Like you could let her take care of you, or she¡¯d take care of you. So Taylor stayed meek and compliant. To her relief, the woman kept it professional.


    ¡°There you go dear. [Well Maintained].¡±


    And she did feel better. She realized there was an entire battery of minor aches and wrinkles that had sneaked up on her, lesser discomforts that she¡¯d gotten used to. Taylor was only now noticing them because how conspicuous they were, when they all disappeared at once. She kept her eyes down, unsure how to approach her but the girl was having none of it. A finger gently raised up her chin, even if Taylor knew better then to meet her eyes.


    ¡°Now, now. I can¡¯t fix what¡¯s missing there¡± she said, gently running her other hand over her stump, ¡°but we can do something about all this.¡± and Taylor realized that while the girl was checking her over like a well bread horse, she¡¯d squirreled away things in her holds during that treatment. Packages, messages and a bundle of papers. A full set of instructions on how to be a ship. A bit outdated for her systems, but exactly the kind of thing her first mate needed to really sink his teeth into the crew and start bringing them up to standards. It was the treatises on field maintenance and repair that had helped her get better at sewing. She''d been drawing on them without noticing.


    The fact a girl she¡¯d never meet knew to give her those left an odd mix of cold dread and cautious hope roll down her spine. There was a difference between being manipulated and being handled. Managed. This bit, this bit right there? It felt like a bit of both. Taylor would not be anyone¡¯s toy. But partners, friends, rivals? Those she could accept. Even a temporary position under another, if she needed to learn and could find a teacher worthy of the name.


    Her search for Bauxite remained fruitless, but by the time Taylor completed her second circuit she was feeling pretty good. Her crew were getting better, she wasn¡¯t universally despised and she¡¯d learned enough not to stand out so much anymore. Proven she could contribute, that she was valuable and she was starting to see ways she could get out without having half the Abyss howling for her blood or chasing her for debts in blood or coin.


    So when she was done docking and unloading she went looking for her co-conspirator. She couldn¡¯t find her. It took her a while to find someone who would give her a straight answer, since no one was talking about. Not on Midway, where she might hear. Finally, one of the escorts whispered to her that the invasion had failed. They¡¯d pushed the Japanese off Iwo Jima and the nearby islands, again. But the northern invasion corridor had failed and fallen back with moderate casualties.


    Their subs had managed to catch and drive out The Ghost before she could threaten Midway, but they¡¯d lost twelve submarines to the fight. When Taylor saw the official casualty count the next day, it included the line:


    - Yo-Class submarine: Shun: Killed in action by The Ghost of Kyushu 32 miles N-NW off the coast of Midway.


    Taylor was going to kill her when she came back. If she came back. Shun was coming back. She was. Then she was going to find who The Ghost of Kyushu was. Depending on the answer, she was going to have some words for them.

 Chapter 12: Breakdown

    Reading Guide:


    Paragraphs of text in italics separated by a single star (*) are meant to indicate a concurrent memory, something that is running through Taylor¡¯s mind as she goes. Not something she is thinking of, but memories welling up.


    Part 1: Whirlpool


    Taylor was angry. She was livid. And she didn¡¯t know why. They were at war. With people. They were monsters. And a monster died. Surely that was a good thing?


    *


    ¡°Think you can get to Hawaii for the dead drop?¡± Taylor asked her accomplice.


    Shun looked at her like she was being particularly dense.


    ¡°Without being noticed?¡± she pressed.


    ¡°Hell no¡± the sub scoffed. ¡±I¡¯ll go on patrol. Sub patrol routes are more suggestions than orders. What are they going to do, send destroyers to keep an eye one me? You¡¯re complicating this for no reason. Some of them will have some idea of where I¡¯ve been, but finding a specific rock at the bottom? Hell no.¡± she scoffed.


    ¡°How did you think a black market worked with all this radar?¡± she mocked her. Because they all did that, push and pull and jockey for position, tearing each other down.


    *


    Like climbing higher was the only way out of the dark.


    So the monsters had lost. Many had died and good had carried the day, right? Wasn¡¯t this a reason for celebration? With fewer forces and fewer guards, she could move more freely and maybe finally have a chance to break free and humans had survived to go back to their families.


    *


    Taylor was sailing for the first time. She was struggling, trying so hard but she was sailing. And they wouldn¡¯t let her catch a breath. Why did nothing make them happy? Why was nothing good enough?


    ¡°Impatient fuck, aren¡¯t you. Well if you feel good enough to sail the sea we can start your trials right now!¡± Sapphire transmitted as she set her hounds on Taylor.


    *


    She¡¯d left the lagoon. It was too small. It wasn¡¯t some challenge to Sapphire¡¯s authority. Taylor hadn¡¯t meant anything like it. She just wanted to run.


    *


    ¡°¡­and it is with a heavy heart that I finish on this note: Your wanton cruelty is known to all and sundry but truly I was unaware of the heights of your foolishness and incompetence, that you would allow an unarmed transport to travel alone. Unescorted, left open to the Predations of the Enemy. Truly this shows the depths of your failure and incompetence, letting the only example of a new class in our joint fleets be so at risk, as a Princess to her daughters and a leader to her fleet. You are unfit for command and unfit for service in the wall of battle.¡± the Anchorage Princess finished her dictation, smug.


    ¡°You get all that little mouse? Repeat it, word for word. Oh, to be there when you deliver those words.¡± she preened, giggling.


    *


    The idea that her behavior could embarrass a Princess, her Princess? It was mind boggling. She was a slave. Held under duress and forced the work at the point of a gun. She¡¯d been sure it was nothing, another game. That the entire message was just a way to tweak noses among the Princesses. Just another cruel game where Taylor would get punished for delivering that missive. Taylor never did deliver it in person. She left it with the pyromaniac near Iwo Jima, as the Battleship Princess was away from anchorage.


    *


    ¡°-and then she accused Bertha of diluting her oil rations. Said Bertha was so fat because she was stealing from everyone,¡± her escort regaled her table mates. Taylor played waitress. She knew they were only keeping her there as an audience and a prop. They enjoyed seeing her squirm.


    Several girls rolled their eyes, while two leaned in.


    ¡°What was it this time? Did she get the Rant? Please tell me someone else was subjected to that horror.¡± one suggested.


    ¡°It was probably fire. She¡¯s fond of fire.¡± the other said.


    ¡°Oh it was fire¡­¡± the storyteller confided, leading them on.


    ¡°She starts grabbing barrels of oil and setting them on fire. Then announced an impromptu exercise: sailing under combat conditions, with Bertha as the subject.¡±


    Parts of the table were finding it difficult to breathe.


    ¡°But Big Bertha can¡¯t turn for shit.¡± her escort finished with a shrug to peals of laughter.


    ¡°So she¡¯s on fire, the sea is on fire, our supplies are on fire. Abyss did we get a telling off for that one. Damn near lost a four-hundred tons because rookie here can¡¯t pull together a fire crew to save her own life. We had to put her out.¡±


    Well maybe if they¡¯d done something else than laugh at her as she was being pelted with flaming fireballs, she wouldn¡¯t have been on fire in the first place!


    ¡°Oh when this push is over, the girls and Bertha here are going to have such fun, aren¡¯t we Bertha? You¡¯re going to get to know fire up close and personally.¡± she finished, laughing as Taylor shuddered.


    ¡°Suck it up, large load. Hell, with how much we¡¯ll be helping you isn¡¯t there something you¡¯d like to say?¡±


    This game she knew. It was like something from Winslow. The words were ash on her tongue.


    ¡°That you for your instructions, Little Sis. I am grateful for any time you can spare.¡± she recited. She¡¯d learned enough to slip in a barb and felt satisfaction when the cruiser couldn¡¯t find any justification to punish her for her lip. She was little, compared to Taylor, after all. It would be poor comfort, but at least something when the fuckers started setting her on fire on the regular. As ¡°training¡± no doubt. They enjoyed hurting her, the rest was just an thin excuse.


    ¡°You¡¯d think she¡¯d learn that throwing away her food only makes it worse, but who¡¯d be stupid enough to tell that to her face?¡° another asked.


    *


    They were just being vicious for the sake of it. Monsters that only looked like girls. It was fine. Taylor was the one being treated as less than human. She¡¯d get her own back. Taylor would get revenge for every indignity.


    *


    Sapphire after Taylor¡¯s sea trials. Taylor had glimpsed her coming out of the long range com stations. In the moment she¡¯d looked¡­ chastised. Ashamed. Then she spotted Taylor and it all slid right off her face. Taylor expected Sapphire to unload at her. It¡¯s how it always worked. She just scowled and stomped off.


    *


    Had she¡­ reported in? Gotten reamed for letting Taylor out of her slight? Why?


    *


    Yo-Class submarine: Shun; Killed in action by The Ghost of Kyushu 32 miles N-NW off the coast of Midway.


    *


    Taylor stopped. She¡¯d been lost in her own head. She¡¯d cooked, served and sat down, just looking at her meal. Breakfast. Oil and metal. Her fingers tapped the table of their own accord, vibrating the whole thing.


    ¡°We¡¯re eating, how are you bored? Stop it.¡± the Light Cruiser next to her complained, ramming her elbow into Taylor¡¯s ribs, right below her stump.


    It took her breath away. ¡°Sorry.¡± Taylor apologized, nearly in reflex, wheezing.


    ¡°Hey. Lay off.¡± the Division leader at the head of the table ordered.


    ¡°What, she¡¯s just,¡± just a freighter Taylor finished in her mind. She expected her to continue, complain. Her right-side neighbor instead descended into sullen silence. It sparked something in her head. She wasn¡¯t the only one. Ships were missing from many tables, and more were still on the deployment, but the loud, raucous atmosphere of the lunch room was absent. The feeling was general, like a sports bad that had just watched their favorites lose against their rivals. Sullen defeat. But not grief, not mourning.


    Like they didn¡¯t care about the dead, only that their team, their fleet had failed. Why did Taylor feel disappointed? Did she expected anything else? They were monsters.


    *


    Taylor was loading Bauxite in Acapulco, struggling to do anything but work and not break down, but her sensors were still working, she was still listening, even if her mind was too preoccupied to notice or parse any of the world.


    The limping light cruiser was trying to keep off her leg and kept wincing in pain. Sapphire was away, but her sister ship was right next to her, talking softly. Not softly enough for Taylor¡¯s crew not to pick up on it.


    ¡°Come on, hold it in. This isn¡¯t our port. You can¡¯t cry here. Keep it together, you¡¯ll embarrass everyone.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t. It¡¯s my fault. I was too slow and that torpedo bomber had me dead to rights. I missed him four times, how could I miss four times? It¡¯s my fault.¡± the limping Light Cruiser softly whined.


    ¡°That fish was going to sink me. Kiki jumped on it for me and now she¡¯s dead because I can¡¯t hit a bomber flying in a straight line.¡± she cried, quietly.


    Her sister looked spooked, furtively glancing around. Only on making certain no one was watching did she give the quietly crying girl a quick hug, before quickly letting go.


    ¡°Come now. Pull it together. Don¡¯t make me enforce discipline before all these girls. Kiki¡¯s with the Abyss now. Take comfort in that.¡± she finished, putting her had on the limping girls shoulder and squeezing.


    First in support, then painfully.


    ¡°Enough¡± she brusquely demanded, the picture of a cruel and uncaring warship.


    *


    What was wrong with her? Why were all these memories rushing up? Conversation at the table had moved on when Taylor focused inward, looking for something wrong. She found one of her bugs, a member of the sensor crew, messing with her recording equipment and input cables. Feeling suspicion rising, she accused: ¡°Just what are you doing?¡±


    The bug panicked, freezing in place. Her consciousness was wrenched to her bridge where the Wilted Lily stood with a jolly smile. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a wrap.¡± Jack Slash¡¯s voice said. ¡°My Lady, it has been a privilege and an honor serving on your vessel.¡± Taylor¡¯s Chief Security Officer merrily joked.


    ¡°I saw an opportunity, so I took it. It is Mutiny boys!¡± he shouted, the flowery petals turning like lighting, their tips sharpened daggers that lunged at the captain¡¯s chair. Seated there was a woman in a broken bug mask, with damaged mechanical arms poking over her shoulders and a cracked flight pack, missing her right arm. Taylor¡¯s captain jumped out of the chair, rolling across the deck even as the knives descended.


    The captain leapt to her feet and found the Lily hadn¡¯t even bothered to compensate. Instead, all four petals were buried in the captain¡¯s shadow, just before her chair. The shadow boiled up, bleeding, screaming like the damned. The last thing Taylor heard as her crew mutinied and consciousness failed was her speakers blaring in Myrddin¡¯s voice all over her hull. It was the drone the Leader of the Chicago Protectorate adopted when lecturing, but deadly serious:


    ¡°The first step to escaping a master situation is recognizing you are being mastered.¡±


    Taylor Hebert, Big Bertha, collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. She fell to the floor and would not wake. For the first time since awakening beneath that tree, fully Abyssal, her dreams were her own, not Nightmares. They were a recording her sensor crew had put together. Because while most of her crew was of the Abyss? The sensor crew in particular held her Legend closer to their hearts than the silent beat of the Abyss. They would hold the doors; long enough for the recording to run its course.


    Part 2: Sinking


    The First Pacific East Division was gutted. They¡¯d followed their Battleship Princess into the harshest fighting and paid the price. They did their part but this lunch room was just depressingly empty. With Sapphire and Shinigami sent back to the Abyss. Wakumi as Escort Lead was in command of this detached duty. Following Bertha around and for her sins she¡¯d missed the battle, which made hers the most intact command. Wakumi had watched the girl slowly grow up. She was a weird one, always busy. Usually girls needed order, to be shown their place, before they could settle down.


    Bertha never had. She¡¯d struggled under scrutiny, but seemed to finally find her place on detached duty. The freedom suited her. Maybe it was something about freighters. Transports generally kept to themselves. As the most often traded ships in the fleets as well as ones who didn¡¯t fight themselves, freighters were somewhat insular. Wakumi had expected Bertha to gravitate to her peers, maybe form a minor court of her own among the traders, but no such thing happened. Except for her pets, Bertha was a loner. Or so Wakumi believed before today.


    There¡¯d been a singing tension in the steps of her charge since their return to Midway. An unheard hum that promised violence that had no place in a freighter. Ever since the casualty report had been officially put up, Bertha had been wound up so tight it hurt to watch her walk. So she must have had someone. Much like many things about Bertha, Wakumi had noted it and left it aside. Bertha had Shinigami¡¯s eye and was Sapphire¡¯s personal project. No need to get involved in that mess. Her job was just to deliver the girl, whole and hale, to her destinations. Which proved mostly uneventful.


    Wakumi was sharing targeting tips with her second over lunch when Bertha stiffened like she¡¯d just suffered an ammo explosion. All the light went out of her eyes and she slid, boneless, right off her chair. Her head hit the floor with a loud thump, the body limp as a dead fish. Wakumi waited out the laughter, wondering if this was another one of Bertha¡¯s fits. It had been a while since the last one. But the memory of that tension and cause of the sullen air in the room made her get up before the giggles were done.


    ¡°She can¡¯t even sit without falling over¡± someone quipped, which only spread the laughter. If nothing else, Shinigami¡¯s original justification for keeping her alive was again proved true. Bertha was good for morale. It was cute, how outraged she got for minor hardening. They¡¯d make her tough yet, but something about sailing with Bertha for weeks was telling Wakumi that maybe now wasn¡¯t the time to push.


    Still, she had a job to do. ¡°Come on. Don¡¯t start this shit again Bertha.¡± Wakumi commanded, but the girl wouldn¡¯t be dissuaded. Bertha kept pretending hits hurt worse than they did, like they all had not taken the same blows. She never was grateful for the training they were giving her damage control crews. A giant brat. It would save her life one day. Bertha¡¯s favorite once you were really laying into her was to pretend to faint, hoping they¡¯d give up on disciplining her if she wasn¡¯t responding. Silly girl.


    Her boot nudged the unrigged girl, first lightly, and when that didn¡¯t work, hard enough to rub against her ribs. Nothing. That sliver of unease grew and Wakumi kneeled next to the fallen girl, as everyone jeered and laughed. Her hand went to Bertha¡¯s face, as Wakumi leaned over and pried open her eyes. Her palm felt the heat, the fallen girl was feverish. Bertha¡¯s eyes were rolling in her sockets. This close Wakumi could feel her breath. Thin, shallow and rapid gulps of air, as the girl was almost invisibly shaking, vibrating beneath her fingers.


    Cold dread seized her lungs. It robbed Wakumi of her breath. She wasn¡¯t ready, the Escort Leader had never been the one who had to deal with this before. But by reaching her position, she¡¯d earned the right to know. Even if everyone had heard of it, Wakumi knew. She¡¯d been trained for it. The order wouldn¡¯t come out the first time. The second time it was too soft, breathless, going unheard. The image of her Princess watching her fail flashed before her eyes. It rammed a steel girder down her spine and Wakumi bellowed on all horns.


    ¡°Quiet.¡± it was cutting, vicious, an order given in a hissed tone no Abyssal but a Princess used in harbor, at rest. It cut through every discussion in the room like an executioners axe, because that¡¯s what it was. The promise of death, if you were not obeyed, instantly.


    Wakumi saw the outrage blooming at some of the ships not of the East fleet, multiple Heavies ready to beat her teeth in and finished before the room could explode:


    ¡°She¡¯s hot. Feverish. Bertha¡¯s sick.¡± You could have heard a submarine sneaking in the ensuing silence.


    A few fools or particularly tough girls scoffed, leaving. The rest? Escorts were rocking back and forth, hugging their knees. Praying to the Abyss for the curse to spare them. Wakumi¡¯s own merry pack of jackals and bottom feeders were frozen in place and not helping. A battleship she¡¯d vaguely met emerged from the gathering crowd, pushing her way forward with long legs and quick steps. Together, they picked Bertha up and laid her on the table, scattering the meal, spilling oil and broth, bowls scattering all over the floor as her girls scattered with squeaks.


    The little cowards tried to run but Wakumi and the battleship pinned them in place with their guns without looking. Another battleship had taken charge of the crowd, organizing heavy cruisers in forming a cordon. A line of battle, should it be needed. Assured everyone who¡¯d been near Bertha was on this side of the battle line and had guns on them, Wakumi had no more attention to spare for anyone but the girl on the table.


    ¡°DAMN IT!¡± she cursed. The battleship just looked at her. ¡°Bertha is a new type of ship. She¡¯s new.¡±


    Understanding appeared in the other woman¡¯s eyes. Those who would fall had fallen over the years. There hadn¡¯t been an incident in over ten months, globally. Not that the Court would admit there was. Midway and the north pacific fleets hadn¡¯t had one in more than a year.


    No amount of re-summoning made them batter. The damage to their minds, souls, persisted. Impossible to fix. The Court had given up on trying and consigned them to permanently rotting in the Abyss. They were unthinking, unfeeling, killing machines that cared nothing for pain or death. Or who was in front of them. Empty eyes and ghost crews, no one home. It was like the Abyss had hollowed them out and all that was left was the Hunger.


    One of the little shits stuck here with her dared speak up.


    ¡°The curse isn¡¯t going to get us, is it Big Sis? We didn¡¯t do anything wrong! Katherine¡¯s curse can¡¯t get you if you¡¯re a good girl! They promised!¡±


    The Court and the Princesses did promise that. They¡¯d lied. That¡¯s not how it worked, Wakumi knew. But she wasn¡¯t going to spread knowledge like that. It was dangerous. But if Bertha went, she might drag her entire formation down with her. They were her convoy, her escorts, they¡¯d spent weeks sailing together as a single formation. That bond was enough for the madness to bleed through. They were all fucked.


    How Wakumi now wished she knew exactly what Sapphire had been doing to the girl. Was Sapphire pushing too hard, or was Bertha just too sensitive? Was it the civilian origin? Few freighters had even fallen, and Wakumi couldn¡¯t recall a one that had been the origin point. They knew their jobs and did them well. But then, most traders didn¡¯t struggle as much in finding their place. If they lost Bertha to the Black Madness, she¡¯d never forgive herself. Hells, what if she hadn¡¯t been pretending and throwing willful fits? What if she just couldn¡¯t take it? Bertha held herself as a warship, she acted like one, so they¡¯d all threated her like one. If she was a soft as the other freighters, why the fuck would she fight to buck authority so hard?


    ¡°Fuck her life. Fuck this day. Fuck stupid, stubborn Bertha in particular. Fuck her vicious little sisters, but Abyss please don¡¯t take them.¡±


    Wakumi had to keep a brave face on. No surrender, no pain, no retreat. They were depending on her.


    They¡¯d lost many in the early years, none more so then sub-tenders. Tenders and repair ships in general were hit the worst, though if anyone knew why, they hadn¡¯t shared it with Wakumi. But she knew what did it. What could drive Abyssal ships mad. The Grudge at the core of the girl that had become impossible to fulfill, or total, abject despair. None more so famously then Princess Katharine, who took her whole fleet with her and gave it her name among the common girls of the fleet: Katherine¡¯s Curse. Wakumi shivered. She didn¡¯t want to be forever mad, stuck at the bottom, in the cold, empty Abyss. Abandoned. Forgotten, forsaken.


    A shout went out from her fellow. ¡°Get the Princess!¡±


    ¡°Midway is in the middle of Ritual prep, she¡¯ll just kill me for interrupting her!¡± a cruiser objected from the crowd.


    ¡°Then get a Princess! Run, you fool!¡± ordered the battleship. The cruiser ran.


    The woman at least knew what to do as Wakumi tried to gently touch Bertha. Be reassuring to a girl lost to the world. Warships enjoyed violence, target practice being a particular favorite and everyone like feeling useful, but how the fuck do you comfort a freighter? Give her something to carry?


    ¡°What does she like? What does she want?¡± Wakumi asked, trying to stay calm.


    Furious eyes turned to her as the woman next to her looked at Wakumi like she was scum she¡¯d just scrapped of her heel.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you her patrol leader? Isn¡¯t it your job to know that?¡± she asked. Voice full of scorn and venom.


    But she didn¡¯t. They hardly ever spoke. If you weren¡¯t training her, Bertha pretty much didn¡¯t speak. Not with any of them. Surely Wakumi knew something?


    ¡°Her pets!¡± she cried in relief.


    ¡°She has three Imps ¡­ damn it, they¡¯re on her and Bertha¡¯s unrigged.¡± she realized. They couldn¡¯t call them up.


    ¡°Wait! There were two more. Some destroyers. But I don¡¯t know who.¡± she realized, feeling like a gnat. A failure.


    ¡°Um.¡± one her girls started. ¡°She hugs them a lot. Bertha calls them Itchy and Scratch.¡± Wakumi just looked at her.


    ¡°What? I was curious. They¡¯re the two really old ones. Midway¡¯s mascots?¡± the girl deflected.


    ¡°The hugs looked nice.¡± she muttered to herself, quietly, intensely jealous.


    Wakumi didn¡¯t have time to deal with that or all the other little twists in her command. Each girl had one, you learned to work around it. Before she could ask a voice called out from the crowd:


    ¡°They¡¯re on patrol. Can¡¯t be back in less than four hours even if we recalled them right now.¡°


    ¡°Do it.¡± the battleship called out, her eyes far away.


    ¡°You going to take the flak for that?¡± the same voice asked.


    The responding glare speared a girl in the back.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    She backed away, head down in surrender.


    ¡°Going, going.¡±


    ¡°What else?¡± the woman asked.


    Wakumi had finally found something that worked, gently combing her fingers through Bertha¡¯s ashen locks. It stilled the shakes at least.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I think she likes eating but she wouldn¡¯t touch her food.¡±


    That was a red flag. She should have been paying attention. Wakumi should have noticed. Bertha was always hungry.


    ¡°Bauxite. When Sapphire gave her that pacifier, Bertha looked so happy. I caught her licking her hands in Acapulco from the dust. She was delighted.¡± piped up one of the little traitors.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say anything?¡± Wakumi nearly screamed. She really wanted to beat Nami¡¯s ass until it was weeping oil.


    The girl shrank down.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to get her in trouble. Her cooking is nice. Bertha wouldn¡¯t be able to cook if Midway ate her.¡± the cruiser admitted.


    Wakumi was floored. Yes, Midway was twisted about supplies. But holy hell. She knew a lot of girls didn¡¯t know much about the logistics of the Abyss. Or of Spooky Abyssal Bullshit. But this was advanced stupid. This was stupid that might get them all worse than dead. Wakumi somehow managed not the blast the cowering cruiser through the wall.


    ¡°And your empty, useless head, the one that you¡¯ve never used and never will, did it stop for a moment, just a moment, to consider that maybe the fact the freighter was craving Bauxite might be important?¡± she hammered in.


    The look she got back was so bewildered Wakumi planted her fist down Nami¡¯s throat so hard her teeth fell like rain and Nami¡¯s bridge bounced off the back wall. The cruiser collapsed, stunned.


    ¡°You¡¯re staying, there, on that floor, until we all find out if you¡¯ve doomed us all.¡± Wakumi spat out. All she got in return was a groan. Doomed, the lot of them. Every last speck of Bauxite on the island was locked up behind Midway¡¯s wards. Wards only she could open. Screwed.


    The woman next to her was giving her a worried look. ¡°She¡¯s craving Bauxite? What are her portions?¡±


    ¡°Steel and oil.¡± Wakumi ground out, and now Nami started crying.


    A horrified whisper slipped out of the gaggle of girls. ¡°She¡¯s starving. For weeks, months. Bertha¡¯s starved.¡± Which was one of the few things that could drive an Abyssal mad, as the Hunger devoured them from within.


    Even from the floor and missing most her teeth, Nami kept digging herself deeper, as she spat out another tooth.


    ¡°No. No, Big Bertha¡¯s big! She eats more than any of us. She can¡¯t be starving. That¡¯s not fair.¡±


    The battleship was un-impressed. ¡°What¡¯s her tonnage? Armament?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a freighter, she doesn¡¯t have weapons!¡± Nami got out before Wakumi had had enough.


    ¡°Did I or did I not tell you to stay there? Was that an invitation to talk? No? Are my orders suggestions for the rest of you as well?¡± Wakumi asked, glaring at the group. They jumped, enforcing order on Nami. She¡¯d survive it and that was about as much concern as Wakumi could spare right now. It was also familiar and would keep them occupied.


    The battleship was pensive. ¡°Two weeks? Three?¡±


    Wakumi thought about it.


    ¡°At least two months.¡±


    That earned a wince. The battleship seemed to struggle with herself, before calling out: ¡°Hells with it, Riptide! Get some back up and pry whatever Bauxite you can from our resident junky.¡± There was a moment of silence and a wince from her subordinate.


    ¡°That¡¯s going to get loud, quick, Ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Patch the holes sinking us now, we¡¯ll deal with the fire on deck later sailor.¡±


    Three girls separated from the blockade, going on their task.


    ¡°Your girl hides Bauxite from Midway.¡± Wakumi really didn¡¯t need say more, the disbelief was dripping from every word.


    The woman shrugged. Shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s her twist. Court Rules.¡±


    Well, alright then. Everyone had a twist. Still¡­


    ¡°Let¡¯s never tell Midway.¡±


    ¡°Standing orders.¡±


    Wakumi went back to combing Bertha¡¯s hair. What else could she do in response to that?


    ¡°That¡¯s going to get ugly, messing with a girl¡¯s twist.¡± Wakumi noted.


    ¡°Yeah well, we¡¯re here, aren¡¯t we? How much worse can it get?¡± the woman said with a sardonic smile.


    Wakumi started.


    ¡°I never did get your name.¡± she apologized.


    ¡°Wakumi, incompetent Escort Command, apparently. Pacific East.¡± she said, extending a hand.


    The battleship accepted, linking forearms.


    ¡°Montana. Pacific West, Flagship. At least you¡¯re copping to it.¡± and no wonder she¡¯d taken charge.


    Wakumi gave her a hopeful look but Montana was already shaking her head.


    ¡°I went ahead. Mine is at least four days behind me.¡±


    And that was that. Midway was not coming out, West was four days out. Wakumi could only hope her own Princess was closer.


    Nothing was left, but to wait, to the familiar, comforting sounds of violence behind them.


    Part 3: Fever


    News spread across Midway, slowly at first. Girls streaming out of the lunch room. Others going there. The rush of a girl''s hurried steps to the long range coms. Murmurs, rumors. A girl had collapsed. It was just Bertha. Who? The fat freighter. Some ignored it, others didn¡¯t.


    In the barracks built for the East Fleet, there was a room. One reserved for Big Bertha. One she¡¯d never been in, because Sapphire wanted to reward Bertha with a home after her sea trials, make her feel like part of the fleet. But Bertha left the lagoon without an escort, so Sapphire put it off for getting her in hot water with the Princess. With all the war preparations and just how much of a sulking, stubborn child Sapphire considered Bertha, the opportunity never came up, and the room slipped her mind. Someone would tell her, right? Someone should already have told her. Bertha wasn¡¯t complaining about having nowhere to sleep. It was fine. But with the rush to organize the new advance on Japan, things had slipped through the cracks. None of them were friends with her.


    No one saw her coming or going, but Bertha kept a weird schedule anyway. She¡¯d be up all day. Everyone would get up as the Sun began to fall and Bertha would already be up, playing with her pets. A few of the girls who liked her cooking left her gifts near the beginning, a welcome to the fleet kind of thing, but Bertha never said anything, the gifts untouched. No thanks, nothing. If she was too good for them, well they weren¡¯t going to take a freighter snubbing them laying down. If she didn¡¯t want to be friends, well that was just fine. Who needs a freighter anyway?


    Sachi was¡­ special. When Sachi heard the new girl was finally out of her trial period and was moving in, she went around figuring out how to switch rooms so they could be next to each other. Sachi loved welcoming new girls to the fleet. She liked cooking and cleaning and being useful because Sachi wasn¡¯t a great ship. She was old and not skilled enough to justify refits. Not worth the investment. Besides, if she got them Sachi would be sent to the front lines again. No one wanted that.


    Sachi was feeling like the most useless cruiser who ever sailed. Her friends had gone out and so many of them were missing now. Midway was going to fix it, but she felt like a failure not having been there for them. But Sachi had a plan. She was making a re-summoning party!


    She¡¯d pilfered supplies from the kitchens and was making some of her famous Sachi noodles. A few of her monster friends had spent that last couple days catching fishes for her and she¡¯d left them in small pool outside the beach house so they¡¯d been nice and fresh for everyone after they woke up. They were always grumpy coming right out of the Abyss and nothing worked to remind the girls there were back like a nice hot meal.


    Sachi was in the middle of checking on her party supplies when Amelie came around the corner. She was walking somewhere fast and her eyes lit up where she found Sachi. Sachi waved. It was polite, even if she needed to fix this table leg.


    ¡°Sachi. There you are, I¡¯ve been looking for you all over. Come on, now, quick and quiet. We¡¯ve got a patrol to get to. Come on, come on.¡±


    The carrier swept in and Sachi was heading for her room before she knew it. She was a bit confused.


    ¡°But I have everything I need for a patrol, Lie-chan?¡± she asked.


    ¡°And I was just a call away.¡± she wondered.


    ¡°Hush, hush. No lip from you young lady.¡± the German-accented carrier chided.


    They got to her rooms quick, Amelie was just walking but Sachi had to scurry to keep up. She¡¯d rarely seen the carrier move so quick while looking that relaxed. Usually Amelie only hurried when there was trouble.


    Sachi was quick. She left the nails and glue in her room and grabbed some extra rations and a thermos to keep everything nice and warm. On further thought Sachi also packed her cooking bag, maybe she¡¯d get the chance to use it again.


    Amelie looked at her, carefully biting her lip, before bending down to whisper in her ear.


    ¡°Take your treasures, Sachi.¡± she ordered with a wobbly smile.


    Sachi felt cold. She quickly nodded and pried up the floor in the corner of her room. After a few quick scoops, the sailor¡¯s case came out of the ground beneath the wooden floor and she opened it to check everything was there. Several comics, Mr Mushi, a well-worn and cared for plushy rabbit. He was a rabbit, not a bunny, Sachi would correct everyone. She had to hide him, because there were girls who through they were tough and mean and that those two were the same and he¡¯d already lost one ear. He couldn¡¯t lose the other, he¡¯d be deaf, but Sachi loved him to bits.


    The final item was a dress woven from dried sea-grass, clams and shells and stringy tree bits. It was nice and Sachi loved wearing it, even if she had to keep it to her room, or one of the bigger girls would take it. A lot of girls had new dresses on Midway. Sachi was just glad they got cheap enough she could get one. And these were different. Human clothes tore at the slightest touch. Usually only a Flag or a Princess could afford to have clothes and keep replacing them, apart from their rigging and swimwear. Sachi didn¡¯t know why swimwear was, different, it had something to do with the sea.


    The subs looked really silly in full body diving suits though. Sachi giggled and caught the reproachful look from Amelie.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± she apologized and packed her case in her travel bag. Amelia took her hand and led her out to sea. Sachi worried. If Lie-chan was worried, Sachi was worried. They hit the open sea.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± Sachi asked, knowing this wasn¡¯t a patrol. Her radar could pick them up. In ones and twos, girls were scattering from Midway, those in the lead taking the usual patrol routs out, but more just setting sail. Everyone was keeping away from each other. It felt wrong, they were supposed to be a fleet.


    ¡°Hawaii¡± Amelia answered. ¡°We¡¯ll go to Hawaii and re-access. Hopefully everything will be cleared out by then. Anyway, I¡¯m sure Acapulco is nice this time of year.¡±


    Sachi felt like her legs had become anchors. ¡°But what about everyone?¡±


    Everyone Midway was supposed to call back? Her fleet, her friends?


    Amelia grimaced. ¡°We¡¯ll figure something out if we have to. I¡¯m sure it won¡¯t come to that.¡± she said, like she was trying to convince herself.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Sachi asked, slumping, letting Amelia all but tow her.


    Amelia swallowed. Once, twice. ¡°A girl got sick.¡± she finally said.


    ¡°Oh.¡± Sachi replied.


    Then she started sailing again and soon the cruiser was towing the carrier, pulling away. Neither one said what each knew. If it came to that, they¡¯d blow themselves up first. Midway wouldn¡¯t let that happen, right? She was the Perfect Princess.


    *


    Taylor remembered this. The Light cruiser that tried to flatter and manipulate her into lowering her price and get her to work for nothing. Did she think Taylor was a fool? She got her payment and managed to convince the gullible girl to pay extra. Seriously, like Taylor couldn¡¯t see right through her.


    ¡°Your hair is really pretty. I know your work a lot in the kitchens. I¡¯ve been cooking lots so maybe later you could come over and I could teach you? ¡±


    Like she¡¯d fall for that. Let her mock and belittle her cooking as some twisted way to make herself feel better. The cruiser had just wanted something from her, but at least that one had had the common decency to pay Taylor. Yet as the dream spun and played again, it was different.


    Where once she saw malice and greed in the cruisers eyes, now only sincerity shined. Her smiles no longer reminded Taylor of Emma, but were tentative. Like Aisha, when she thought no one could see her. Like some of the kids post Leviatan, when she showed up with supplies.


    And Taylor wondered if the made up story about switching rooms to be next to her was made up. If the invitation to teach her cooking wasn¡¯t genuine. Because Taylor didn¡¯t have a room, yet when the girl talked about coming over, there was nothing but sincere hope, like it would mean the world to her if she could come visit. When before Taylor had read her as trying to manipulate her, get on her good side for a discount. Dreams didn¡¯t make sense. Why were they all doubled, each repeated but different on the repeat?


    One of the Abyssal monsters as she¡¯d known them the entirety of her new life, un-repentant abusers, bitches, cold hearted monsters who enjoyed the pain they caused. The other as some¡­ something else. You¡¯d think it would make sense, or make them perfect, not show them as broken, flawed. Still monsters, but frail. What was the point of that?


    *


    The trio found their way to their target. But as with anything that touched on their cores, nothing was that simple. The addict already had her stash in hand and was halfway out her window when they broke through the door. ¡°Hold, damn it!¡± she ordered.


    ¡°Choke on my spray Riptide!¡± the carrier said, jumping.


    Riptide and her back up were right behind her, but when they looked out the window an Abyssal dive bomber slammed into it, detonating in a fire blast that swallowed them all. Riptide cursed, singed, but hells, if they were going loud.


    ¡°Cripple the bitch!¡±


    She was running but she wasn¡¯t running fast enough. The shattered window and blown up wall gave them all space to line up and fire. A battleship and two heavy cruisers at this range? On a solid shooting platform? It was trivial. Fire swallowed the fleeing ship as the battleship turned away. Best she could do was end it fast, when it couldn¡¯t be quiet. She left one of her supports on the high ground and ran down the stairs with the other.


    When they reached the carrier, she was half out of the crater, her legs pitted with cracks and holes, the engines totaled and missing a leg below the knee. Not ideal, but not terrible. That would heal with a few hours in the baths. The next part? Not so much. Riptide braced, hardening her heart. She was under orders on a Quarantine mission, no half measures.


    Her other support pinned the screaming, screeching, pleading carrier as she tried to curl around her treasure. The woven chain bag of Bauxite held to her stomach as she curled protectively around it.


    ¡°You can¡¯t! I have permission! I need it! Need it! The Court said so! I can keep it! You can¡¯t take it! You can¡¯t make me!¡±


    Damn it, she had a death grip on the bag. Riptide started breaking fingers even as her gorge rose. Tears fell freely from the carrier¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°No! Stop it! Stop it!¡± Finally she freed the bag and the carrier went limp. Riptide knew what had to be done, but neither her nor the support could be the one to do it. Her eyes scanned the forming crowd. It was easy to find the ship that wanted to sink her the most, she was the one pointing all her guns this way.


    ¡°Get in here and help her. You can sink me after!¡±


    Riptide was already running. She vomited to the side but managed to keep her feet. She could hate herself later.


    ¡°Patch the holes sinking us first, fires later.¡±


    Behind her, the other girl pulled the carrier out of the crater, hugging her as hard as she could, her glare daring anyone to say a word. No one did. Ships were using cannon and bombs on Midway. Things were beyond fucked, the masks cracking.


    The Heavy Cruiser that had pinned the carrier just slumped over. She glared at her.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going back there.¡± The voice was dead, empty.


    She tried to keep Susie comfortable at least, starting a familiar cadence, keeping it steady.


    ¡°Our Princess is mighty and she is rich.


    She has a whole ship set aside for each.


    For Montana oils and Henrietta soils.


    But little Susie is special still.


    For her she keeps her fill.¡±


    Again, and again she sang the nursery rhyme. Until the carrier hugged her back, holding on for dear life. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t Susie. We¡¯re not fighting anyone here. You won¡¯t go without. The Hunger won¡¯t get you.¡± she tried.


    ¡°But I don¡¯t have any. What if we get separated? What if They attack? I need it. I can¡¯t, I can¡¯t.¡± she panted, shaking. Hitting her head against the girl trying to comfort her.


    ¡°You won¡¯t be hungry ever again Susie. The Princess promised remember? She has a special bag she carries herself, just for you. No one else can touch it. She¡¯d die first. She promised, remember?¡± she spoke, softy.


    The crowd had long since scattered, no one wanting to watch this. It was the Abyss. Everyone had a twist. It was ugly and no one liked being forced to watch. It was too close to facing their own.


    ¡°I remember.¡± the carrier softly said.


    ¡°You can feel her, can¡¯t you Susie. She¡¯s still there and she has you bag. The Princess is coming and then everything will be ok. Why don¡¯t you let me carry you to my room. Would you like that?¡±


    She didn¡¯t answer with words, only squeezed a bit harder. But at least the head-butts stopped. Progress.


    Slowly, her sister carried her back to the dorms, singing a nursery rhyme:


    ¡°Our Princess is mighty and she is rich.


    She has a whole ship set aside for each.


    For Montana oils and Henrietta soils.


    But little Susie is special still.


    For her she keeps her fill.¡±


    She swore, by the end of this, someone would be paying in blood.


    *


    Shun was fucking with her. Almost every night she spent in the lagoon under the tree, she¡¯d wake up with her hand in the water. Taylor could see the damn imprint in the bottom. She didn¡¯t have to keep reminding Taylor she could kill her in her sleep, she was aware and tired of it.


    It rewound, replayed.


    Again she noticed her hand in the water. The shape of the displacement. But that same dark fire was missing, the certainty. The hate. Taylor stood within her dreams and wondered. What would possess a girl to come here every night and pull her hand in the water? The possible answers¡­concerned her.


    *


    ¡°Got it!¡± a shout startled the blockade as a girl came in from the kitchens.


    ¡°The Perfect Princess wouldn¡¯t have left her carriers hungry.¡± she beamed.


    Wakumi groaned. Montana¡¯s hand twitched, before she sighed explosively.


    ¡°Well, what¡¯s done is done. What do you have?¡± Montana asked.


    ¡°Enough spice for two carriers for two days? It isn¡¯t much.¡± the cook shrugged, in apology.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take what I can get.¡± the battleship rumbled.


    The cook dropped the whole bundle into a small pot of oil, before handing it over to the line. She wasn¡¯t getting anywhere near that.


    Wakumi looked from the feverish girl to the pot.


    ¡°How do we make her eat?¡±


    ¡°I got it.¡± Montana claimed with a grin.


    She dipped her fingers into the thick mix and started spreading it along the sick girls forearm.


    Wakumi blinked.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± she asked, lost.


    ¡°The skin is the most important part of everyone. It can breathe, keep out water and even absorb nutrients.¡± Montana said, smiling, her eyes shining with zeal.


    There was a loud, disgusted ¡°Warships!¡± as a repair ship elbowed her way to the front.


    ¡°I¡¯m fucked anyway, I was her supervisor in port. Make some room you stupid cannon obsessed fools.¡±


    Within a few moments Bertha was propped up, her head in the repair-ships lap, as the Ra-class spoon fed her the mix, carefully massaging Bertha¡¯s throat to help her swallow. Within minutes, her color started improving noticeably, the eyes not rolling as much. As they finished with the kitchen pot, Riptide rushed in, carrying much more. But though the Ra kept feeding her, the repair ship never stopped looking worried.


    ¡°What?¡± Wakumi.


    ¡°She never came in for a checkup.¡± the Ra whispered, horrified.


    ¡°Is it working or not?¡± Montana asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s helping with the fever,¡± the repair ship answered. Which was both helpful and not.


    ¡°What the hell are you talking about?¡± Montana demanded.


    The Ra managed to pry her eyes from the girl in her lap and gulped.


    ¡°It¡¯s not my place to say.¡± she settled on. And wasn¡¯t that a whole new knot to untangle. It took Montana nearly a minute to do so.


    ¡°I need to call my Princess.¡±


    Then she was up like a plane.


    ¡°If that girl is a Princess¡­ this could be ground zero for the second coming of Katherine. The Princess needs to know. Never again.¡±


    .


    .


    ¡°I hate quarantine.¡±


    Bertha lay there, as the repair ship fled in the wake of the battleship, still on the table, sweating. They let her out of the circle, but not out of the room. Wakumi heard some gurgling and in a moment of insight turned Bertha to her side. Bertha dry heaved, but nothing came out. She was still out of it, the fever dropping but her eyes had gone mad behind her eyelids.


    Wakumi kept gently running her hands through Bertha¡¯s ashen hair, staying with her, as the pale repair ship fell into a chair of her own.


    *


    ¡°Excellent, so she¡¯s agreed to sell the Walkman?¡± Taylor asked.


    Shun nodded.


    Detached duty after serving in the docks was proving a blessing in disguise. Taylor had time to watch and study the boats. Even if she didn¡¯t know all the players, she knew their servants. Taylor could make overtures, introductions, find out what the smugglers were selling and buying. She was still far too reliant on the sub to actually access the black market, her Imps and PTs not nearly as able to move freely outside of Midway.


    But with her latest delivery from the south, Taylor should be able to squeeze in a few more things.


    ¡°Still nothing on the Bauxite?¡± she grit out.


    ¡°No, Bertha.¡± the sub answered, not looking at her.


    Right. It was keeping things from her, but she wasn¡¯t quite ready to buy her out. Once she had another sub, this one wouldn¡¯t be nearly so ready to deny her. She needed it, knew she was lesser for the lack of Bauxite and the sub had likely figured it out. The sneaky little devil was deliberately keeping it away so that Taylor would stay reliant on her, stay weak. It didn¡¯t matter, all debts would be paid. Taylor had to focus on things she could change. Like expanding her reach to the east.


    And whose stupid idea was it to call the fleet fighting in the East Pacific, the West Pacific fleet?


    Rewind, replay.


    Taylor watched and she wondered. When did she grow so hateful, so vengeful?


    When did she start thinking of Shun¡¯s work as her own? Her reach in the black market. Her deals. As if the sub wasn¡¯t involved, as if it was a dog, an extension of Taylor¡¯s will, playing tricks for her master. Mistress? Unimportant. Looking at herself, Taylor was a Merchant. She was an addict, hiding, pretending, but needing her next fix, blind to anything but her own troubles. Her eyes were manic when Taylor spoke of the rocks.


    Shun wasn¡¯t looking away to hide ill thought. It was obvious from here, without the cobwebs before her eyes. The sub was looking away because it hurt her to see Taylor like that.


    That thought? It summoned an entire highlight reel. Mornings spent plotting her revenge, her vengeance as Shun listened on. Not in silence. The girl was clever, Taylor would give her that. Poking and prodding, guiding Taylor away from her more self-destructive ideas. Never making it seem like any of it was her, but like Taylor had come to the ideas on her own. But she¡¯d never wanted to see herself managed. Like she was a demented old cat person and Shun her nurse. Oh if only.


    Because there were times there. Times where, the Taylor that was, was so deeply in thought, planning, plotting or just distracted. Times that Shun would sit next to her, patiently, silently, inching forward. Until she was so close Taylor¡¯s hand would distractedly go up and pat her on the head.


    ¡°Not now Shun.¡±


    Oh, she¡¯d hide it. Lower her head, turn away, as if disappointed. But here, now? She could not just see it but understand. The tendrils that had replaced the subs legs would wiggle, in a happy little dance, as Shun kept looking away. Because she¡¯d had human contact, that wasn¡¯t pain.


    And the longer she looked, the more Taylor saw it. Her eyes would linger on Taylor, when she wasn¡¯t looking. Awake, Taylor had thought it a sensible precaution, keeping an eye on someone you didn¡¯t trust. They were partners in crime in the Abyss, after all, plotting theft and rebellion.


    Shun didn¡¯t look at her like a business partner, or someone who was a threat. The sub had started out anxious and snarky, but by the end? She wasn¡¯t just friendly, Shun was devoted, like Taylor was her best friend in the whole world. Hiding it all behind a tough girl exterior and bluster. How could Taylor be that blind?


    And if she was missing that, what else had she missed or misread? Because the girls around her? Many of them had monstrous features, but Taylor had barely noticed. No, she¡¯d barely cared.


    On and on, the dreams carried her. Taylor began to wonder. They were Abyssal. They were monsters. But wasn¡¯t she one too? What was different? Her memories? Would that be enough, if this was the effect on her after a couple of months? How much of it was Taylor and what she was enduring, her missing pieces and diet; how she¡¯d died and came into the world? How much a nudge from her new Passenger?


    And if memories were enough? If good, she couldn¡¯t believe she¡¯d call it that, but if a good childhood was all it took? Than what did it mean for every girl around her?


    Were they monsters or people? Taylor had seen plenty of people who¡¯d become monsters in her old life. Even if the Abyssal were monsters, could they become people? Early humans had done some really fucked up shit. Early? There was less than two centuries between her own time and rampart slavery.


    Really, Taylor didn¡¯t feel great at her odds of trying to figure this out in her own head. She needed something tangible, definite. An anchor to hold on to. That felt right.


    Part 4: Breakdown


    Taylor woke to the sound of sirens. Her eyes were bleary, yet in the entirety of her new life, Taylor had never felt so good. She was aching, like after a good workout. It was the pain of recovery, or growth and Taylor knew her pains. She¡¯d tasted so many she could qualify as a gourmet chef of pain, both inflicting them and tasting them. Huh. She felt¡­ good. Giddy. A giggle escaped her before her eyes adjusted and she took in the room.


    Taylor was laying on a table, her head in the lap of another girl. She looked familiar.


    ¡°Wakumi?¡± she asked.


    The sirens were wailing but the room was oddly quiet.


    ¡°Yeah, Bertha?¡± the carrier replied.


    Her face was odd. There was an expression on it, but Taylor couldn¡¯t read it.


    Wakumi¡¯s eyes were a bit wide, her brows furrowed, uneven, her face a bit scrunched, lips pressed together. Her eyes were a bit watery. Taylor swore she knew it, but it wouldn¡¯t come to her.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    Her Escort let out a wheezy laugh.


    ¡°You had an accident. But you¡¯re fine now,¡± she said, suddenly standing up, like a scolded cat.


    Taylor¡¯s head thumped on the table. She slowly peered around. ¡°Why is everyone looking at me?¡±


    Because they were. The room was a mess. Tables were overturned, girls crying or just curled up against the walls. Food all over the floor. Next to their table one of the girls was groaning on the floor, bruised to hell and back, heady bloody. The rest of Taylor¡¯s escorts lingered, leaning on the wall around the fallen girl.


    On the other side there was a line of ships, ones her radar identified as multiple Heavy Cruisers, a Battleship, and about a dozens of other girls behind them, most lost to the world or praying. She could see her supervisor. Taylor waved. The repair ship snapped upright in her chair, before audibly swallowing. Carefully, she waved back, but said nothing.


    Slowly, wary that something might be wrong and of the whole odd tableau Taylor got off the table. She was a bit dizzy, but she knew her part. She bent down to pick up the scattered bowls and get to cleaning the spilled food when suddenly there were hands everywhere.


    Wakumi pulled her back into a chair saying: ¡°You just sit here and rest a bit, ok Bertha. Just. Just relax for a bit.¡±


    Taylor watched warships cleaning the floor while she sat, wondering if she¡¯d fallen through a portal while she was sleeping and was now in some other Midway. Her hand went to her hair in habit and froze.


    ¡°Wakumi. Why is there blood in my hair?¡± The Escort leader gave another indecipherable half smile half grimace, before scratching the back of her head. It was so common a hand motion that Taylor knew she was being sheepish even if her eyes couldn¡¯t see it on the girls face.


    ¡°Nami was being a little shit. Don¡¯t worry about that, let¡¯s just get something to eat.¡±


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Well. That shouldn¡¯t have explained anything, and yet in the Abyss, it did. The teeth scattered around the table and the small pool of blood matting Nami¡¯s hair helped, but still. The blood was black. Was Abyssal blood always black?


    Taylor did as she was told. She wanted some time to figure out why she felt like she¡¯d swallowed a bunch of fireflies. Airy and light.


    ***


    Taylor was worried. That wasn¡¯t right. Taylor was on the edge of panic. She couldn¡¯t read them. Any of them. Every face was closed to her. Fat too many were glancing her way while they talked amongst themselves. Her own table was hardly better. She could hear the two girls cleaning the floor quietly complaining, but none of their faces made sense. A full bowl landed before her as the serving freighter gave her another of those unreadable smiles.


    Her Escort Leader glanced her way.


    ¡°Eat up. You¡¯ll need your strength. Sorry about the Bauxite, we can get more when the wards come down. ¡° the head of the table¡­ dismissed?


    She couldn¡¯t tell. Why couldn¡¯t Taylor recognize even tone of voice? Since when did they know about her needing Bauxite? The panic grew. Something about this alienation from the girls around her was terribly, horrifyingly familiar.


    Still, that answered some questions, like why Taylor was feeling so well. It also started a flood of others and drove a pillar of ice right down her spine. What the hell had happened? How did they find out? Did someone sell her out?


    ¡°Who would even know, the Imps?¡± Shun did. Shun had.


    No, her PTs were on her. The memory of the dream was fading but Taylor remembered more than enough.


    ¡°Shun was still dead. But I. I could¡­try.¡±


    She could feel the tears falling. Trying was hard.


    ¡°What happened?¡± She asked, pleaded.


    Taylor couldn¡¯t even recognize the emotion in her own voice and she was putting it there.


    The horror was an ocean. She was alone and drowning in it.


    ***


    Everything was fine, everything was fine. Bertha was awake and no one had gone mad. There would be hell to pay, but they were all going to live through this. Wakumi¡¯s eyes kept going to Bertha on her own, checking and rechecking. It was fine. Her eyes were normal. She was eating again. Montana would be back soon and then someone actually qualified would be here. Wakumi wouldn¡¯t be the one responsible when it went to hell.


    She wasn¡¯t a Witch. But every ship picked up some tricks, and escorts trended towards evasion and spotting. Wakumi could feel a storm on the horizon. Coming right at her.


    In the middle of a bite, Bertha started crying. She swallowed, hiccupping, and asked in a miserable voice:


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. Nothing happened, right girls? Everything is fine. Just fine.¡±


    Alright, so maybe she was panicking a bit. Anyone would panic if they were at risk of being driven mad for eternity. Just because Bertha wasn¡¯t mad yet, didn¡¯t mean she did not have every reason to be. Bless their cruel little hearts, not one of her girls contradicted her.


    ¡°No Ma¡¯am.¡± they chorused.


    ¡°Well, except for the bit with you going mad.¡± a voice piped up from below.


    Wakumi was going to smear Nami all over the floor. Did she have no sense?


    Nami wasn¡¯t getting up. She sort off¡­ flopped over. Some of the girls may have been a bit enthusiastic. Her face was a broken, blotched mess and it looked like someone had cracked her skull¡­


    Nope, wasn¡¯t her fault. Wakumi did not order that and she was sticking to it. Which did nothing to quell the drums hammering at her chest.


    ¡°Mad?¡± the ship in question cried.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, I¡¯m sure it¡¯s fine. Why don¡¯t you eat up and we¡¯ll get you to an exam berth after. I¡¯m sure a nice once over by a repair ship would feel good, right? Maybe have a look at that arm?¡± she desperately deflected.


    The girl only started weeping harder. Oh hells, what was Wakumi doing wrong?


    Montana finally came back in and headed towards them like a torpedo on an attack run. She met Wakumi¡¯s eyes and the Escort Leader raised signal flags: Uniform, Whiskey.


    "You are running into danger."


    "I require medical assistance."


    Montana slowed her advance as Wakumi got up to meet her half-way.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do. I offered to take her to the baths and it only made it worse.¡±


    ¡°Then do nothing. Just make sure she isn¡¯t alone. Your Princess is close. We just need to hold out until then.¡± Montana informed her, with a worried frown. She smoothed out her face and painted on a gentle smile.


    ¡°Bertha dear, let me have a look at you.¡± Slowly she approached the crying girl, taking a knee.


    She took Bertha¡¯s head in her hands and slowly turned her to look into her eyes. The mad had sickly, unnatural colors and ominous shapes, amorphous shapes swimming in their souls. Bertha was a deep, almost black blue, clean and pure. She was also completely lost and miserable.


    ¡°That¡¯s a relief.¡± She concluded.


    Montana carefully wiped away her tears, mindful of her tiny finger claws. Tiny, but sharp. The Flagship had a lot of practice being careful.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you worry about a thing dear, you aren¡¯t mad. Your Princess is coming. She¡¯ll have a personal look at you after the repair ships have had their turn. They¡¯ll find any hidden issues right quick. Don¡¯t you feel special to have the personal attention of your Princess?¡±


    Contrarily, while this stopped the tears, it girl only spiraled further into the black. Montana winced. Whatever the problem was, it was in deep. ¡°Be a good dear, eat your lunch.¡± she patted her head. Her Princess would know what to do.


    ¡°False alarm everyone. The Battleship Hime will be here soon to sort everything out. Please be patient.¡± a glance drew up Wakumi.


    ¡°Keep an eye on her. I have to take care of the island. Midway is still in her chambers.¡± The departing battleship threw a glare at her sister, then she was out. Riptide looked pissed.


    The storm grew, Wakumi¡¯s bones aching.


    The Light Carrier made sure Bertha was settled in, but she had stopped eating again. Murmurs were rising among the other ships.


    ¡°Are we stuck here?¡±


    ¡°For how long?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean until she gets here? I need to go!¡±


    ¡°Stupid fat prick.¡±


    ¡°Why is she always acting out?¡±


    ¡°East can¡¯t even get a freighter to behave. Morons.¡±


    On and on. Wakumi was the only one paying enough attention to connect the dots, but she was distracted looking for the coming storm while trying to reassure Bertha it wasn¡¯t her fault and shield her from the crowd. Only one ship at the table noticed a final tear fall. It had an odd shimmer to it. A speck of blue, like the summer skies. Like lightning in a storm.


    She kept her mouth shut. She didn¡¯t want to end up like Nami.


    ***


    A Princess was coming. Just for her. They already thought she was mad, that something was wrong with her. They were treating her like a bomb. Taylor didn¡¯t know what she¡¯d said while dreaming, but no doubt it was damming if they were sending her to both a repair ship and a Princess. She was going to get found out and then she was doomed. Slowly, the tears stopped. If she was going to face her death, again? At least this time she¡¯d do it as herself. This world wasn¡¯t so bad. This particular part of it was awful, not only overrun by monsters, but monsters who hated her. But the whole world?


    Japan was holding on. On its own. The US was still around, there was a European theater. How bad could it be? There was The Enemy. Heroes to the Abyssal Villains. She hadn¡¯t seen one, not up close. But with how much the Abyss was messing with her, Taylor doubted anything her compromised instincts had told her. The world was holding. Had been for years. This was bad, but not Scion bad. Not even Endbringers bad. They¡¯d figure it out, make it through. Earth Bet had. Even if it had cost them nearly everything.


    She didn¡¯t have to fight. Hadn¡¯t she fought enough? Sacrificed enough? They¡¯d be fine without her. She didn¡¯t really have a reason to fight here. It wasn¡¯t her fight.


    There was a hole where all that hate used to be. She was just passing through. If she stuck around she¡¯d just turn into another monster. It was better this way.


    Taylor did have one final wish.


    ***


    ¡°What happened to Shun?¡± Bertha asked, wiping away snot.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°The Ghost thing. The subs who died?¡±


    Wakami thought about it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t actually know. Not my crew. But I guess what usually happens with the Ghost: they disappeared. Signal lost, blood in the water, better luck next time. Umm. I heard it¡¯s quick and mostly painless?¡±


    She tried to soften the blow.


    ¡°How did Bertha even meet a sub? Why? What would they even talk about?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, she¡¯s with the Abyss now.¡±


    There. That should help. Remind the girl she¡¯ll see her again. If another Princess doesn¡¯t claim her first. Better not say that. Few would dare.


    There was a disgusted snort from the next table over. Riptide, Montana¡¯s sister.


    ¡°Really? All this over a dead sub? We¡¯ve been quarantined because sweet cheeks couldn¡¯t handle a little death?¡± she mocked. She wanted more, to break the damn freighters face. Riptide was a battleship, meant to protect her fleet, take the shells so they didn¡¯t have to. Half the escorts in the room were still huddling with their knees up, silent. Waiting until a Princess showed up to tell them the Nightmare was over. She¡¯d stomped all over a girls twist for her, for this, and it was nothing? A false alarm?


    Tell that to Susie. Fuck. It was all Bertha¡¯s fault. And the rest of East for fucking up so badly. Riptide wasn¡¯t even allowed to touch the girl under quarantine. It pissed her off something fierce.


    ¡°Fuck, I knew you East girls were bad, but this is a new level of failure. I heard you got ripped open a new one. Guess it just goes to show you deserved every single fail, if this is your level of competence. Are you going to cry over every useless ship that got herself sunk, you waste of steel?¡± she challenged.


    ¡°What did you say?¡± Bertha asked. It was nice. Polite. Perfectly level. Every hair on Wakumi¡¯s body was tingling. She could smell the lightning.


    ¡°I said: Any ship that gets sunk deserves it. For being too slow, too stupid and too lazy to do the work that could have saved their lives. I¡¯m saying it¡¯s no loss if trash sinks.¡± the battleship hammered on.


    Because she could, because she was beyond stressed and pissed off by this whole thing. By her failure, by the sickness scare. By her still crying sisters. By messing up Susie. Riptide needed a target to take it out on. This one was both unarmed and thus on the bottom of the heap and actually to blame which just made it all the sweeter when she unloaded on the incompetent civilian.


    Seeing her crumple, seeing any light go out of her eyes? It felt great. That bitch was getting exactly what she deserved. Bertha even froze and didn¡¯t move. Like she¡¯d sunk her. With a snort the battleship turned back to her own table. Riptide had damage control to run. Least she could do was take on some of the burden, with the Flag busy.


    ***


    They didn¡¯t even care. Sure the West was pouring out vitriol but her own escorts were no more moved or affected. Like losing them didn¡¯t matter. Plenty more where they came from. Did she not see Midway punching out monsters and girls by the dozen?


    Liquid fire poured down her veins as her alarms rang. Their allies gave their lives in common cause, fighting the same damn war, sacrificing everything, and they didn¡¯t even care. They were monsters. They were all monsters. She was doomed? Taylor would spit in their face if it was the last thing she did. It was only fair that if she was a monster, she got to be one, at least once. Whatever happened, there would be less monsters in the world. Taylor had been bowing and scraping, feeling weak for weeks.


    For the first time in her new life, she felt ready.


    ¡°At least this can end on a high note.¡±


    ***


    Wakumi wanted to go over and give those cold fuckers a few new holes. She didn¡¯t. The Light Carrier could feel invisible wind whirling around her. When Bertha got up, like she had, dozens of times, heading for the kitchen?


    Wakumi¡¯s head slowly retreated beneath her own table. Her arms reached out and pulled the closest two of the little menaces with her. Fleet sense told the rest to follow the Flag out of the line of fire. Bertha walked to the other table, in slow deliberate steps. Her rigging coming into the world, like the ocean rising to swallow the world and Wakumi was acutely aware just how big the other ship was. There was a hum around Bertha, an odd sound that wasn¡¯t one, so much as the absence of it.


    A bubble of silence affectionately wrapped around her.


    Part 5: Bertha


    It was odd, how simple her path was, once she was committed. She was just a freighter. Invisible, irrelevant. Give them five minutes and that battleship would forget Taylor existed. For shitting all over Shun¡¯s sacrifice? She¡¯d have front row seats.


    ***


    The blockade ships were still on edge. Montana had said everything was fine, but they still had jittery nerves and twitchy trigger fingers. Seeing her walking over, in her rigging? She was just a freighter, but the Curse wouldn¡¯t care about that. Getting rammed would hurt, but only do so much damage. Every girl in the line of battle that had relaxed now rigged again, just in case the flurry of cannon and steel drawing every eye in the room. They were watching her escorts more than her. That¡¯s where all the weapons were.


    Bertha strolled over behind the loudmouth, laying her hand on the back of the chair. The battleship didn¡¯t even look at her.


    ¡°You got something to say, flotsam?¡±


    Bertha smiled at everyone at the table, all teeth. The chair¡¯s back legs crunched as her foot shattered them, arm pulling back, the chair flying away to break on the walls. Leaving a battleship in free-fall. Bertha was kind enough to catch her mid-air. Her cranes whirled, the sound of their engines like the hiss of sea serpents as the lines moved like snakes. Viper quick, each line hugged one side of her target¡¯s neck, the hooks cutting pale flesh as they advanced and locked together at the front.


    ***


    ¡°It¡¯s no loss if trash sinks.¡± she quoted, her eyes watering. Taylor didn¡¯t need her eyes anyway.


    {Far Sight ¨C [Panopticon]}


    She could see¡­everything.


    ***


    The hooks were vicious, pointed things, pointed inwards so their bladed tips sunk into the battleships neck and the line was thin and sharp. The battleship fell. Bertha¡¯s cranes pulled. Black blood sprayed all over the floor as Bertha cut her neck to the bone. The other ships were rising, jumping up, but they¡¯d kept their guns pointed the wrong way. Trusting their leader to deal with the closest threat. Clawed hands were up and trying to grasp the lines in her throat as she gasped for air and found only blood.


    ***


    ¡°I¡¯m not weak.¡± She was surrounded and in enemy waters, but not weak. Not helpless. She wasn¡¯t half-starved and mad with hunger anymore. Taylor had just wanted to live. She knew better now. Survival would only turn her into a monster.


    ***


    Bertha turned, from the hips, her skirts parting, flaring. Her knee struck the back of the head as thunder rang outside, her lines flashing brilliant blue. The battleship slumped to the floor, spraying blood. Her severed head rolled across the lunch room table. The lines? Both snapped outwards in short arcs that sprayed black over everyone at the far side of the table. They were not the true targets. Left, right and from below, completing in the mouths of the girls to her left and right, voices raised in outrage and pain. Digging in to the roofs of their mouth as Bertha went over the table, rolling, pulling.


    Left with a choice to follow or have half their faces torn off, they followed, their hands grabbing for the lines, but unable to hold on. They were slick with blood and only cut one¡¯s fingers, though the other was having more success having the teeth of her cannon try and sever it. What she didn¡¯t have, was time. Both of them were half on the table, bent over, when Bertha made it to the other side.


    Bertha¡¯s feet found the floor in front of the Heavy Cruiser still reeling from the sudden explosion of violence, Riptide¡¯s sudden death and the blood in her eyes. It wasn¡¯t much, just a single step back as Bertha came over the table, but it gave her room. Room to land. To stand up and plant her feet. The lines went slack for a moment, before she pushed with her whole massive weight. The cables went taut with a snap, before adding two voices to the chorus of screams as the hooks tore their way out, taking most of their front teeth and tearing their noses on the way out.


    ¡°That¡¯s Bertha?¡± someone whispered. Wakumi realized it was her. She could feel the two girls in her arms shaking into her. She was shivering too.


    The weight off her back Bertha stepped into the fire. They were point blank but the Cruiser was done with this shit. She unloaded everything she had. Bertha slid, swayed. Knee bent, head back, leaning away just so. The shells landed into the table and the ships behind her, throwing up a curtain of debris and smoke. Not one hit her.


    ***


    ¡°It¡¯s not bugs on guns, but with these sensors the same lesson applies. Dodge the gun, not the bullet,¡± Taylor felt, as her blood sang. She was not useless. Not a tool to be wielded or hammered into shape. Taylor spat her denial of everything they were right in their teeth. She hoped they choked on it.


    ***


    For an instant her opponent hesitated, seeing Bertha bathed in flames and debris, yet unhurt. Hearing the cries of pain behind her she¡¯d caused by missing.


    Bertha didn¡¯t. She came on, boilers in overdrive, dropping low and driving her palm into the cruisers guts so hard it kept going. Both of them crashed into the wall with a thump that broke stone and cracked plating. Breathless the cruiser still tried to block the follow up. Her armored arms came up, deflecting Bertha¡¯s hooks from her face but it left her wide open to an uppercut that made her see stars and bounced her head of the wall again.


    Shadows came from the smoke behind Bertha, the same two Cruisers that Bertha had already bled, and they were murderous. They came to tear her apart, through the smoke and half blind with pain and injury. They saw a silhouette standing tall, taller than their missing sister. They lunged. She disappeared like smoke.


    Bertha hit the deck, down and sideways, spinning on her heel. Leaving one leg out, hooks flashing. The left cruiser felt fire on the back of her knee an instant before she hit something and tripped. She threw her arms up to catch herself and came out of the smoke to crash into her sister, dazed against the wall. Weakened, cracked plating gave way as her hand buried itself in her sister¡¯s stomach as she looked on in sick horror.


    ***


    The right one? Took a shoulder to the diaphragm to stun and stop her in place, before Taylor repeated her boxer impression. With a twist. Taylor¡¯s palm hit the bottom of her jaw, sending her reeling but she wasn¡¯t done. Her lines came whipping back, from below and around, hooks flashing in threat. The faint flash of steel drew eyes like nothing else. The feint left her wide open to a kick to the stomach that bent her over, unable the breath. Her hand grabbed the back of the cruisers neck and Taylor brought her knee up. The blow caved in her skull.


    ***


    The feint wasn¡¯t itself pointless. The momentum carried. Up and over and behind the mad girl, the other was just standing up. Removing her hand from her sister apology on her lips when the hooks came over the top of her head and buried themselves in her eyes. The explosions, shouting, screams? They were as nothing to the wail that came out of her throat as she was pulled towards her tormentor by her eyes. Bertha was a monster. A Demon.


    ***


    Yet as the smoke cleared the other ships had not been idle. Not overcome by pain and rage they¡¯d formed a [Line of Battle] that to Taylor more looked like a firing squad. That was a lot of gun pointed her way. As the smoke cleared and she reeled in her catch, it became a lot of murderous girls. They¡¯d been only furious before.


    ***


    Bertha wasn¡¯t satisfied with not only humiliating and killing Riptide, but was going after the rest? She was mad, to be put down. Their fears realized, the Curse before them in the flesh. Montana was wrong and the ships made for the thunder of battle would protect their sisters. If there was some small mercy, it was that Bertha¡¯s Escort fleet wasn¡¯t affected. They were cowing like the rest of the Lights.


    ***


    The shells came like rain. There was no dancing through it. Taylor didn¡¯t need to.


    She reeled the girl in, hand reaching behind and legs in the proper stance. As the rain fell, Taylor executed a textbook Aikido over the shoulder throw. Her tax dollars in action. That brought a smile to her face. The girl disintegrated in her hand as did the wall behind her. She¡¯d served as an adequate shield. Taylor felt several hot tears in her dress, as if her own flesh had torn, where shells had landed. A few stings in her body as well, but nothing critical. She still had her engines, her cranes. She could still fight.


    Still, charging a wall of guns was stupid and there was new cloud-cover to abuse.


    ***


    ¡°Did we get her?¡±


    ¡°Does it feel like we got her, dimwit? Keep your eyes peeled and shoot the moment you spot the fatfuck.¡±


    The Heavies were keeping their calm. Her own had abandoned Wakumi the first time Bertha had dodged shells at point blank range.


    ¡°What the hell? What in all the watery hells of the Abyss?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s smiling, dancing. She¡¯s¡­¡± murmured her gaggle of frightened Lights.


    ¡°Fighting like a Demon.¡± Wakumi finished in her own mind.


    ¡°A specter of death on the sea. A Demon slaughtering the weak around her.¡±


    Wakumi had seen something like it, fighting beside a Destroyer Princess. The Destroyer would blur, moving like wind. Bertha wasn¡¯t. She had long strides and she was fast, but not magic fast. What she was, was never where the shells were falling. That? That had Spooky Abyssal Bullshit all over it.


    Then Bertha burst out of the dust cloud running flat out. Running along the wall towards Wakumi. She flinched away, trying to shield at least the two she could but Bertha had another target. The heavy turrets were turning to track her, she wasn¡¯t that fast. They¡¯d catch her.


    As she ran by her hand and hooks lashed out, grabbing Nami and Bertha threw her like a rock right at the Heavies. She¡¯d ruined their firing lines by flanking, distracted the ones up close with her missile and again danced through the fire of the sole ship who had a clear shot. Before turning so hard her feet dug into the floor and she was sprinting for the line, to get under their guns.


    ***


    Taylor wasn¡¯t thinking anymore, just reacting, moving, each step another breath, another small victory. A taste of freedom.


    ***


    The hooks went low. The Heavy Cruiser didn¡¯t care about the damage. She swung, the shark heads on her hands hungry for blood. Bertha took that exchange, hooks digging into legs while the arms went for her. She was taller, wiry, had a longer arm. Her blow landed first, tracking unerringly. Bertha¡¯s hand was a spear, driven by the force of both girls going at each other.


    She rammed her hand into the bridge so hard her wrist was scraping against the other girls skull where her eyelid used to be. The cruiser collapsed, the shark teeth scraping against Bertha, but the cuts were shallow. Turned off like a light. For a moment Bertha¡¯s hand was still stuck in her skull.


    Montana burst through the door. She¡¯d ran in, summoned by the screams and shelling. The Flagship took the situation in at glance. Turned and fired in a single motion. The full barrage of a Flagship Battleship.


    ***


    Taylor barely had time to raise her stump to shield her face, tucking in behind her shoulder before the pain hit.


    ***


    She could have cut her in half. Gutted her there and then. But that never stopped the Ghost of Kyushu, and if she was struck with the madness? If Montana had missed something? Then containment was the order of the day. Death would just allow her spirit to slip away and she¡¯d claw her way out of the Abyss again somewhere else. So she only put a couple of shells in her body.


    Most of the barrage broke both of Bertha¡¯s legs to splinters. Or it damn well should have. Her legs were weeping blood from a dozen wounds but Bertha was still standing. That was another point to the Princess theory. Which would complicate Montana¡¯s life a bit, if she killed her. The Court would worse than just execute her for killing a Princess. Or any of the other ships taking aim.


    ¡°Alive! We need her alive.¡± The Flagship ordered.


    The [Command] ripped down the line at the speed of thought. Deeper growls emerged from multiple throats, but the guns went down. Then all six remaining Heavy Cruisers charged her.


    Bertha took a single step back, but it proved too much. She could stand, but her engines were torched. Her feet wobbled dangerously, so she met the charge in place, head on. Without her footing her blows lacked force, and with six of them the two targeted by her hooks could focus on defense while the other four overran her. There was a flash of petty coats and two Torpedo Imps leaped from their hiding places, right into the face of the charging Heavies.


    The resulting explosion shook the whole room. They¡¯d detonated every torpedo on them. Montana leapt into the dust and debris.


    There, waiting for her, were four ships, two kills and one very angry, broken thing. The Cruisers were tearing apart Bertha¡¯s cranes, while another two held her down, bleeding from the shrapnel. But the girl was down. Abyss damn it.


    Bertha was a hissing, screaming, crying girl, still trying to hurt, to bite. Eyes could be regrown and Heavies were used to cuts and blood. Hells, they could re-summon the losses. It still hurt like a bitch to see her fleet so reduced.


    Looking at her leaking eyes, Montana still could find no signs of madness. An ocean of pain and grief, a storm of grim determination, but no madness. Even if Spooky Abyssal Bullshit was in full effect. Bertha¡¯s tears were a clean blue so pure they hurt to look at. Every tear that left her face, fell right through the floor, like it was falling straight to the Abyss to a hum that echoed in Montana¡¯s bones.


    And the screeching, Abyss. No words, just an endless tide of sound. Like listening to whale song with a faulty sonar. It hurt.


    ¡°So, feel like talking yet?¡± Montana tried.


    ¡°Because we¡¯re going to be here for a while and I can¡¯t understand a word coming out of your mouth.¡±


    She hoped she didn¡¯t have to sit on her to end this racket. The room was wrecked and Montana hadn¡¯t hit with all of her own shots, punching more holes in the building. At least none of them hit another girl.


    Slowly, the volume came down. The very fact it could was a sign no one was sick here. The madness could hide, and hide well, but once it blew there was no stopping it. If not that, what the hell happened?


    ***


    Everything hurt. Taylor had no idea how much it would hurt to have her cranes broken. It was worse than losing an arm. She kept trying to move them and they¡¯d twitch, pumping liquid, refined suffering right into her heart. Breaking her cranes had felt like losing the arm all over again. Taylor had grown to depend on them for everything. Sewing, cooking, she only had one arm. The cranes had turned into true extensions of herself. Now they were broken and so was she.


    ¡°Talking? What¡¯s there to talk about? Kill me and be done with it. Or are you going to torture me first you crazy Abyssal?¡± she ground out. Her throat hurt. It was a minor thing in the litany of pain, but the way it made her sound breathless was irritating.


    ¡°No one is killing anyone.¡± Then she seemed to catch herself. The room was a charnel house, filled with terrified and crying girls.


    ¡°No one is killing you.¡±


    ¡°Figures. You won¡¯t even let me die. So what¡¯s next, for this unworthy one? Punishment for raising her hands against the beloved masters?¡± Taylor asked sarcastically. She was beat up, in pain and very tired, but damn her if she wasn¡¯t going to keep pissing the other girl off. Maybe she¡¯ll lose it and end Taylor before the knives come out.


    ***


    Montana blinked. Several times. ¡°What are you talking about? If you are so unhappy, why¡¯d you stay?¡±


    The girl scoffed. ¡°Yeah, right. That¡¯s a really funny joke. Let¡¯s me just waltz on over to the evil cannibal overlord and ask her for a retirement package. She¡¯ll retire me alright, right down her gullet.¡±


    ¡°No, Midway wouldn¡¯t do that. Not for no reason.¡± Montana argued.


    ¡°I¡¯ve lost four fingers learning that she¡¯ll do whatever the fuck she wants to.¡± The disgust and pain was dripping off that statement.


    ¡°Well she has to enforce discipline. The rest is just her twist making everything worse, as they tend to. But if you wanted to leave, why are you still in her fleet?¡± Montana asked, letting her [Fleet-sense] spread into the girl. No luck, she wasn¡¯t in her fleet.


    ***


    Taylor felt something prodding at her. For all that her condition was miserable, she¡¯d had a significant infusion of Bauxite. It had filled her with power and a sense that the hole, these missing pieces might be filled in and she¡¯d spent most of it on ongoing repairs. It was just a thing that happened, like blood clotting. She could no more stop it, then will herself to stop bleeding.


    But as the feeling prodded at her, something did wake up. A part that was damaged and half blind, but that had been fixed somewhat with the infusion of extra Bauxite. Taylor had been born into this world, half dead and with already empty stores. Now, for the first time, her ship senses could perceive the lines linking them together, as the prodding turned the damage control crews to focus on that system first and they found themselves having the materials on hand to actually get to fixing it.


    ***


    Something was odd here. Montana should have been able to get at least something from the sense. But it was broken, busted, only the corrupted name ¡°?a$%$r #=bert¡± answering. Bert for Bertha, she figured. The damage must have been from before the fighting. The starvation really did a number on her.


    There was a burst of static, as the sense flared into being, lines reaching out to fellows among the Pacific East. Strongest links to her Detached Duty Escorts, weaker ones elsewhere. Montana knew Shinigami¡¯s sign, so that would make her Bertha¡¯s direct superior.


    Those lines were too thick, as energy pulsed down them. They were turning, the power flowing the wrong way. Theory was one thing, this was as good as proof, as soon as-


    ***


    Taylor felt them. Her fleet. Always there, in the back of her mind. Pushing, prodding and adjusting her, but so garbled she could hardly tell. This thing, this sense was where that damn Flag effect had latched on. This is where those damn pulses to obey the warships and not fight back kept whispering in her mind. No. Not to not fight back, but not to kill them. Taylor had seen no point in just fighting back. They would come back with more, stronger ships and only beat her down harder. But this? This fleet, with her at the bottom? Is that what everyone saw, felt?


    No more. Never again. Taylor was her own, no one else¡¯s. She would not live as a slave anymore. Even if it killed her. Taylor¡¯s will crashed into the link, with murderous intent. The already frayed links, weak from the start from never being truly accepted, tore like kindling.


    ***


    -Midway saw this, she¡¯d have no choice but to proclaim her as a Princess. Montana would have liked to do it herself, but this was Midway¡¯s home. Proclaiming another while a guest just wasn¡¯t done. Not unless you were trying to force the owner to surrender, or go to war. It was usurpation of Court Authority, a nasty thing at the best of times.


    Bertha was looking at her bonds is horrified wonder, as if seeming them for the first time. There was vicious satisfaction flowing through her that had no cause Montana could see.


    At least now, this could be solved. No way would the Court let a proven Princess-


    Every bond tore at once as Bertha Exiled herself. Suddenly, she was a fleet of one. Which was suicide. Every ship knew that being alone was death. Even subs needed Anchorages to come back to, or eventually the Hunger would worse than kill them. And everyone knew it, were born knowing that being alone was a fate worse than death.


    Tearing at her connections, her soul like that? It should have been agony, for anyone.


    Bertha? Her face showed blessed relief. Like she¡¯d tasted the finest vengeance. Like she could finally rest. All the tension went out of her.


    That? That was wrong. This wasn¡¯t some tantrum. Or a nasty brawl that had turned deadly. All along Bertha had been trying to break her bonds, trying to get out. She wasn¡¯t acting out, Bertha hadn¡¯t known things that were so basic that everyone was born knowing them. So why would anyone teach them to a new girl? Until Montana pointed them out, Bertha hadn¡¯t known how to even look for it.


    That was impossible. Nothing Montana had heard of would make a ship be born, unknowing how to even manage the basics of being a ship. It was unnatural. And it was getting worse.


    Bertha was sinking. Montana was shaking. What was wrong with her?


    She turned, pinning the repair ship with a look.


    ¡°What are you waiting for? Get over here!¡±


    The Ra jumped as though she¡¯d just spotted a fish in the water coming for her. She ran over and slid into the offal around the not-crazy yet crazy girl. After a moment, her face filled with dread and defeat.


    ¡°She¡¯s full of holes. I can¡¯t patch them fast enough.¡± Her head hung. The shit-storm that would ensue when the Court found out they were in the room when a Princess was killed was horrendous. Without a member of the Court present it would engulf everyone here as being blamed for not acting to stop it. Every Light in the room that wasn¡¯t yet, started weeping.


    Wakumi was beyond lost. They¡¯d felt it, for an instant. Bertha was a Princess. And the moment the ship they¡¯d sailed so long for had finally reached back to them, it had spurned them. No. Much worse. It hated them. Bertha hated them, without exception. They¡¯d somehow earned the eternal enmity of a Princess. Death would not save them. When everyone burst into tears, hearing a Princess was dying? Wakumi couldn¡¯t even muster up relief. The Court would bury them alive. Every one of her girls was doomed and even if she killed them right now, death would only delay the punishment.


    Their corner was silent. What could they do, say? Now? Nothing. They had already doomed themselves. But how were they supposed to know a Princess could rise up so broken, she would not even know herself? It wasn¡¯t their fault. It wasn¡¯t. But they¡¯d pay for it anyway.


    ***


    This, this was enough, right? Taylor would die free. She¡¯d saved some remnant of her world, and many more untouched. Whatever the Abyss was, this Earth had no mention of golden light obliterating continents.


    She¡¯d killed the bitch that had mocked Shun, and removed several monsters from this world. As her pumps shut down and she started sinking, Taylor figured it was enough. This was a horrible life and she¡¯d rather not have had to live it, but at least some good would come of it. There was no point in struggling anymore. This existence, this thing? Taylor had lived through Brockton Bay after Leviathan. That was a kinder place. This way of life? In endless violence, bickering, fear and misery? It wasn¡¯t worth living. Only to what, become a monster herself? If her death could make it better?


    ¡°Good enough¡± Taylor decided.


    ***


    The wailing, the death visited upon this room. The concentrated sense of confusion, loss and doom. It combined with Royal blood and a charnel house, with a concept and a history and a legend to bring into the world another little piece of the Abyss.


    {Boat Graveyard}


    Part 6: Princess


    Montana watched Bertha sink. Felt the storm rising, but she was no Witch. What did the death of a Princess do to the world? As Bertha sank, she could see the shoals. Montana could see the corpses, dozens of ships sunk by their own crews rising out of the surf. In spite, in vengeance, in search of a better life. Deliberate suicide as a form of war. Now echoing, weaponized.


    Her crew was rebelling. Demanding on board libraries and regular lunch breaks. Swimming pools and book clubs and art supplies. They were breaking her from within. One of her turrets blew up as a Nightmare took its hammer fists right to the shells stored in the turret. Montana fell to her knees. Crew tried to seize her engine room, but loyalists fought them off.


    Everyone else was worse off. She had her position, her reinforcement and bond as a Flagship. The other girls were not as lucky. They were dying. Being torn apart, blowing up from within. No one was spared. Most of her turrets were still tracking. Montana aimed at the sinking ship and wondered if she¡¯d have to kill a Princess today. She prayed not. With a Flagship as a focal point, the others joined in. The [Abyssal Call] ringing throughout the ether. An alarm, a call, a prayer for aid, from a fleet marooned on hidden shoals and in need of a guide through the shallows.


    ***


    Midway was deep in her Ritual work when the call came in, blaring in her bones. Such was her focus that but a small fraction of her attention noted it, trying to decide if to rouse the rest of her. She felt East respond, using one of her ready Rituals, passing through the Abyss and her Wards to emerge in the lagoon in seconds. She would deal with it. Midway could get back to what really mattered.


    ***


    The Empress was not a happy Princess. She emerged from the pool of Abyssal waters in a fountain that spit her up on land, already running. Having to willingly sink herself unharmed was always unpleasant, but a small price to pay for the strategic mobility. Even with the bites the True Abyss took out of her in tribute for the passing. She could take it. Having to spend such an asset was less than ideal, but she couldn¡¯t delay responding to a chunk of her fleet in this much trouble. That the Perfect Princess was not to be disturbed in her Ritual work was well established.


    The Battleship Princess arrived ready for war and found a Graveyard. The hulls of ships broken, sinking, many half sunk, but already doomed. She felt the


    {Boat Graveyard}


    try and touch her august self and unleashed her own glory in response.


    {Hakk¨­ ichiu}*<sup>1</sup>


    The clear sunny sky, the Roof of the World, exploded into the dying Nightmare, lifting the spirits of every ship present, buoying them out of the reach of the depths. One was the aura of a broken, defeated thing, newborn. The other a Princess that was damaged but at the height of her power. It was no contest.


    Not all could be saved. Wakumi was hugging two girls. One of which was bleeding and broken from internal explosions, but now arrested mid sinking, clawing for life yet again. She¡¯d survive as long as the Princess¡¯s aura was there to deliver her to the baths. The other had pointed her own cannons at her bridge and fired. She was beyond help. Midway would have to pull her out.


    The Empress turned to deliver her judgment. She felt no signs of the clotting, cloying madness in the girl, but that was no reassurance. The Battleship Princess advanced, putting the girl under her guns. The Court could sort her out after she¡¯d enacted her vengeance. No one killed her girls and got away with it. Least of all, a ship that would abandon Her Fleet. How dare she?


    Then Montana was between them, bowing deeply.


    ¡°Your Glorious Imperial Majesty, I beg a moment of your forbearance.¡± She considered it.


    ¡°You may speak.¡± The Empress allowed.


    ¡°My eternal thanks Your Blessed Imperial Majesty. I believe her acting in ignorance, not malice. I would swear that until a moment ago, she had not even known how to use her own [Fleet-sense].¡±


    ¡°That you would argue for the killer of your sisters shows your honor, but you speak nonsense.¡± The Empress decried, walking past the bowed ship. It was a simple matter to disprove. Her will probed the disabled, sinking ship as her eyes peered deep into the fallen ships soul. The Empress saw only the deep blue, near black Abyss reflected back in them. No trace of the madness, or of any other fault.


    ¡°?a$%$r #=bert¡± The [Fleet-sense] yielded. The Empress blinked. Most of the letters sounded like screeching cats and so much was missing. Wasn¡¯t this a Uwi-Class? Where was its class designation? Where was the rest of it?


    ¡°Is this one not called ¡°Bertha¡±? she inquired.


    ¡°It is my understanding that Shinigami named her such, Your Eternal Imperial Majesty¡± Montana hinted.


    The Battleship Princess pondered that.


    ¡°We are most vexed, good servant of our dear friend. Known well to Us is the propensity of our first to take on her own shoulders the burdens of her little sisters. But this wound is beyond her ability to mend. That she would hide this from Us? It is most distressing.¡° she admitted.


    ¡°It is my belief that the instant she was capable of it, she severed herself from every other ship in the fleet. In all the fleets, Your Fabulous Imperial Majesty .¡± Montana testified.


    The Empress blushed, snapping open her fan to hide her shame.


    ¡°Uncouth flatterer. Known well to Us are the wiles of those of the West.¡± she warned seriously, but her eyes were laughing above the waving fan.


    ¡°Very well, The Court will hear of this. The fault will no doubt fall upon Midway as her port of origin to pay recompense. Our own failure is lesser and some was repaid in spilled blood. Debt for debt, through another must by necessity judge the balance of those scales.¡± she spoke, pinning Montana with her burning eyes.


    ¡°Advise your Mistress not to jest in this manner, or I shall be very cross with the both of you. My honor is at stake. Mishandle it at your peril.¡± she warned in a voice that promised fire and death.


    So done, she clapped and by now everyone knew the drill. Those that could, helped up those that couldn¡¯t, or carried them, buoyed by the false health of The Empress. Montana carried Bertha. She¡¯d stopped sinking when her bottom had hit the seafloor between her sandbars, with her bridge still out of the water. She was out cold and her rigging had melted into murk. As Montana carried her, they left a trail of blood seeping from Bertha¡¯s wounds and seawater dripping from her feet.


    The instant the last girl was out of the room and the aura with them, the abused building collapsed. The Empress just knew Midway would be petty enough to charge her for a replacement.


    *1: Hakk¨­ ichiu-The World Under One Roof


    ***


    Taylor woke to steam. She was still in quite a bit of pain, but at least some of it had faded. It was not a familiar way to awaken. She¡¯d had quite a few. Being yet again naked irritated some part of her, but mostly she was surprised to still be alive. The repair baths were not where she was expecting to wake, if she woke up at all. If she wasn¡¯t mistaken this was the VIP section. Not what the Abyss called it, but the inside of her own mind was her own.


    Taylor had stood beyond those doors in her early days, waiting to be called to fetch some minor delight while Shinigami luxuriated in the back. She wasn¡¯t alone here.


    ¡°Awake then? Good. The baths are fairly dull without company.¡±


    Taylor turned to look at the speaker. It wasn¡¯t easy. The pool she was in was fairly large, big enough that if she slipped down Taylor could drown. She wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d have the strength to get up again. Shifting her legs made every crack hurt all over so Taylor made the sane decision not to move. Still, she had managed to turn her head.


    A towering, pale beauty was in the other working pool, her elbows on the edge and in a similar state of undress. Maybe it was the steam, or her own state, but she didn¡¯t want to deal with this right now, so she turned her eyes away.


    ¡°Oh. A Westerner then.¡± There was a loud clap.


    ¡°Towels.¡±


    A girl scurried into the pool room, carrying large, fluffy towels. The woman took hers with a regal air, wrapping them around her with practiced motions. Taylor had to be covered up like an invalid. Which was better than she expected to come out if this, if she was being honest.


    The other pool was silent until the girl was out of ear shot. Taylor didn¡¯t really register what she said. While being helped, something had deeply confused her. A part of her was telling her that the girl was a Light Cruiser. Fair enough, that matched her expectations. But the ship part of her was roughed up, full of holes and very tired. Taylor was a mess, yes, but she hadn¡¯t felt this human in weeks, months.


    So what Taylor saw wasn¡¯t a Cruiser. Or a warship. Taylor saw a five foot nothing, fourteen, maybe fifteen year old. Eager to please and more than a bit scared she would mess something up, disappoint her elders and suffer for it. Being able to recognize expressions again was nice. Taylor would definitely recommend Abyssal health insurance to her friends. But what really blew her mind was how she had never, not even in her dreams, noticed just how young she looked.


    ¡°You must have many question and I¡¯ve quite a few of my own. Shall we trade?¡± the woman offered in a calm, confident voice. The question piecing the fog.


    Taylor tried to reply and had to spend a minute coughing and spitting out blood. How she¡¯d survived with only one lung was not something she wanted to think about right now.


    ¡°How old is she?¡± she asked. The woman gave her a considering look.


    ¡°Not one I was expecting. Well done. She is four and seven months, if I don¡¯t miss my guess. Through perhaps we should not count the months she spent in the care of the Abyss. What¡¯s your name Little Sis?¡± Japanese. They were speaking in Japanese. So not quite all the way dead, eh ship self?


    ¡°I understand you are trying for some kind of pretense of civility, so I¡¯ll warn you: Don¡¯t call me that.¡±


    The woman blinked. ¡°Whyever not?¡±


    It was Taylor¡¯s turn to consider the other woman. Repair baths were not so bad a place to be, all things considered.


    ¡°Shinigami was quite fond of calling me that. I am not fond of her, or the memories,¡± Taylor tested the waters.


    ¡°Shinigami will be having quite a bad month when I get to her. Her service in battle must be considered, but that will not shield her from this.¡± she said.


    ¡°That would be quite the trick. Wasn¡¯t she a casualty?¡± Taylor wondered.


    ¡°Indeed. That is why her service is to be considered. I suppose I have until Midway¡¯s Ritual to consider her punishment. What is your name?¡± the woman asked.


    ¡°How is a ritual going to change anything? You planning to talk to her ghost?¡± Taylor asked. She was met with silence and a raised eyebrow.


    ¡°Am I not Bertha?¡± Taylor challenged.


    ¡°My dear, we both know you are nothing like a Bertha. For all you¡¯ve drawn a following for your more motherly skills.¡± she answered with a short smile.


    ¡°It¡¯s Taylor¡± she grumbled. This was among the softest interrogations she¡¯d ever had. The tilted head prompted her to expand on it. ¡°Taylor Hebert. Not Herbert. Hebert.¡±


    ¡°And I am The Empress. Mandatory The.¡± The woman was being dead serious.


    ¡°Since you are a peer, I suppose a simple Majesty will do in public. But our adoring subjects are away and so we can dispense with formality. You may call me Konoe.¡±


    ¡°My question?¡± Taylor insisted.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s simple really. Midway is going to raise those lost. Re-summon them from the Abyss. We¡¯ve done it plenty of times.¡±


    She now had Taylor¡¯s full and undivided attention.


    ¡°You can do that? Just raise the dead. All of them?¡± Taylor hoped.


    ¡°All she can. There¡¯s a degree of bargaining to it, but with the supplies you delivered there should be no problems. It¡¯s Midway.¡± Konoe finished, smooth, unruffled confidence oozing out of her.


    Some part of Taylor suddenly relaxed. With the hope had come fire. She¡¯d already suspected with how this whole life had gone that some manner of human sacrifice would be needed for it.


    ¡°She won¡¯t need some live sacrifices for that neat trick, will she?¡± Taylor asked, trying not to show how rattled this conversation was making her.


    ¡°That¡¯s two questions, but I¡¯ll be gracious. No, for all that they call us Sea Witches in those horrid papers, that¡¯s just silly. What would we even do with human blood? It sticks to everything and is useless as an agent. Just spoils the broth.¡± The Empress shook her head.


    ¡°No silly, she¡¯ll be using her own blood. To better connect to the Abyss. Now I¡¯ve been rather patient, but I really must ask: What do you remember?¡± Taylor flinched. There it was. She did not need to fake the grimace her scattered recollections of the End, or the first memories of her new life brought.


    ¡°So bad? I supposed we all have our secrets. Another question then.¡±


    What? Was she just going to let it go like that?


    There was that head tilt again. Her eyes were ramping up, going from warm and red, like a fire pit, to an open furnace. ¡°Taylor. If a Princess tells or shows you that she does not wish to discuss her life Before, you will not insist on it. Am I clear young lady?¡±


    She nodded. It hurt to move, but her tongue had dried out just from being near that flame. The room was a lot steamier. ¡°We¡¯re few enough already, without killing each other,¡± she admitted glumly.


    Clap!


    ¡°More water.¡± she commanded.


    ***


    The conversation that followed was halting, but very informative. Unwritten rules, customs, the basics of magic, skills. Taylor didn¡¯t like the information, but had no idea why the woman would have lied about any of it. Well, no, she had many ideas, but none that stood up to scrutiny. Most deceptions fell apart when it looked like Taylor was going to be allowed to walk out of here under her own power to go see for herself.


    It was hard to accept, but made a disturbing amount of sense. Not with her waking life, but the dreams? A disturbing amount of sense. Most of it.


    ¡°Explain that to me again. Because that sounds crazy.¡± Taylor insisted. Because it was crazy. Literally.


    ¡°We all have a twist. A place in our soul where we were broken, where the Abyss seeped in. You are not spared this. A twist can be little, or twist a girl entire. It depends on the girl. But perhaps familiar examples would help. Knowing what you know, can you guess what twists ail Shinigami? Or Sapphire?¡±


    Taylor thought about it, combing her memories.


    ¡°She¡¯s a Big Sister.¡± she guessed.


    ¡°You say the words, but have you understood them?¡± The Empress challenged.


    ¡°There is no may, or can, will? She is a Big Sister. A Good Big Sister. Every subordinate she has is her Little Sister. Disturb that fantasy and Shinigami becomes violent. Stay within it, and she is among our better Division leaders. ¡± Taylor was not convinced.


    ¡°I can see that disbelief. She is kind, affectionate and caring for her Little Sisters. She would face hell for them and Shinigami has died in their defense. She fights all the harder for each one and demands excellence and immediate obedience for hesitation can kill in battle. But stray from that safe island of fantasy and you will earn her unending enmity until you fit into her world. Most don¡¯t get that far. Her girls guard her heart, as she guards them in battle. Most ships transferred under her command are swiftly taught to fit in by her subordinates. You, I hear, were a lot more stubborn.¡± she asserted with a smile that swiftly curdled at the expression on Taylor¡¯s face.


    ¡°You could say that. It¡¯s understating things significantly, but let¡¯s go with that.¡± Taylor tried to control it, she did. But she was empathically, viscerally unhappy with those two in particular. Which might be why their twists were the ones being expanded on here.


    ¡°They can¡¯t help themselves. None of them can. They can no more fly then resist their twists. It¡¯s what separates Us from them.¡± She finished quietly.


    ¡°So what? If I¡¯d only gone along with the crazy chick, everything would have been all sunshine and rainbows? That was the plan?¡± Taylor asked in disbelief.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have you know most young Abyssal need some structure in their lives. They were available, reliable and safe enough. Yes, if only you could accept the fantasy, this all could have been avoided. I felt you would, which is why I approved the posting. So some of that is on me as well.¡±


    Taylor allowed herself to glare at her. She was done with pretending. It hadn¡¯t worked out well. Maybe this would end better. Certainly it couldn¡¯t go worse. This mess was a pretty high bar to beat.


    ¡°I thought you were a freighter. They¡¯re practically spineless, the lot of them. It wasn¡¯t my responsibility to Announce you. It still isn¡¯t,¡± Konoe said, rolling her eyes.


    ¡°Obviously if I¡¯d known, things would have been different. Poor Shinigami must have been so confused that she couldn¡¯t break a freighter. She was doomed to failure from the start. We don¡¯t break.¡± She lamented, shaking her head.


    ¡°I¡¯d appreciate it if you did not speak of them abusing me like you were pitying them.¡± Taylor objected.


    ¡°It is pitiful. From the moment I placed you with them, your conflict was unavoidable and none of us knew it. You were her subordinate. Shinigami could not, not would not, but could not stop trying to make you one of her Little Sisters. She sent Sapphire after you. That must have been unpleasant.¡± Konoe sympathized.


    ¡°But it¡¯s also a sign of how close she was to breaking. She¡¯d failed at making you a Good Little Sister and only her faith in a trusted, competent Second kept her going. That Sapphire would make it work. That she wouldn¡¯t lose you. Because Shinigami had already taken you into her family.¡± the Princess claimed.


    ¡°Oh she¡¯d pretend not to care. Everyone knew. Every week the Divison would gather together and hear from Sapphire about your trips. Wakumi kept her current. Shinigami was so happy to learn you were thriving. Sad that it was something about her that was messing with your twist, but so happy to hear you were better. She sent letters for you to Wakumi, to give to you when you were ready. Forbidden anyone from coming to visit you, from pushing too soon, to avoid a relapse. Or did you think none of them seeing you after your Detached Duty began was an accident?¡± The Empress asked.


    ¡°None of that makes any sense.¡± Taylor complained.


    ¡°It usually doesn¡¯t.¡± The Empress sadly agreed. ¡°But they were happy, so does it matter?¡± she asked.


    ¡°And what about miss ¡°Cram a pacifier in my face?¡± Sapphire?¡± Taylor bitterly asked.


    It was still humiliating to remember and Taylor couldn¡¯t quite believe she¡¯d asked that. There was something about the Princess that made her human. Approachable.


    ¡°Sapphire can¡¯t fail. Not an order from a superior. Order her to charge Japan alone and she¡¯ll die trying. Sapphire will do her utmost to meet her duties. Every time. That¡¯s her twist. There¡¯s a reason why she¡¯s in charge of the Divisions supplies and logistics. But she should never be trusted with a girl¡¯s heart,¡± The Empress said despondently.


    ¡°She¡¯ll follow orders, to the letter, rigid and unbending and care nothing for her past masters or the feeling of her current subject. Sapphire is a competent professional and she¡¯ll do what she thinks needs doing to complete her mission and do it well. Or kill herself trying.¡± Konoe explained.


    ¡°In many ways, she¡¯s better off.¡±


    Taylor have her a disbelieving look.


    ¡°Oh yes. She has enough of a handle on her twist it does not leave her open to despair nearly as often. She understands that sometimes the world is unfair and the job impossible from the start. Or that success may not be entirely up to her. She can accept that, which is fairly impressive twist management.¡± she praised.


    ¡°I¡¯d inquired about your fate when she gave up on you. Sapphire said she¡¯d done her part. Done things that should have broken any freighter. Clearly, you were the defective one and it was time to try something new. Sapphire was more right then perhaps she realized. You make for a terrible freighter. With a fire like that?¡± She looked at Taylor with piercing eyes.


    ¡°It makes me wonder. What have you been up to?¡± The Empress asked.


    ¡°Nothing.¡± Taylor said, feeling a flush on her cheeks. The Black Market was hers and she wasn¡¯t giving it up.


    What was with this woman? Why did Taylor feel like she should be respectful? It wasn¡¯t the ship stuff, she¡¯d pulled that out and it was mostly asleep anyway. It was the air around her, her bearing, how she smiled, calm and considered. It was striking and Taylor was less and less alright with effect it had on her.


    ¡°Keep your secrets. I¡¯ll find out anyway. It¡¯s more fun to figure it out for myself. Too many are all too happy to bend to my every whim.¡± she complained. That seemed like a problem Taylor might like having¡­ what the hell was she thinking?


    This conversation was breaking her mind in weird ways. Taylor peered at the elegant, confident woman. ¡°I lost track, didn¡¯t I. How old are you?¡± she asked.


    ¡°What a rude question. If you must know I¡¯m six and a half,¡± she admitted.


    Seeing the disbelief on Taylor¡¯s face, The Empress flushed.


    ¡°And fourteen days. I¡¯m not an old maid,¡± she protested.


    Taylor decided that until she saw differently for herself, she needed to keep an open mind to survive this madness. Or she might just find herself one of the patients.


    ***


    They talked for hours. By the end? Taylor wasn¡¯t at all sure what to believe anymore. She was still rather unconvinced on the whole Magic Rituals and Resurrection thing. But it wasn¡¯t hard to agree to wait and see. It was only a couple of days.


    Two things from the rest of that conversation stood out.


    Abyssal ship girls, the woman calling herself The Empress had said, all have a twist. A place in their soul where they were broken, where the Abyss had seeped in. Where it was still linked to them. This connection pulled them to it when they died and Princesses could pay the Abyss, bargain with it to have the girls back.


    She¡¯d framed it in almost religious terms. No, she¡¯d not kid herself. They were religious terms for the Abyss. Like one of the Ten Commandments for a zealot.


    ¡°We feed the Abyss, and it feeds us.¡±


    The echo, the resonance in that thing had rang Taylor¡¯s skull even in her diminished state.


    ***


    The second was more personally concerning.


    ¡°If this is how every girl in the Abyss is, if any of this is true, then how are you still standing? How do you wage war on entire nations and do what the Abyss has done? Conquer cities, contest the rule of an ocean?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t let Midway hear you say that. She fancies herself Queen of The Pacific Ocean. It¡¯s a work in progress.¡± Konoe shrugged.


    ¡°And how?¡± she asked.


    ¡°We make it work Taylor Hebert. When their twists drive them to despair, we are there to lift them up. We care for and guide them, quell their ills and fend off their fears. We pick them up when they fail and clean up after them when it goes badly.¡± The Empress said, looking at Taylor. Taylor did not appreciate the implications.


    ¡°We tend to their wounds, of body and heart. Should the day come that they sink to the Abyss, we wade into its depths to pull them out again. We are their lighthouses in the storm, guiding them away from dangerous waters, the reason why they don¡¯t fall to madness and the hope of a better tomorrow. Of grudges avenged and twists managed.¡± she finished quietly.


    ¡°That is what it means to be a Princess Taylor Hebert. That is our privilege, our duty. Our burden.¡± It was like The Empress was confiding in her. But it was the ¡°our¡± that really bothered Taylor. Because it sounded like The Empress was including her in it.


    And that? That was crazy.


    Part 7: Taylor (I Promise You)


    Taylor didn¡¯t stick around in the baths. For one, The Empress might have had a nice clock telling her how long she needed to stay, but all Taylor had was a bunch of gibberish. Came with never having a full exam, apparently.


    For another, Taylor liked feeling human again. Sure, she felt like she¡¯d pulled several muscles and everything ached. She needed a cane to walk. But that was a cheap price for having a clear head and keeping her ship self mostly quiet.


    So as soon as she could, Taylor got out of there. Too much information, The Empress was trying to stuff an entire world view down her throat. Taylor had tired of it, at least for the time being. She was mobile again.


    Someone had arranged for a demure one piece swimsuit to be waiting for her. It was a nice deep blue. Taylor didn¡¯t even have to be careful not to tear it with an errant twitch. Rather, she struggled to put it on, but she managed. The helpful hands were firmly rebuffed. Taylor was injured, not an invalid. She tried not to look too closely. Their eyes made her uncomfortable. There was a weight of expectation behind them. Like Taylor owed them to be something she wasn¡¯t. Luckily, none of them approached her as she hobbled out of the baths.


    Wakumi was sitting on the ground outside, leaning against the wall. The carrier looked eighteen, nineteen. A recently enrolled college freshman, maybe. She bobbed up to her feet and gave Taylor a happy little smile.


    ¡°All done Miss?¡± Wakumi asked.


    Now Taylor wasn¡¯t great with people. They tended to be uncomfortable around bugs. Wakumi? Her eyes were dark, down. Not at all in matching with her smile or voice. The Miss was new.


    ¡°Miss? What happened to Bertha?¡± she asked absentmindedly, trying to reorient herself.


    ¡°Huh. The lunch room¡¯s collapsed. That was a bit more collateral damage then I was expecting.¡± Taylor thought.


    Wakumi¡¯s smile only grew a bit, stiffening.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t hope to presume, Miss,¡± she answered.


    Her eyes were fixed somewhere around Taylor¡¯s bellybutton. After weeks spent being glared at, this change; this shift? It was eerie from her Escort Leader. Taylor shook her head, she needed some time off. She figured Wakumi would have been more pissed off at her for using one of the girls as a missile.


    ¡°Then don¡¯t,¡± Taylor tried out.


    There was nothing. No pushback, no ¡°just a freighter jokes¡±. No beating. Wakumi was pretending to be as meek as a newborn kitten and Taylor personally knew better. Which only raised her unease. It was one thing to be told the Abyss was crazy. This was something else.


    ¡°I¡¯m leaving,¡± Taylor said, because it felt awkward not to as she started hobbling to her place. She heard footsteps following her.


    ¡°Still escorting me Wakumi?¡± She probed.


    ¡°Apologies, Miss. This one was ordered to ensure there are no more accidents.¡±


    That? That had grated on her from the beginning. The way they were supposed to lower themselves before their betters. Part of her told her it was culture clash. Japanese politeness clashing with American¡­ Individualism, pride. Something. They were speaking Japanese but Taylor was from Brockton Bay.


    It grated on Taylor to speak that way and it still grated on her to be spoken to like this. She knew the translation wasn¡¯t perfect, that nuance and meaning were lost but she thought in English. Even translating everything in her head, something was lost.


    Taylor walked on, unsure what to do about it. She was pretty sure just asking her to call her Taylor would not end well. She could see one angle to try.


    ¡°Accidents? I suppose that¡¯s one way to put it. Wakumi?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Miss?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m an American Wakumi. We don¡¯t stand much on ceremony,¡± Taylor tried.


    The carrier nodded, head bobbing. ¡°I shall keep that in mind, Miss.¡±


    Taylor headed out to her little spot out in the shallows, Wakumi following. Whether to spy on her or as her attendant, Taylor wasn¡¯t sure. Could be both. She kind off didn¡¯t want to know. Both were bad in their own way.


    Taylor needed some time, space. Some peace of mind to think things through.


    ***


    The tree was waiting for her. It wasn¡¯t alone. Scratch and Itchy leapt up upon seeing her. They came at her like a freight train, yet ground to half once they got near, the spray soaking her. Taylor was used to it.


    ¡°Hi girls. Missed me?¡±


    Scratch gave her a massive lick that took her off her feet. That had Itchy snapping at Scratch and mewling. How a giant shark monster could mewl was something Taylor was not going to waste time figuring out.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m fine you big lugs. Just a bit banged up,¡± Taylor reassured them. Didn¡¯t work much, but she was quickly situated in her spot, scratching Itchy just the way she liked it. Wakumi looked sick, watching her play with her pets. Taylor couldn¡¯t relax.


    ¡°What?¡± Taylor asked. The young woman flinched, as if she¡¯d been slapped.


    ¡°You kept them,¡± she said, keeping her eyes on the floor. ¡°Miss.¡±


    Taylor shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s more of a lease. I¡¯ve yet to see their owner show her face.¡±


    Wakumi choked. ¡°They¡¯re Midway''s, Miss.¡±


    That? That was just par for the course for this whole thing. Figures the pets Taylor made would belong to her host. Serves Midway right for letting them manage on their own. That seemed to remove whatever bug was bothering Wakumi, so Taylor relaxed, closing her eyes. As much as she could with an interloper around watching her. It wasn¡¯t that bad.


    ***


    ¡°Miss?¡± she asked after a few minutes.


    ¡°Yes Wakumi?¡± the Miss allowed.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going home, Miss?¡± Wakumi questioned. They were awfully exposed out here. She opened one eye to glance back.


    ¡°I am home,¡± She answered. After a moment the other eye opened: ¡°Where did you think I slept?¡±


    There was a ball of anxiety, fear and misery sitting in her gut. Wakumi could do nothing about it, so she tried not to think about it. Another rock just fell down her throat and landed on the pile.


    ¡°In your room Miss,¡± she said, trying to stay positive.


    The Miss didn¡¯t look mad, but that only meant Her revenge would be creative. Wakumi hoped the girls who died in the lunch room were spared further punishment. It was a forlorn hope, but she hoped anyway. Miss was kind to Her pets. Maybe She¡¯d be kind and only kill them for their sins.


    ¡°What room?¡± Miss snapped.


    Wakumi felt her crew tremble. For a moment she was back there, helpless. Being torn apart from within because she¡¯d been judged sinful by a higher power, a bad girl who deserved to suffer.


    ¡°What room, Wakumi.¡± Miss repeated, softer, kinder, as if She could even care about Wakumi.


    After they¡¯d beaten Her. Wakumi felt sick, but didn¡¯t let it show. She had to be strong. Couldn¡¯t keep failing her duty. They¡¯d retire her. If Miss didn¡¯t do worse first.


    ***


    The beach house didn¡¯t look like much. Taylor had expected more Abyssal stone but no. It was just a regular two story beach house. Raised on stilts, with an attached boat room that hugged the ocean. It looked like something the Abyss had taken, rather than built. How they¡¯d maintained it was a question for later. It was there. The doors were unlocked.


    There was a large, open living room, stairs leading up and a small kitchen on the side. The hallway past the stairs lead to the bathroom and a couple of individual rooms. Doors opened on the top floor and a voice called out: ¡°Amelie? Sachi? Is that you?¡± It was followed by footsteps.


    ¡°It¡¯s just Bertha.¡± Taylor said.


    ¡°Who?¡± the voice asked, as a girl came down the stairs. She was maybe fifteen, wearing a black two piece made of a sleeveless cut-off tee that left a bit of her stomach open, with a swimming shorts bottom. A white, bony helmet was casually held under one arm. Taylor hadn¡¯t seen that Class before, not close enough to recognize in this condition.


    ¡°Bertha. I live here,¡± she said, finishing silently ¡°Apparently.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the girl who¡¯s never around, aren¡¯t cha?¡± She asked, peering around Taylor. Wakumi wasn¡¯t what she was looking for, as she shook her head and yelled upstairs:


    ¡°It¡¯s not a mission!¡±


    She peered at Taylor, before shrugging. ¡°Look, I know you¡¯re never here, but you need to do your part or give up the room. This place needs at least some maintenance and it isn¡¯t fair to Sachi you¡¯re letting her do your part. Later. See ya Wakumi,¡± she waved lazily as the teen dismissed them and went back upstairs.


    Taylor watched her go and didn¡¯t have to look back to sense Wakumi cringing behind her.


    ¡°Bit abrupt for a first meeting, don¡¯t you think?¡± Taylor joked.


    ¡°Yes, Miss. As you say, Miss.¡± Taylor was getting really sick of hearing that Miss. It was also informative in that knowledge of what happened in the lunch room was not being shouted to everyone.


    She went looking for this room.


    ¡°Who¡¯s this Sachi?¡± Taylor asked.


    ¡°No one important, Miss.¡± Wow. Was that backbone? From the new, meek Wakumi? Taylor sent a questioning look her way.


    ¡°She¡¯s special Miss.¡± was all Wakumi said.


    They got to the end of the hall and were faced with opposing doors. One was closed and had a paper that said ¡°Bertha¡± hung on a nail next to it. It had been torn down and cut up, then put back together with sticky tape before being re-hung. The door across was open, but Taylor had bigger fish to fry.


    The door wasn¡¯t locked. Taylor walked into¡­ a room. It was sparse: a bed, dresser, closet and a small fold out desk with a backless chair. There were stairs leading down into the boat room. By the grease on the floor it looked like this used to be a tool shed, or something similar for the boathouse below, but they¡¯d turned it into a room. Her hand picked up a faint layer of dust on the table. So not something thrown together after her accident.


    A couple of nick-knacks were stacked on the dresser. A hair brush, a small mirror, a drawing of her in her rigging, some pots and utensils. The kind of minor luxuries she¡¯d traded in; stacked like moving in gifts.


    Wakumi was fidgeting, deeply uncomfortable.


    ¡°Some of the girls took theirs back, when you refused them. Uh. When you just left them there. Ah.¡± she was stumbling on her words.


    ¡°When I never came, or said anything,¡± Taylor finished, softly.


    ¡°Why the boathouse?¡± she asked, descending into it. It was empty, no boat, stripped of most everything. A few scattered tools still hung on the walls, and two steel tables were pinned to the floor and wall with scratch marks around them. Someone deciding they weren¡¯t worth the effort of prying lose.


    Wakumi swallowed. It was loud in the quiet.


    ¡°Big Sis Shinigami noticed you liked sleeping with your toes in the water. So she traded for a room that had access.¡±


    Her hand pointed to a corner where the ramp lowered into the sea. There were several thick blankets and a pillow stacked up against the wall there.


    ¡°We¡¯d made a little nest for you, Miss. So you could sleep well. I guess Sachi must have folded it up at some point. Miss, did Sapphire never tell you?¡± she asked, fretfully.


    ¡°How long Wakumi?¡± Taylor asked, feeling something burning within her. Anger yes, oh she was angry. But it was more. Disappointment with a pinch of regret. Because even seeing it, Taylor still couldn¡¯t understand, but she was starting to.


    Wakumi folded in on herself like a wet rag. Her voice was a whisper: ¡°After your maiden voyage, Miss. You were part of the fleet then.¡±


    After Acapulco. Weeks ago. How? How did any of that make sense? How could anyone fuck up that badly?


    Taylor froze. The incident was after Acapulco. Did Sapphire plan to tell her when Taylor broke, but just not care anymore after Taylor wasn¡¯t her job? And what, everyone else just assumed? What kind of blind incompetence would do that? Were they¡­all¡­twelve¡­


    Her nostrils were flaring and her fist was shaking. And a girl was crying behind her. Wakumi was trying to keep it quiet and when Taylor turned she kept her eyes on the floor.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Miss. I think it might be raining.¡± Wakumi said in a calm voice, even as her chest shook and she silently cried. It took Taylor a moment to connect the crazy dots. She was apologizing because Wakumi thought her tears were distracting Taylor. That she was crying too loud, or that it wasn¡¯t allowed. And the Carrier was looking for an out, letting Taylor excuse her by blaming the whole thing on imaginary rain.


    It was disgusting, wrong. More than anything else since she¡¯d woken up, watching Wakumi apologize for disturbing Taylor with her tears lit a fire in her heart, all the way down to her soul. Because, here, now? After everything?


    The idea that Taylor¡¯s life was priceless and Wakumi¡¯s worthless sickened her to her core.


    ***


    She was fucking this up badly. Wakumi knew that the first rule of Midway¡¯s fleets was that they always kept their composure, never showed they were hurt or scared. Midway didn¡¯t like it.


    ¡°You are a ship in the fleets of the Perfect Princess. Act like it.¡±


    But Wakumi was failing so hard right now. A gentle but firm hand grabbed her jaw and made her look the Miss in the eyes. There were blue, painfully blue and shining like living lightning.


    ¡°We all have our twists,¡± the Miss said, the words drawing every bit of attention Wakumi could spare.


    ¡°I do not like it when girls lie to me Wakumi. In word, in deed, or by heart. Be honest Wakumi,¡± the Miss finished softly, wiping away her tears. All of Wakumi¡¯s fears came pouring out, a deluge of ugly fates worse than death. Things she¡¯d heard about. Some she¡¯d seen. The Miss just stayed there, listening to her, calm and composed.


    Wakumi was terrified of what came next. What would her punishment be?


    The Miss rapped her knuckles against her forehead, making her flinch. Slowly she opened her eyes, to see the Miss walking back up to her room.


    ¡°There you go. Revenge done,¡± She claimed.


    Wakumi swallowed. It was never that easy.


    ¡°Oh and Wakumi?¡± She added.


    ¡°You will be available to answer any questions I might have, won¡¯t you? It seems I¡¯ve been making some stupid assumptions on any number of things. I need a local guide. Will you help me, Wakumi?¡±


    Wakumi was nodding and bowing so fast her back and neck hurt.


    ¡°Yes Miss. Thank you Miss. You¡¯re very kind Miss.¡±


    Being the personal helper of a Princess wasn¡¯t so bad, right? Long hours, odd jobs and little chance to rest trying to keep up with a Princess. Of course the Miss could still use the job itself as a punishment and Wakumi had no idea how long she¡¯d serve until the Miss felt the debt paid. But it was light. So light, it could have been so much worse.


    Grateful and deeply relived, Wakumi scampered after her new boss. It wasn¡¯t formal in the fleet, but what a Miss wanted She would get. No one was going to raise a fuss over a mere Light Carrier. This was Midway, not one of the lesser Holdings. She¡¯d need to find someone to take care of her girls.


    ***


    Taylor came out of her door wanting to strangle The Empress. And Midway. The room across the hall was occupied. A Light Cruiser teen yelped, dropping her bag, while a woman fully grown stepped between them.


    ¡°Yes?¡± she asked, blocking the door.


    Taylor blinked, wondering what messed up shit was going to hit her next. It just seemed like a day for it. Meet the Abyss, everyone and everything is fucked. She could almost feel it coming. She stepped into the hallway leaving whatever was going on there and was nearly to the door when a young voice called out:


    ¡°Wait. Wait! You¡¯re Bertha, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    A little head was peering past the scowling woman into the hallway and looking at her.


    ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Sachi! I¡¯ve been trying to meet you.¡± Her expression fell.


    ¡°Not that you¡¯ve been avoiding me! Or that I¡¯m trying to stalk you! I just really, really wanted to welcome you to the fleet!¡± Sachi sputtered. She ducked back into her room.


    ¡°Just a moment!¡± was heard, before she was slipping pass the irritated woman. Who was also worried that Taylor could explode and trying to hide it, if Taylor didn¡¯t miss her guess. Or plotting how to kill Taylor, either one.


    Then Sachi was in front of her with a drawing. It was Taylor, in the fullness of her rigging, running over the open ocean. It was done in crayons, but looked like the work of a professional worthy of the old animated children¡¯s films. Her dress was drawn in the same style as Snow White. Taylor was smiling as the rain fell around her, a pot boiling on one side, while on the other her arm and cranes sewed a glittering dress.


    ¡°Do you like it?¡± The little girl asked, with wide, innocent eyes.


    Taylor didn¡¯t have the heart to tell her no. She ended up dragged to Sachi¡¯s room. The woman hovered somewhere between an angry thunder cloud and a concerned mother. Sachi called her Lie-chan. Wakumi had joined Lie-chan at the door, giving Taylor some space, but ready to respond.


    Sachi¡¯s room was the gallery of an artist. Dozens of drawings and sketches were hung on the walls, mostly of girls in their rigging, serious and fighting some distant enemy. But every now and again, there was a spot of color, like her own. They were spread out, almost deliberately, so that every dark corner had a little bright spot. They started off childish and worked their way up the walls, increasing in quality until they were indistinguishable in quality from cartoons Taylor saw as a kid.


    Sachi liked talking. Sachi talked a lot. There was only so much Taylor could take.


    ¡°Sachi, you¡¯ve talked her ear off. Why don¡¯t you ask her?¡± Sachi¡¯s friend interrupted. She sounded vaguely European.


    Sachi hid behind her bangs.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to impose. I¡¯m sure she¡¯s busy, Lie-chan.¡± The Light Cruiser demurred.


    Taylor tried to be patient. Whatever it was, maybe she could leave afterwards.


    Sachi fidgeted, before jumping out of her chair and scurrying over to the dropped bag. She pulled a box out of it, before looking around.


    ¡°No peeking,¡± she admonished. A minute later Taylor was face to face with Mr Mushi, a well-worn and cared for plushy rabbit. It had a few small tears and a couple of uneven fixes. It was missing an ear. Sachi was holding the severed ear in her shaking hands like it was her most precious possession on this Earth.


    ¡°Can you fix him Berth? Please?¡± This, at least, was something she could fix. Then she remembered they broke her cranes. Bracing for the pain, she tried to bring up her rigging. It stung, quite a bit. But she didn¡¯t feel like she was about to collapse. There was no way she was walking anywhere in this, but Taylor could sew. The machinery ached to operate, but with a little girl''s dreams in her hand, it wasn¡¯t hard to find the will to push through.


    Slowly she worked, careful not to further weaken it. While Taylor sewed, Sachi¡¯s hands drifted to her crayons.


    ***


    ¡°Good as new,¡± Taylor announced. It had been more than a bit tricky, working with plush, but she managed.


    Sachi let out a happy shriek and grabbed Mr Mushi, dancing with him. She wouldn¡¯t let Taylor leave without paying her back. ¡°The Cat in the Hat¡± made an appearance.


    ¡°I like the cat. He¡¯s silly.¡± Sachi giggled.


    Amelie, as it had come out the woman was called, gave Sachi a disappointed look.


    ¡°You know not everyone has your kind of time Sachi.¡± she chided.


    ¡°I know.¡± Sachi guiltily replied.


    ¡°But it has pretty pictures and when Bertha comes back, she can come over and I¡¯ll read it to her.¡± Sachi replied with triumph.


    Taylor¡¯s eyebrows climbed for the sky.


    ¡°I¡¯m not illiterate. Why would you think that?¡± she asked, bemused.


    And the room was silent.


    ¡°That¡¯s wonderful! Can you teach me?¡± Sachi exploded.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been learning on my own, but kanji and kana are hard, and spelling makes no sense.¡± Sachi pouted.


    Spelling was weird and huh, Taylor did know kanji and kana.


    But these were minor matters next to the implications ringing down her mind. The girls couldn¡¯t read. Or write. Guessing how Sachi was weird, even for an Abyssal and the fact even Amelie couldn¡¯t it meant most Abyssal girls couldn¡¯t. Because no one had taught them. Because there was no one to teach them. They were fighting a war for survival in which literacy was optional. The Empress knew if she was reading papers, but she was a Princess. It took schools, teachers, civilization to give everyone a chance to learn reading.


    Taylor had no idea how the Princesses were even leading and waging that war with girls that couldn¡¯t read orders.


    Taylor was still wrestling with the discovery when her voice said:


    ¡±Yes, Sachi. I¡¯ll teach you if there¡¯s time.¡±


    Well. Now she should at least read the ¡°The Cat in the Hat¡±.


    Taylor sat on the bed, Sachi burrowing into her side. She was warm and soft. When was the last time Taylor felt a touch that wasn¡¯t to hurt her?


    ¡°The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Sejuss.¡± Sachi recited, happy as a clam.


    ¡°It¡¯s The Cat in the Hat by Doctor Seuss.¡± Taylor corrected.


    ¡°The sun did not shine.


    It was too wet to play.


    So we sat in a house


    All that cold, cold, wet day.¡±


    Taylor read on.


    ***


    It started with the Light Cruisers on the floor above. They were drawn by the rhythmic words, echoing through the thin walls.


    ¡°A lot of good tricks.


    I will show them to you.


    Your mother


    Will not mind at all if I do.¡±


    They hovered outside the door, but somehow were noticed. Wakumi explained the situation and they were allowed to listen in, if they were quiet. They called their friends. Their friends called their friends.


    ¡°Sachi got a Young Miss to teach her to read.¡± the rumors said.


    ¡°If it¡¯s Sachi, it can¡¯t be helped.¡± those who heard would answer.


    ¡°Everyone is welcome to listen in. She¡¯s having lessons right now.¡± it would go.


    On they came, until they couldn¡¯t fit in the house. Until the entire party had moved out to the beach. There was only one rule. No violence. Everyone is welcome, no exceptions.


    Submarines gathered in the shallows and girls on patrol listened in over radio. While most weren¡¯t readers, there were plenty who were, if not great ones. But reading was a favor to be traded, like any other luxury in the Abyss. Not something to be freely given out, to everyone who could attend.


    When the Miss read the book the third time, her sparkling blue eyes pinned several girls in the front row.


    ¡°I see how you¡¯re looking at the book. If you so much as touch it, I¡¯ll deal with you myself. It is Sachi¡¯s and will remain so. Are we clear?¡± she¡¯d commanded.


    Most were unsure of the gravity of the threat. A few girls who survived the touch of the Graveyard leaked so much terror into the fleet the rest quickly lost all desire to try their luck.


    Midway would only take pieces out of you as punishment. Some things were worth that. No one wanted to have anything to do with things that made Heavy Cruisers vomit in public at the thought of it.


    That promise? That warning? It opened the flood gates.


    Girls ran for their homes as the cooks brought out tables and chairs to the beach. The fleet was there, The Miss was there, so the meal came to them. Those who left returned with their own books. Hoping for the same protection and to hear their book read by a Young Miss. It just wasn¡¯t the same when you were reading by yourself, or paying for the privilege.


    The Miss had a way with reading, as if every word mattered. She breathed life into the stories. And she was a Young Miss. Sitting there, spending time with them, on them. That was precious, even if there was a crowd.


    Montana came forward last. Her book was well worn. The page earmarked and a bit smudged.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± she said.


    The Miss raised her voice to read to everyone and everyone joined in, happy to be here. To be alive. This one? This one they knew. A choir answered her voice, a choir of damned monsters, a choir of doomed girls.


    ¡°Twinkle, twinkle, little star,


    How I wonder what you are!


    Up above the world so high,


    Like a diamond in the sky.¡±


    The Miss was crying. Her tears were a brilliant blue.


    ¡°When the blazing sun is gone,


    When the nothing shines upon,


    Then you show your little light,


    Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.¡±


    Her tears fell, and reversed. A hum, an echo, vibrating in the air, sending each brilliant blue drop falling upwards, into the night sky. Like stars.


    ¡°Then the trav¡¯ller in the dark,


    Thanks you for your tiny spark,


    He could not see which way to go,


    If you did not twinkle so.¡±


    Slowly, the voices went out, one by one. No one knew why the Miss was crying. But everyone could feel the pain breaking her heart. Each drop hit the sky and turned to silent, blinding blue lightning.


    ¡°In the dark blue sky you keep,


    And often thro¡¯ my curtains peep,


    For you never shut your eye,


    Till the sun is in the sky.¡±


    A single voice followed her into the final verse, Sachi singing her heart out, oblivious to the world. The fleet looked at the Miss and in her eyes saw their own reflection. Like a five year old child that had just taken her bunny to pieces and was proudly presenting the bloody remains to her mother. Unaware, unknowing of what was wrong. But suddenly sure that She could see something in them and that that something was terribly wrong.


    ¡°¡®Tis your bright and tiny spark,


    Lights the trav¡¯ller in the dark,


    Tho¡¯ I know not what you are,


    Twinkle, twinkle, little star.¡±


    Sachi opened her eyes to see everyone looking at the Miss, crying and unsure why they were weeping. Their tears flowed like a river, a murky, dark thing until it was gathering in a moat around the Miss, silent beats humming in each swirl. The Miss fled into the lagoon and the river followed. A dark wave chasing a woman running under shining stars rising to the heavens.


    ***


    She¡¯d ran out of places to run, in the middle of the lagoon. The dark was in her. It was in all of them. It had saved her from the kiss of death, but it demanded its due. The dark wave caught her and rose, swallowing her whole. The Princess of The Abyss Emerged, fully rigged, her dress swaying in the waves. The night sky was filled with stars, cloudless, yet flashing with webs of lighting that her tears rose to join.


    They were monsters. They were children. So was she.


    She knew the answer. If she had ran and yelled and screamed at The Empress. Not enough time, not enough resources, not enough Princesses. Too much to do. An entire ocean and two whole fronts to manage, just here, around Midway.


    She felt every fiber of her rigging, every Nightmare and Sin woven into it. The Abyss, claiming its own.


    Taylor turned her head to the heavens, her eyes blazing.


    ¡°No. Not like this. A debt I¡¯ll accept, for saving all our lives, but not like this.¡± she ordered.


    Waves were rising and Taylor could feel the beating hearts of so many girls woven into her rigging.


    The clouds rolled in, sudden and heavy as the storm descended on Midway. Not the one that ever lingered over it, but Her Storm. Taylor¡¯s lightning jumping, riding the clouds as the waves roiled beneath her and the rain fell in thick sheets that consumed the world.


    ¡°You and me,¡± Taylor said to The Abyss, looking to the choir gathered at the beach, ¡°someday soon, we¡¯re going to have a frank and honest discussion on just what you¡¯re doing to these girls.¡±


    Dozens of arcs of brilliant light gathered high above her, a web of lightning combining, growing, until fulmination fell from the boiling heavens. Her Legend descended from the storm as a blinding azure sea serpent thicker than Taylor was tall, singing a promise of oblivion and a better tomorrow.


    ¡°And if I¡¯m not happy with the answers, I¡¯ll find a way to kill you too,¡± The Slayer of False Gods Promised The Abyss.

 Chapter 13: Silence

    AN: Some artwork, above. Fairly large.


    ***


    Taylor was sitting under a tree. The rage had burned out and left her empty. Quiet for the first time in weeks because she was always doing something, anything to escape. To escape her captivity. What a joke. She wasn¡¯t running from them, or the calm sea would not bother her so.


    She¡¯d come here, After. After she¡¯d stopped hiding and plotting and pretending. After she¡¯d screamed and screamed and demanded answers until she got them. After they beat her half to death and she was still screaming. After it finally dawned on them that something was wrong. After she¡¯d gotten the answers. After she¡¯d seen how they looked at her and each other now. After.


    Here she¡¯d stayed, in a bubble of silence, all her own. Even the Imps were quiet. She woken here, the first time. The first time she was really an Abyssal, not the dead shade of a woman walking around in Abyssal flesh. She remembered those early days. The confusion, the abuse. Always the abuse. It wasn¡¯t an excuse. That the society was beyond fucked up. But it was an explanation. She could see it. Now.


    Days after. After she died and Taylor was still here.


    She should have bent her neck. Not because they would break it, because they never had. She¡¯d recovered enough to understand that. She¡¯d come out of the fight to end all fights and once on the other side, with a welcome like that? She¡¯d kept fighting. She pretended to submit, while planning how to get out. Everything she¡¯d done since coming here had been in service to trying to get out. Trying to steal scraps of knowledge that they didn¡¯t even know she was missing.


    And all along they could see right through her because she wasn¡¯t entirely there, but they couldn¡¯t see her. They¡¯d seen the ship they expected her to be. She¡¯d known nothing about her new people. They had known nothing of her. And they were people.


    She behaved like she was trapped, enslaved. In a way she was. But the bonds were not of slaves. Taylor was in debt. Debt to her benefactors. It was fucked up that they thought this kind of treatment to be favor, but she was coming to understand that her new people were vicious, vicious, super-powered children at war. With no parents and bad instincts.


    Was it any wonder they¡¯d turned into monsters? Did it excuse anything? Not really. But that debt was not so large. Especially at the start. With a few months, a year of service? She could have been free. Possibly rich as well.


    But somewhere along the way she lucked into a partner. One that had her over a barrel and used it to ask her to save them both. Oh she was a tough girl, independent. Taylor was reminded of Imp a bit. Aisha, had she lived? She didn¡¯t know. She¡¯d gotten most of her memory back, but there were holes, towards the end. If she had allowed Panacea to mess with her brain, it was a wonder she could remember anything. As if to compensate, her childhood was never closer, clearer. Abyssal health coverage, who would have thought?


    A sad laugh breached the silence, before it flowed back in. Suffocating. She¡¯d come here, after panicking over her rigging. Oh God, that was actually kind of funny in retrospect. Taylor had made plans. How to break her escorts. Especially after the first Air attack. She just needed to build up a bit more. She¡¯d managed to study the Imps enough to draw up plans for them, and traded a Walkman player hardened for water along with a collection of music to a sub tender for High Speed Torpedo blueprints. It was funny, where her head was. She had several rooms emptied on board where she¡¯d hung all her plans and blueprints. With the manuals, it was the start of a Library. Mom would have been proud.


    Dad? Less so. Her engineers were makeshift and not worth the title of Regulars. They still had a long way to go and their trade was producing machines to kill. ¡°Training technical crew always takes longer¡± was written in an ugly scrawl on the sidelines of the manual. Except it wasn¡¯t an ugly scrawl. It was childish. Because no one ever taught them how to write.


    Taylor had planned to murder them. To wait until the next time bombers came. She could see it play out. Squirrel away a few more torpedo boats, hide them among the cargo. Build them entirely in secret on board, no one would know. Arm them and loose them into the chaos. She was usually near the middle. From there? Sink them all from ambush. Then she¡¯d be free and they¡¯d have gotten what they deserved. Death.


    She really was far too fond of killing children. And the Abyss didn¡¯t care. It just hungered. She¡¯d been hurt from day one, it had been easy to hate. Much easier then it ever was Before. Like there was a hole where her heart should be and hate was junk food. Bad for you, but filling. It had taken the death of her partner to get her here. Out of it. Where she could stop and see. Admit to herself a simple truth. She¡¯d planned to kill others and shared it. She¡¯d planned to rob Midway and told her. Because she needed her. Because she had no one else to talk to.


    And it was¡­ tiny. Un-important. Looking back, her memories were bloated with suffering and indignities. Every hour spent together another chance for her to vent, unimportant next to her all reaching plans and eternal suffering. When she didn¡¯t even know how to speak without sounding like a Merchant. When she¡¯d spoken treason and it hadn¡¯t been repeated to anyone since she still had her head.


    Her hand drifted into the shallows. Where a sub had sneaked in every night she could. To rest near her, leaving a furrow in the soft corrals. She was always gone before Taylor woke up, but her sonar was peerless. She was the ship who could see anything, but was blind to the obvious. That was almost funny enough to cry.


    Itchy and Scratch didn¡¯t speak. They merely shifted, keeping themselves between her and the stomping feet. They were good girls. Some girl, a heavy cruiser, came stomping through the shallow surf. No. Taylor looked up. She wasn¡¯t stomping. She was the opposite of stomping. She was walking on eggshells, gingerly. Taylor looked around and felt the silence engulfing the island. She¡¯d grown used to the feel of radar returns bouncing off her sides. Midway was silent. So when the girl walked up, scowling, and started waving her arms, she was confused for a moment. Yet she¡¯d grown sensitive enough to know not to ask out loud.


    It took her a moment to look past the girl and see her waving signal flags. V, Victor. She didn¡¯t need a manual for that one. She¡¯d drilled her crew enough to know it by heart.


    ¡°I require assistance.¡±


    Slowly, Taylor stood up. The water slid off her. There were no drops, no plops. A moment after standing up she was bone dry. She eyed it for a moment, before looking at the heavy cruiser. She didn¡¯t know what she looked like. She didn¡¯t care. The scowl slid off its face in an instant. Slowly, it held out a hand. She held out a hand. Taylor looked her in the eye and took it. They walked back to the lagoon, in silence.


    ***


    She was delivered to her overseer Ra-class. Whose name she hadn¡¯t bothered to learn since she was the enemy. The repair ship looked harried and relived to see her. She slowly signaled:


    ¡°S.E.W. .F.I.N.E. .H.A.N.D.?.¡°


    The air felt heavier here. The storm above was entirely absent. No, it was so large the eye had eaten the whole island, yet no thunder reached them. Her own people had fetched her flags. C, Charlie.


    ¡°Affirmative.¡±


    There was something. A scent in the air. The Ra gave her a sheet to copy some complex drawing. She did. Even one handed, after all her practice with a needle? It was perfect. That won her a genuine smile. She could see it, because she wasn¡¯t hiding anymore. Pretending. What was the point? It would work, or it wouldn¡¯t. They gave her a book and a bunch of metal plates. Midway filled her inkpot herself. With Midway¡¯s own blood.


    The Ra kept an eye on her and showed her what to copy. She was one of only four ships here. Just her and the Ra¡¯s, silently scribbling with blood on dark steel. Did it make sense? Did it have to, if it worked? Because she¡¯d heard the muttering after. After. Before, she¡¯d thought it bragging. Like someone saying they¡¯d survived an Endbringer. ¡°How many times have you seen your death?¡± was a popular game in the Abyss. The speakers would invent ever more embellished tales of how they¡¯d died. Alien Taylor with her alien human thoughts. Watching and learning and understanding nothing.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    What was pain if you regenerated? Trauma if you could take a bath to make it go away? What was the value of life if you could regrow limbs and raise the dead? What morals if you loved to hate?


    She didn¡¯t know. She knew it didn¡¯t have to be this. This ugly, sad excuse for a society that even the ancient Vikings the Empire idolized would have shunned. Angry children playing at life and war and death in a game that wasn¡¯t one. How could she judge this anything but a massive waste.


    ***


    Night had fallen and with it the silence had grown oppressive. The storm was raging above yet not one drop fell on Midway. Lightning flashed but no thunder violated the bubble around the island. Instead it was its passing, the moment where men were deafened, that echoed in its silence across the still pool the lagoon had become. Tiny waves barely stirring the surface. They gathered there, summoned by a call from beyond the real. Every shipgirl on Midway. Every Abyssal not holding down the fronts. Everyone who could come.


    Plates painted in sigils simple and complex, beautiful and disturbing were positioned across the island and the lagoon. Placed in trees, buried at the shore, floating in the still sea. Some surrounding and in piles of materials, forming some complex, arcane pattern beyond her understanding. Each final position checked by Midway herself, precise to a level that would make a Tinker blush.


    She waited in silence. They all did. Taylor had a plan. It was very simple, straightforward. Only six steps. What she should have done if she¡¯d known, seen. If she¡¯d accepted that she was like them and they were like her. That she was people and so were they. Monsters and people, all of them.


    Midway came first, out of the rows of shipgirls, to the very edge of the sea. Not in her shorts and blouse. She came in her rigging, calm and radiant. Her eyes were like an eruption beneath the waves, burning, shining red. Her dress was bone white and flowing, massive and spread out, entirely hiding her feet. The monstrous teeth floated above an expanse of pale flesh, her shoulders free. Black ruffles engulfed her hands at the tips of her sleeves. Her hair was wild, falling in long tresses almost to the sands.


    She came with the island on her back. It was towering, made up of innumerable factories. Peppered with cannons and airfields. Fighters, bombers, a river of living steel ready to wash away her enemies. A Princess in her home, surrounded by fleets and at the height of her power as midnight approached on an island that held a sea on which no voice had spoken from before the dawn. Two others broke from the ranks, mighty and towering in their own right, but Taylor had eyes only for the conductor.


    Taylor was at the front, a few steps back from the water. Numerous Wa-Class transports were arranged in rows behind and around her. She wasn¡¯t sure if it was a position of honor or the place where she was least likely to disturb the event. The magic. The heavy cruiser that had come to fetch her was right next to her, keeping a wary eye on her, but she didn¡¯t care. She hoped it was magic, because it would take something as that to grant her wish.


    A shadow, deeper then the black of the depths, slowly crawled from Midway, until it touched the surface as her ship clock struck midnight. There was a thrum in the beyond that made her hull ring as everyone around her flinched. Many voices rose, a sound that took sound instead of adding it, each a hum with its own unique pitch, a layer of Silence, an echo of that something that made them Abyssal. That made them, them.


    More voices were joining in, as three clear notes led the song. In a few seconds everyone was humming and holding their own tone. A vicious elbow was headed for her ribs when she grabbed the arm and broke it, with ease. Because she had weight and skill. Who would teach an Abyssal hand to hand? For all the pain she could feel radiating from the ship next to her, not for a moment did the cruiser stop humming.


    Taylor? She¡¯d take the time to do it right. It was her first time after all. And she still wasn¡¯t all there. That much was clear, here, now. Translucent, ghostly tendrils wrapped around her shoulder and down her stump, ending in three spiked prongs, each liberally covered in teeth on the inside and armored on the outside. There was more, but right now, did it matter?


    She could hear the echo from that first pulse. That clear thrum. Her hull was echoing it, sending out its own tone that every one of her nightmares was starting to hum. All but one. The Wilted Lilly looked around her, checking her readings carefully before shrugging. Lily started humming too. That was one.


    The snap of bone was swallowed by the Silence but Midway heard it anyway. How could she not when Taylor was walking on her sands? She saw the Harbor transition. It wasn¡¯t movement. It was like Legend, or Strider. One instant she was looking at the center of the lagoon where a whirlpool was forming, the next her head snapped to her, as Taylor took an extra step forward. Two and three, to the very edge as the other two had. It was time to stop hiding and she¡¯d learned something of custom carrying messages among the Installations. Of respect and courtesy as the Abyss understood it.


    Give warning. That was two. With her position, with the ghosts around her, by drawing attention. Taylor started humming too. It was hard with her teeth. She¡¯d never make pretty sounds. But this one? She felt like her throat and teeth were made for the silent howl that poured out of her lips in step three. A dozen transports behind her were blown from their feet and stuttered.


    Fair is fair. Midway hardly blinked. The silent song shuddered for a moment. Taylor was no conductor, no master of choirs. But she could tell good music from amateur trash. Her introduction shook the whole edifice, turning one into the other. It was not ready for her. Yet their positions were deliberate. One for each side of the closed lagoon. One for each cardinal direction. Because even if she was still in denial Midway suspected and had for weeks, months. Ever since she¡¯d had a taste and she¡¯d kept it to herself. But her pride had not allowed her not to make contingencies. She abhorred shoddy work with every fiber of her being.


    A plate was buried beneath each of the four. Taylor had helped bury them. It¡¯s how she knew where to stand. In the moment she sang, the one beneath her was silent, dormant. Less than four heartbeats later Midway had re-arranged the flow of the whole piece and the magic plate beneath her was humming with her. That was four.


    Nearly a dozen ships had moved to what must have been secondary positions to accomplish it, but Taylor only cared that the song was swelling again. She didn¡¯t care. Didn¡¯t care for Midway¡¯s apocalyptic anger. Or the boundless shame that drowned it. Taylor only had eyes for the growing whirlpool. It grew and grew as the storm reflected it, clouds rolling in, the rain falling so thick it felt like they were all underwater.


    It built and built until with a crescendo in the beyond it broke. It made the initial thrum feel like a love tap as sky and sea and depth became one as their spirits screamed into the black. Lightning thicker then buildings struck the sea, as underwater blasts seemed to lift the very sea into the heavens as the Abyss screamed. Plates and materials were washed away into that empty maw and as they fed it, it fed them.


    A harsh scream ripped out of a girl on the far right as the carrier that had given Taylor her first plane broke ranks and ran for the sea. The instant she touched it, it spat her back out so fast she broke a dozen trees before rolling to a stop, dead to the world and missing both legs.


    Taylor? She stepped into the storm. It owed her. Step Five. Mine!


    ***


    Mom was sad again. Taylor was four but she was a big girl. But Mom was sad and she would fix it. She was a super-hero! So she sneaked up on her and saw some mean women had knocked the weaving from Mom¡¯s hands and now she had to pick it up again, piece by piece, carefully pulling it out of the floor. It was all tangled. The other girls were mean, but the nice black floor had caught them. She patted the helpful floor. It gurgled back. She giggled, for the floor was funny, but that drew Mom¡¯s attention. Oh, oh. Busted. Mom tilted her head at her and asked in a scary voice:


    ¡°What are you doing here little one?¡± she asked with a wide smile. It was very wide, like ear to ear!


    ¡°Um. I¡¯m helping? Look, look!¡± she said, trying to gather the threads and give them to Mom but they kept tangling and slipping through her fingers. No fair! Her Mom made it look so easy. She had such big teeth.


    ¡°Look now, this is no place for a beginner. Why don¡¯t you run along now? You know you shouldn¡¯t be here.¡± the maybe not her Mom chided. And she would, she knew she shouldn¡¯t be here, but she was on a mission.


    ¡°No! I have to find Shu.¡± she confessed. ¡°She¡¯s little and scared. I¡¯m a superhero, it¡¯s my job to protect her!¡± she proclaimed with all her heart. There was a spark of blue light, more imagined then seen.


    The nice Lady seamstress pushed her a bit, carefully. Slowly making her leave. ¡°But I don¡¯t wanna!¡± she protested waving her hands. Oh. There was a thread stuck to her little finger. It was little and scared and just a bit blue. It was the only spot of color in the whole room. In that empty blackness. The Lady didn¡¯t notice but when she tried to push Taylor out the thread pulled on the whole tangled clump and the Lady got really red in the face.


    ¡°Now listen, I¡¯m really running out of patience, I¡¯ve been very accommodating missy, now you¡­ go¡­ this¡­ ¡° Her eyes fell on the line wrapped around Taylor¡¯s pinky, running back to her weave. Wide eyes looked from one to the other. Slowly, gently, she pulled on the thread and watched it only latch onto Taylor all the harder, the tiny spot of color hidden from view.


    ¡°How did you¡­ No, I can¡¯t deal with you right now. You get one. You hear me. That one. Now GET OUT!¡± she screamed, as her nails flashed, sharp, sharp, sharp. Cutting Shu free.


    ***


    Dozens of shapes exploded out of the sea as four women stepped into the storm. Two wove into and out of the surf, untouched by the black eating away at the world, collecting their subordinates as they surfaced. One waded into the center of the whirlpool, her strength, her home, holding open the way. She bargained with her God for the lives of others.


    One stole her friend away while the God was distracted. She paid in love and blood, coming out of the storm with her dress in tatters, her cranes broken, bleeding from a dozen scrapes, but smiling so hard it hurt. In her hand, like a newborn, a Yo-Class submarine slept, whole and hale. She was met on that shore by the eyes of nearly a hundred ships. And none could meet hers.


    Instead, a whisper answered her, cadenced and practiced. Rehearsed and trained. No, beaten into them. A hundred voices speaking a single truth:


    ¡°Only a Princess may touch the True Abyss¡± swore the choir of sea-monsters at war with humanity.


    Sang little girls who couldn¡¯t be older than seven. Both were true.


    What worth life, what worth death? What price for resurrection? What would she give for her mother?


    As she felt the little girl softly breathing against her, she was subjected to her whole skin crawling at how they now looked at her. How they weren¡¯t even expecting punishment, they¡¯d already accepted it was inevitable. Her revenge, impossible to escape, just delay.


    She laughed, happy yet bitter. For she¡¯d hidden this fearing the reaction, the life and death struggle and they worshiped her for it and it made her sick to her core!


    This Earth, this life¡­ Wonder upon horror upon wonder upon horror.


    Taylor was done with this for today. Step Six, rescue Shun, done.


    She¡¯d deal with everything tomorrow when she could sit Shun down to ask her all the things she should have asked weeks ago. She felt eyes everywhere, like the entire island was boring into her. Midway trying to drill a hole in her back from the center of the lagoon, atop a dissipating whirlpool. She could still feel the echo of all that rage, betrayal and shame. Midway could take a number and stand in line. She needed to sleep off this massive headache.


    Actually. Step Seven: Get a real bath. That would be nice.


    Taylor walked off with a spring in her step.

 Chapter: 14: Awkward

    It was impossibly cold and numb. An endless eternity of empty nothingness that was gnawing on everything she was. Shun was spilling out, bits of her flowing into the Abyss, spreading to be lost forever. She held on. To herself, to her sisters. They were all holding on, the bits leaking out like strings tangling with one another to keep them together. To keep them whole, because in this empty place there was no length, no distance, no time. No sense but the fleet and to it they all clung as the endless Abyss tried to take them.


    It wasn¡¯t trying very hard. More like a dog with a favorite chew toy, one it cared for too much to actually break, but not terribly bright on what might break it. So the jaws closed on them all, and mashed them together even as more sisters joined from somewhere above. Fresh threads to join to their little clump to keep them from sinking deeper as they floated on the surface of the Abyss. Too light to sink deeper, the distant twinkle of stars in the fleet above keeping them oriented.


    To those calling Midway their homeport, Sachi was their star. She was on Midway, always on the island, a reliable constant to guide them. In her room were drawings of each of them, made in her own hand. Every line, every color, every picture a small floater keeping them on the surface. A connection to the real, a memory, a promise: that they would be back, that they were remembered.


    Even with no time, it did not take long. The clump did not know the ticking of a clock but it could keep it by counting their sisters. It remembered the offensive. Watched the new threads fall and with each addition knew it was not forgotten down here. The Princesses were coming. Most of the ships had been here before. Those most experienced held tightly those who were here for the first time. If anyone lost bits, they wouldn¡¯t be getting them back.


    A pillar of existence sank into the Abyss. It came on the weight of will, on the absolute refusal to do less than her best, on the hatred of broken things and the bottomless need to fix them. Once, they would have needed to crawl up it, to struggle and strain, suffer and lose bits as they climbed up it. Those dark days were long behind them. Gossamer thin threads fell like fishing webs, passing through them, touching beneath the surface for an instant before the touch of the True Abyss turned them solid beneath them. Then the webs came up, up, lifting them into that place between the Abyss and the real until Midway held them, tangle and all. She was sorting through them, guiding and weaving each ship back together when someone interfered.


    It was the smell of the storm to Midways harsh rock, brilliant oblivion to her perfect craftsmanship. Near every ship in the clump shied away from it, for all it was lesser then their current holder. There was a time when the Princesses would fight over those lost, pulling and tearing for each thread, before the Court put a stop to it. The spark of oblivion lifted up portions of the fleet but they shied away from it, careful not to cause offense lest it rend their very souls.


    Each ship, but one. Shun could feel all her threads coming loose as something in her ached for that buzz. For the warmth that felt more real than the waking world. More solid than the memories of ghostly pale hands in the dark coming out of nowhere to tear out her throat. From a cursed ship that wanted only to bring others down into her madness and wouldn¡¯t stay dead no matter how many times they killed her.


    Shun was coming apart, coming undone from the clump, trying to jump the impossible distance and falling, falling back into the Abyss, still hanging, still connected. For though she¡¯d let go, the fleet yet held on to her and the tingle of the storm was slipping away.


    There was a flash as lightning answered her call, a brilliant path carved in that endless darkness, existing for less than an instant, a mere flicker of light. Shun raced down that path so fast her feet burned. She was huddled against her spark before it had passed. It was warm, soft like the finest pillow. For buried in the promise of oblivion was the hope for a better future that would come after the current world was wiped away.


    Shun could feel her fleet pulling on her, before Midway¡¯s will came down and she knew nothing at all.


    ***


    Shun woke to steam. She was a bit confused, as it was rare for subs to visit the baths. They had an unfortunate tendency to take no damage, or sink entirely. Her pillow was mostly flat and fluffy. And moving a little bit. She blearily looked up, still feeling the cold from below in every inch of her body and saw Bertha, laying in the pool, wrapped in a fluffy towel, asleep. One she was laying on, even as Shun was wrapped in her own fluff. The sub-girl carefully relaxed back into the warm steam, feeling that now distant light. She closed her eyes and felt it slowly melt away the ice within.


    A finger tapped her on the head.


    ¡°No naps. Doctor¡¯s orders. Wakumi!¡± Bertha said.


    A light carrier came into the pool room and soon started pulling Shun out of her warm bath.


    ¡°Noooo,¡± she protested in a weak voice.


    ¡°No laying down. You have to move around, get those boilers working Shun. Besides, I hear Sachi¡¯s throwing a party for everyone. Don¡¯t you want to go to a party?¡±


    Shun struggled to think around the ice coating her mind. ¡°Sachi¡¯s special,¡± she got out. The carrier escorted her out while she was trying to form the rest of it. ¡°But I like you better¡±.


    ***


    If the return of Bruce, Judy and Bentley after her first bath hadn¡¯t convinced her, seeing Shun walk out under her own power did. Whatever the Abyss was, it wasn¡¯t just malicious. Shun wasn¡¯t dead, or undead or something. She was dazed, painfully cold and loopy, but she was still in there, if the embarrassment over her inability to string together a full sentence was any clue. She¡¯d be fine. Taylor wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d quite believe it until she saw it with her own eyes, but so far everything was going as The Empress had told her. Which meant it was time for Taylor to stop playing in the kiddy pool and lay down some groundwork.


    Trying to get out of the pool reminded her she was in no position to be walking around with two broken arms, so which one of her targets could she get to come to her?


    ***


    Montana had excused herself, but sent her Second to fill Taylor in. Wakumi was, as far as Taylor could find out, not actually in on the Court. She was someone who took commands, not advised on them. Taylor had hoped to speak to the Flagship on what was next, but with all the Princesses busy and her choice denied, she settled for feeling out the consequences of her accident.


    Learning that her fate was to be decided by a Princess who¡¯s ships she had massacred? In any other society, that would be damning. Here, it was inconvenient. Abyss, they were all messed up when some friendly murder was common enough to have rules on it.


    Still, mending fences. Just the thought that yet again her fate would be in the hands of another made her skin crawl, so Taylor was going to make an effort to ensure a result she could live with. As soon as she could get out of this damn pool.


    ¡°Damn it. Might as well rest.¡±


    She sank into herself and found her bridge in disarray. Figured, with all the damage that had occurred. Her First mate was sitting in the captain¡¯s chair.


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± Taylor asked him. It was a bit odd, right? Didn¡¯t she have a captain?


    ¡°Nothing to worry about Taylor. All in good hands. Dantopus has everything under control.¡± the upright, human sized octopus claimed. She froze.


    ¡°No. That is not your name.¡± Taylor ground out. It was bad enough she had to live with her nightmares, it was incredibly creepy to have one painted in the colors of her father as First Mate.


    ¡°Of course.¡± he replied, sweating. ¡°I¡¯ll be right outside,¡± the octopus said, abandoning her.


    Taylor could finally relax, the bridge crew filling the room with a quiet murmur. After the door closed behind her first mate, there was a sudden clank, followed by a baby screaming. Taylor opened baleful eyes and found the sensor chief sheepishly rubbing his mandibles together.


    ¡°How? Why? Whose baby is it anyway?¡± Taylor wondered, guessing it was some fresh Nightmare.


    It was all she ever dreamed off. Having only one good night of sleep was getting to her. The screeching continued until it pulled her from her seat to see what new horror was upon her. The baby was buried in a console beneath the sensor chief, in an incongruous leafy baby cradle. It was hugging a worn sailor¡¯s journal. Upon seeing her it stumbled up to its tiny feet and raised the book up to her. Taylor took it and for the first time noticed that none of her crew were looking at her.


    In fact, it was like none of them could hear it. When she turned around, Taylor found everyone but the sensor chief oblivious. He gave her a happy little wave with his antennae. Taylor wasn¡¯t sure how he was doing it, but she ducked into the console with the baby. The closer she got, the more she could remember it. The Wilted Lily, this baby was hers. But where was Taylor¡¯s chief of security? Taylor took the baby into her lap and opened the book. It was written in the most over the top calligraphy she had ever seen, all elegant flowing lines that formed complex patters of vines from the pages.


    The Title read:


    ¡°The Mutiny on the Taylor Hebert¡±


    She remembered her Captain. Taylor remembered the fucking screaming shadow cloaking the Nightmare she¡¯d become to kill Scion. Well. She wasn¡¯t irritated with her inability to leave the pool anymore.


    A record of her Chief Security Officer¡¯s path as the Wilted Lily delved into a weeks long investigation into subversive elements on board? It was incredibly helpful for her long term planning. Reading it, relief was welling up in her, uncontrolled laughter bursting out.


    ¡°Finally. Finally a fucking break.¡±


    The dreams wouldn¡¯t be a one-time thing, a moment of clarity before Taylor returned to becoming a monster. Bless the PRT, and their institutionally paranoid hearts.


    ***


    After hours of reading? Taylor had found out a lot, as well as finding contingency plans and instructions. But one of the gems her Lily had left her stood out.  A solution.


    So while alone in her pool, Taylor walked on over to her sensor watch to see the daily recordings. Abyss knows how long this would take each day, but a way to check for internal influence on her mind? Yes, please. Taylor remembered the horror of not being able to read people around her at all, deliberately caused by the mutineers to delay the return of the influence. Because that feeling?


    It was a familiar horror. Taylor had cracked at the end and the Abyss had poured into that crack, filling it.


    *


    ¡°We all have a twist. A place in our soul where we were broken, where the Abyss seeped in. You are not spared this.¡±


    *


    Mending the hole in her brain with itself. Distorted impressions were better than that alien nightmare of not understanding anything, but Taylor preferred not being manipulated into a hateful wretch.


    Just knowing not to trust her instincts in reading others was a gift. Taylor wasn¡¯t a failure for not seeing any of it, the Abyss was actively messing with her. It was still messing with her, with her dreams seemingly fading with each passing day. Which gave her some interesting options in justifying herself.


    ¡°See here missy, they aren¡¯t really lost or clouded.¡± the sensor rating that had been roped into it buzzed, many eyes watching every screen.


    ¡°But look here: them dreams of yours got packed away in the lower deck holds with the oil barrels. Memories ain¡¯t supposed to be down there.¡± the fly grouched.


    ¡°In the old days we had a system that worked. By memory! Not all this useless paper!¡± he shouted. Yet none outside their circle heard him.


    ¡°We remembered everything! Now the young ones do things every-which way. It¡¯s a disgrace is what it is. It¡¯s been chaos even since the old chief got promoted. Not that I¡¯m casting aspersions. You¡¯re the ship, what do I know.¡± the old salt complained.


    Orders were sent out. A wave of giant lobsters carried in a bunch of squished, folded up rugs. The fly ratings picked them up and brought them out on deck, shaking them out and going over them with careful eyes. Each one was a different scene.


    ¡°See, there¡¯s creases all over these.¡± one pointed out. ¡°Got to iron them out.¡±


    Her memories weren¡¯t lost, or clouded, just packed away, creased, and folded. Misfiled, but there if she knew to look for them.


    ¡°It¡¯s like some damn unicorn vomited all over them. But don¡¯t you worry, it¡¯ll all wash out. Well, if we get to them like this, when they¡¯re fresh. Hard to remove old stains.¡± he laughed, picking out stains, alterations. ¡°Trust me missy, this nose knows the smell of shit!¡± The sensor technician fly bragged.


    Parts highlighted and made to stand out, while others were shaded, easier to overlook.


    Her sensor watch? The Nightmares of seeing everything in every world as they all died? They scoffed at the illusions. Taylor couldn¡¯t fix the past, but new memories? Those stains could be washed and ironed out.


    Having a way to correct impressions each night with clean recordings of her insects? To make sure she remembered everything right? It was everyday maintenance of herself, another burden, but priceless in what Taylor would get out of it. She wanted to dance. So she did, her deck was big enough for it and no one could see her here but her Nightmares and they were hers. To kiss every member of the sensor watch. Well, that might be a bit much. At least find them some honey rations. No, they were sailors. Taylor was going to find some mead.


    As for the Chief Security Officer? The ship owed the Wilted Lily something nice. And she knew right where to send it.


    ***


    Riptide was feeling better.


    ¡°No I¡¯m not.¡± she growled at the girls giving her covert glances, like she couldn¡¯t see it.


    Her neck wasn¡¯t itching and she wasn¡¯t touching it. ¡°It isn¡¯t.¡± She pressed, even as her hand would stray to touch it before bounding away as if burned.


    ¡°Stupid Cruisers. Ducklings the lot of them, worried about nothing. I¡¯m fine. Riptide was just fine so they should worry about themselves.¡±


    She absolutely hadn¡¯t managed to somehow piss off the only girl in the room who was a Princess in hiding. Didn¡¯t get most her command killed for her own stupidity.


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    It wasn¡¯t her fault, East were the ones that fucked up. How could they have a Princess and not know it? ¡°It¡¯s bullshit.¡±


    But hells, Riptide didn¡¯t have it in her to go after them. It was a wake over there. Like someone had gotten sick and gone mad, beyond help. They were helpless, completely screwed and fully aware of it. Riptide almost pitied them. Almost.


    You know, if she hadn¡¯t been forced to watch her Princess pull half her command from the Abyss.


    Then the already happy atmosphere fell into the Abyss as lunch got served. Wa-class transports came out of the kitchen in a flood, as they did. The cooks, the servants of the Abyss. Yet in the middle of the crowd was a tall woman with one arm. She carried plates of her own. Didn¡¯t look like much. Scrawny, out of most her rigging and in a simple knee length short-sleeved dress. It was green, a spot of color in the new lunchroom.  The hooks which had cut off Riptide¡¯s head, swaying like earrings from her cranes.


    The battleship found it hard to swallow. Yet the Miss didn¡¯t do anything. She set up plates, carried food and even poured it for the ships at her old table, even as each one of them but the Escort Lead tried to sink beneath the table. Almost lazily she reached out and pulled them up, ignoring their flinches to fix a minor knot in their hair, or straighten out something askew. And slowly the room relaxed. With each small smile and every moment where violence and revenge did not erupt, slowly they relaxed. Something about it all was familiar.


    ***


    Taylor knew the moment when it clicked for the girls. She¡¯d seen it happen in the kitchens, as a trial run. She¡¯d gone back to look at the way they spoke, moved, acted and was trying her hardest to emulate them. Wakumi may not have known much about Court, but she knew ships. Tenders, Taylor had learned, had a reputation. Caring, gentle and kind, patient and would put up with a lot. Stern on duty, but fair. There were lines, however, different for each ship. When you crossed one of those they became relentless monsters. If Taylor was to work within this mad society, she needed to fit in.


    Her knowledge was limited on tactics. Less so on equipment, as she¡¯d been making her own books filled with stolen blueprints. Way she figured, she had two real choices. Everyone did. Big cannons or powerful minions. Battleships and carriers. Taylor was pretty sure that even with her abysmal fortune and competence in all things Abyssal she would have noticed by now if she was a submarine. If Taylor had to pick between them? With her history and what she¡¯d already discovered about her skills in this new life? The choice was pretty clear, even if a part of her craved to just mount fuck off armor, the biggest cannons and blast anyone who tried anything to bits.


    That may have been in the future, but it wasn¡¯t early to start laying the foundations of how the Abyss would see her. Ships with a reputation for being good friends and terrible enemies? Taylor was surprised there wasn¡¯t something horrible.


    ¡°Who am I kidding? I can only hope whatever it is, it¡¯s easy to fake.¡±


    ***


    Riptide felt Montana smiling. It was that irritating one, the one where she knew a bet had been won.


    ¡°No,¡± Riptide tried.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Montana pushed.


    ¡°There is no way above the blue ocean I got my ass handed to me by a tender. Even a Royal.¡± Riptide insisted.


    ¡°No fucking way. She was ripping through you guys by hand, right?¡± She asked the rest of her table.


    ¡°Hand and hook, way I heard.¡± was the answer offered, intrigued.


    ¡°I still think she¡¯s a Demon, not a Royal.¡±


    ¡°You would. You were on patrol for the Ritual. She waded into the Black. End of discussion.¡±


    ¡°Bertha? Yeah right,¡± the girl across her insisted. There were dangerous levels of disbelief about their newest Royal among the ships that hadn¡¯t been there for either the accident during lunch, or the Ritual. It didn¡¯t help that Midway still hadn¡¯t announced her. Of course, based on past experience, even the Perfect Princess needed time to recover after a Ritual this big.


    They¡¯d get around to it. In the meantime Riptide needed to prevent another fucking massacre.  Montana¡¯s smirk was the only warning Riptide got.


    ¡°It¡¯s Taylor actually, nice to meet you. And you are?¡±


    Her sister had a particularly smart answer half-way out when the Flagship put naval cannon in her face.


    ¡°Reconsider before you force our Lady to pay reparations on top of gifting her your corpse.¡± Montana warned her casually.


    The girl was frozen with her mouth open when there was a terrible whirl. The scream of a crane engine at full power. Without even looking the hook went flying two tables over to crash into a Light Cruisers head.


    Instead of spurt of blood, the girl flinched, rubbing her head as the blunt side hit her.


    ¡°Ow!¡± Then she saw what had hit her and froze.


    The Royal barely moved, sending her a short glance.


    ¡°Seconds are to be asked for, not demanded. That¡± she said, pointing ¡°is my kitchen, which makes this my lunchroom. There will be no violence in it. No, not even against the Wa¡¯s. Or are you trying to challenge me?¡±


    Riptide wasn¡¯t alive for it, but she still felt the echo of that wail as one of her girls collapsed at the table. Shaking, holding her eyes in, like they were trying to escape. Everyone went back to their meals, ignoring her. No one wanted to be seen as weak. The Royal walked up to her and took a knee, forcing Montana to abort.


    ¡°I am sorry about that. You were very brave, standing between your sisters and me like that.¡±


    No one was looking at them. This was Midway. It was embarrassing.


    ***


    It¡¯s odd discovering a whole new sense. A new set of instincts. Fleet sense was like that. Even disconnected from the web, Taylor could see it. Sense each knot, every girl, against the backdrop that was Midway.


    Even asleep, Taylor could feel the island flinching away. She felt like a reclusive tinker after tinkering. Far too tired to deal with this and not good at it to begin with.


    Her judge was making her way over, drawn by the distress, but Taylor was already here. She¡¯d done the damage, shouldn¡¯t she try to fix it? Even if she never could make up for it.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± she asked.


    The girl was holding back fears, tears. A human would probably need months, years of therapy to heal from wounds that horrific, even if their eyes were healed. And Taylor had what? A few minutes? How in the Abyss was she supposed to fix this? How was anyone? Yet she felt the need to try.


    ¡°Lina.¡± The Heavy Cruiser replied, in a pained, strained whisper.


    ¡°That¡¯s a pretty name for a great sister Lina.¡± Taylor tried.


    ¡°Am not. Couldn¡¯t protect anyone. It hurts.¡± she whimpered.


    ¡°Because I was killing them.¡± Taylor remembered.


    ¡°They shot me. You made them,¡± the girl accused.


    ¡°Because it was convenient and so clever.¡±


    Make them kill their own. Hadn¡¯t even occurred to her.


    Just a shield, a thing to be expended, a target.


    ¡°What if they do it again?¡± she confessed.


    This close, Taylor could see it. Lina had come back, but she¡¯d brought a drop of the Abyss with her, stuck to that memory. It was eating away at her.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t mean to Lina. They won¡¯t. You have beautiful eyes.¡±


    And they were. Even now Taylor could see it in her deep green eyes. The girl before her cared more that she was embarrassing her fleet than for her own pain. The terror that her closest sisters had discarded her, betrayed her. It Resonated. A low hum filled the air around her. It took Taylor a moment to realize it was her own, her Silence. The Abyss leaking into the world. The piece stuck in Lina was responding to it, like a marble at the edge of a pit, a ball stuck in gravity. A stream headed for the sea. But Lina wouldn¡¯t let go.


    ¡°Lina.¡± Taylor¡¯s voice barely held the edge of warning, but it was enough.


    As Taylor¡¯s hand landed on her cheek, Lina collapsed against her. All the fight went out of her as she surrendered, know it was a hopeless struggle against a Young Lady. The piece slipped out of her. Freed from her struggles, it slithered out like oil right from the eye. Doing no further harm on the way out because Lina wasn¡¯t fighting it anymore.


    A black serpent flowing into Taylor¡¯s palm. It carried with it the vivid memory of that moment, the helplessness, the pain, the betrayal as her own sisters killed her. It came at Taylor like a wild beast and was eaten alive in a single gulp. The True Abyss within her consumed anything and everything. Even pain.


    Lina¡¯s eyes cleared and Taylor was suddenly sure that whatever was left of those memories would be a pale shadow of the original. For a moment, she wondered if this counted as inflicting limited brain damage, or as a form of Mastering. The Empress came to mind. Lina could be happy again, so did it matter? The Abyss healed brain damage as a matter of course, it could resurrect entire people. And mastering was a fact of life in the Abyss. Was this any worse?


    ¡°Thank you, My Lady.¡± the Cruiser said, filled with relief.


    ¡°No Lina, thank you.¡± Taylor finished, getting up. She weighed her own morals and thought of Abyssals and debts.


    ¡°I owe you one. Call, if you need help.¡± Taylor promised. It wasn¡¯t the smart move. But it was necessary. Even if Taylor couldn¡¯t convince the empty cold in her to offer the same to the rest of them.


    She turned to face her Judge and could already see the Princess plotting how to take advantage of the perceived weakness. So this was West?


    Judging Taylor before they¡¯d even met? Things always had to get worse. The Princess would regret that. Taylor now knew she couldn¡¯t work with her. So she¡¯d have to work around her.


    ¡°The Empress warned me about you Taylor.¡± She said.


    ¡°Come, let¡¯s take a walk. Don¡¯t want to ruin anyone¡¯s lunch with Court stuff.¡±


    The way she said stuff just grated. Like Taylor¡¯s future was unimportant, a business briefcase she had to lug around. This was getting off to a great start.


    ***


    The room was sparse. Taylor didn¡¯t want to get too invested, but she had put down her sewing kit and a few pots around the room. There was little point in closets and drawers when you had practically unlimited storage onboard, but a few things had their place. The paper saying Bertha outside Taylor had replaced with Sachi¡¯s drawing of her. It was a bit embarrassing, but first impressions mattered, and Taylor was trying to be approachable. The girls had enough fear in their lives.


    The walls were thin, which was a bit reassuring to Taylor. Hard to sneak up on you if you could hear them coming. Being in a room, alone, felt stifling. Without someone to fill in the silence, it was like cotton in her ears. Like Taylor needed her glasses again. Taylor couldn¡¯t see, not the distance she was used to.


    The boathouse below was better. Open on one side to let her keep an eye on the world, and the tide wasn¡¯t bad, going by the watermarks. Wakumi had made an effort to lay out Taylor¡¯s sleeping arrangements. Bit messy, but she wasn¡¯t complaining. There was something about listening to the sea that relaxed her.


    The girl herself was just outside Taylor¡¯s door, standing at readiness like some kind of butler. Taylor was tired, it had been a long couple of days. She raised the bedding up above the high water mark and slipped in, leaving her feet in the water to hear the sea.


    ¡°Wakumi? How long do you plan on standing there?¡± Taylor asked her.


    ¡°As long as you need me Miss.¡± She answered.


    It was dawning on Taylor that asking for the Light Carriers help in figuring out how the Abyss worked may have been taken a bit more seriously than she had intended. She¡¯d said that before fully realizing or accepting what being a Princess meant. Taylor was sure she was still missing details, but the overall picture was clearing up.


    So Taylor got out of her comfortable bedding and climbed up the stairs to look her in the eyes when she asked:


    ¡°Wakumi, when¡¯s the last time you slept?¡± she insisted.


    ¡°Six days ago Miss. But I¡¯m fine. Don¡¯t worry about me. I¡¯ll guard you while you rest, make sure no one disturbs you.¡± Wakumi assured her, obviously not fine. Taylor thought about arguing with her. Asking why she hadn¡¯t slept in six days. Explaining. She had better things to do right now, when there was a simple solution. And maybe she was a bit tired, with a long night ahead.


    ¡°Very well then, but you aren¡¯t doing it from out here.¡± Taylor suggested, walking in and raising the blankets on the bed in the small, enclosed room that she was never going to use anyway.


    ¡°Your duty station, sailor. Get to it!¡± She barked. Wakumi was halfway into bed by the time she realized what was happening.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t necessary Miss. I can stay on duty for weeks at sea. I¡¯m fine,¡± The Carrier protested. Which was nice.


    Taylor really didn¡¯t like all the deference, even if it was useful. The religious undertones were creepy.


    ¡°That you can doesn¡¯t mean you should.¡± She parroted an answer good for many, many questions.


    ¡°We¡¯re in Harbor, so rest. It¡¯s good for you. Anyone trying to barge in will run into you first anyway. And take your rigging off. You¡¯ll get neck cramps sleeping in that oversized helmet.¡± Taylor chided, tucking her in.


    ¡°But Miss-¡°A giant yawn interrupted the second protest. Taylor had a wicked idea.


    ¡°Or do you want me to stay up worrying about you?¡±


    There. That sounded like something Ena would say.


    ¡°No Miss,¡± the Carrier replied, flushing, putting away her rigging. Which was hideous, standard for the Abyss. How Wakumi could see anything from inside that oversized fish head was something Taylor hoped never to discover in person. She had enough crazy in her life already.


    It was odd, watching it happen. The Carrier retreated from the world and the girl, Wakumi, was out like a light. Taylor went back to her own sleeping arrangements. Even with Wakumi above, she felt alone. Sleep was rare on missions and Taylor had grown used to sleeping with her pets on Midway. Throwing out the Imps helped, but it wasn¡¯t the same. Still, Taylor had recordings to review.


    ***


    Her first session with the sensor crew had given her some clues. Things Taylor badly needed. Most of her day was fine, which was very interesting. Why wasn¡¯t she seeing the same distortions that had followed her up to now in most girls?


    Except The Judge. That? That was blatant. West? Judge? All throughout that soft interrogation Taylor had been bristling, boiling with resentment. Seeing the worst. Why only with her? Taylor had an inclining that whatever it was, either severing her link to the fleet or everyone seeing and treating her like a Young Miss had changed it. Let them step out from behind the funhouse mirror of what she was starting to think might actually be her twist. If she had one.


    The Judge- ¡°Not again.¡± Taylor took a deep breath, focusing.


    Her name was Ferdinand and she spoke like a member of the E88 that was pretending to be from the old country. Her German sounded fluid, but the English needed work. Ferdinand had tried to feel out Taylor, hear her side of the story. Which meant that first thing in the morning Taylor was going to have to go apologize. Just the thought of it made her feel sick. Why should Taylor have to apologize? Just because The Judge-


    ¡°What fucking judge!? Her name is Ferdinand! She isn¡¯t here to judge me, she¡¯s here to judge just how badly Midway and The Empress fucked up! They didn¡¯t notice a crippled, starving Princess in their fleet after a messed up summoning and she told me that!¡±


    Lightning struck the top of her tower in that place between and her insects perked up, ready to serve. Screens were set, recording readied. Then the crabs went to war on every crease as flies checked over every memory and washed them in the sudden downpour, letting the crabs dry and press them.


    It felt like riding a bike for the first time. Wobbly and unsure but getting easier the more she pedaled against the currents. The sensation was bizarre. Like her mind and memories were wrinkled, knotted cloth. And Taylor¡¯s will calling down lightning to start the operation, give them pure light to work under. Summoning the clear rain, each drop reflecting a sensor log. A reflection of the real world taken through glass eyes falling into the sea that were her memories.


    All done by insects who scoffed ¡°at such piss-poor effort¡± and dragged the truth of each expression by washing them in the rain of evidence and meticulously comparing each shade and color to memories preserved from her time as a human. Memories buried deep in her core and untouched by the Abyss. Even limited by Taylor¡¯s ability to call up the memories from the core one by one and having to carefully return them herself? Her head spun at how fast the sensor crew was at finding the right shades to correctly identify true expressions.


    ¡°Hah. It¡¯s because the crew knows you¡¯re watching¡± the old sea fly laughed. ¡°Puts some spine in ¡®em weak backs.¡± He paused. ¡°Do insects have spines?¡± he pondered.


    The stains and their illusive shadows were washed from her memories, one by one, tossed over the side into the sea, to be fed back to the Abyss. It would take her hours to iron them all out with her daily recordings as references. Because as far as she could tell? Once Taylor fell asleep all her memories were treated by the Dockworkers and ritually thrown overboard, to join the weave on the seabed. A massive mosaic frozen forever below the waters, unchanging and unchangeable. Permanently out of reach of both her and the Abyss.  She couldn¡¯t change the past, but neither could the Abyss.


    Taylor could find them beneath the sea, if she knew where to look. Finding lost or misplaced ones took dedicated effort from her sensors, but even older memories were still there, if misplaced in the weave. Laid out like a mosaic display in perfect clarity. Taylor found the original. The start. Itchy¡¯s whine brought a fresh smile to her face. She¡¯d need to make a new index for all the misfiled, misplaced memories. The weave on the seafloor was patchwork, but that would change. There was something to correct before she did all that.


    For one, Taylor had noticed getting more than a bit motherly with Wakumi. Something that hadn¡¯t stood out while she was doing it. She wasn¡¯t at all sure how she felt about that. Kids had never really been a concern with the end of the world on the horizon. For another, the sub was here. Quietly sneaking in after Taylor was seemingly asleep. Recommendation was, keep the girls who just came out of the Abyss busy and on light duty. Fun and games to remind them of the real. Even if some of those games were target practice or beating the hell out of each other.


    Each girl was different. Shun? Taylor hadn¡¯t seen it this morning when she had sent her to the party, but having gone over every conversation in detail? She knew now. Shun only wanted one thing. So when she got close enough Taylor shifted, letting her hand reach down, next to the calm waters. A pale hand ghosted out of the sea, slipping into hers. Gently, Taylor squeezed, feeling Shun freeze. Then she started pulling. The sub came out of the water, bit by bit. Taylor didn¡¯t bother with her eyes, keeping them firmly shut. She could see anyway.


    ¡°Unless you¡¯re trying to make my bed wet, you¡¯re going to have to leave the giant fish behind.¡± She murmured softly.


    For a moment Shun hesitated.


    ¡°Ok.¡± she said timidly.


    Then the jaws distended further. The Yo class was as horrific as anything in the Abyss. A massive fish with big teeth that swallowed the girl. When open, it appeared as though Shun¡¯s top half was in place of the tongue of some monster from the sea. But slowly, she slipped out. Sub-girls favored bodysuits and Taylor could now see why. The space was tiny and cramped, with lots of things for loose cloth to catch on. Shun was kneeling in there all day, sometimes for weeks at a time. When the jaws closed to let her submerge, it would be like she was swimming in her own coffin. Taylor could never do it. With how the Abyss worked so far, Shun probably didn¡¯t see it that way.


    The legs that came out were atrophied, weak. Bone thin and with barely any muscle to them. She probably couldn¡¯t even stand. How often did Abyssal submarines go on land? Still, Shun came out of her shell, trusting that with Taylor here, she was safe. The tiny girl burrowed into her side, cold as the sea. Even with the blankets wrapped around them Taylor was cold and uncomfortable. Shun was too close. Taylor hadn¡¯t had a sleepover since she was a kid. Yet against all that discomfort and cold?


    This close, she could feel Shun warming up, relaxing. The soft smile on her face did something, deep inside. There was an empty void in her heart. It had been there from the moment she¡¯d woken up as a ship. The Abyss kept trying to fill it with hate and grief. It had succeeded but Taylor was doing her best to throw out the sludge. Which left a gaping hole in her ability to motivate herself, but she was pushing though on disgust, outrage, spite, determination and momentum. Living was a hard habit to drop. Especially with Abyssal resilience and healthcare.


    Now a sliver of warmth sparked in Taylor, as a tiny jolt jumped from Shun to her. Then back and around again. Flowing with their breaths, beating with each heart. Taylor could feel the connection building. Fleet. Her first ship. Her pick, her choice, her scout through the dark waters. Someone who cared about her before she was a Princess.


    ¡°Mine,¡± Taylor told the world, embracing Shun. She had memories to beat into shape, but this? This was alright. Taylor felt like even with everything, she¡¯d could be ok now. She just needed to collect a worthy fleet.


    ¡°Shipgirl instincts.¡±


    She was stuck with them. But that intrinsic feeling of belonging, of family? Taylor could handle it in her Fleet.


    ¡°Sorry, Miss.¡± the sub apologized with barely a sound. Taylor heard it anyway. She could be sorry for any one of a dozen things but in this moment, did it matter?


    ¡°Sleep, Shun. We¡¯ll talk in the morning.¡± Taylor quietly accepted. Because there were mistakes enough to go around.


    ¡°And it¡¯s Taylor. Don¡¯t you start too.¡± she grumbled.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be our secret, Taylor.¡± Shun said with a mischievous smile. Subs and secrets. Taylor figured that was going to be a serious conversation too. But not now.


    ¡°Good Night, Shun. Sleep well.¡±


    Shun giggled. ¡°You¡¯re silly.¡± Everyone knew all you had were nightmares.


    Taylor stayed up, ironing her memories before finally falling asleep, to Her own dreams and nightmares. With her memories cleansed and integrating, Taylor had some of both. It was a good night for her. The first of many.


    Shun? The sub-girl didn¡¯t have any nightmares that night, nor any since. The skies of her dreams were filled with bolts of lightning, the depths with stars beneath the waves.

 Interlude I: Court

    Freddy felt that this investigation had not started well. Shinigami had given a fairly thorough report, if distorted in her usual way. A short stop by The Empress helped confirm Freddy was reading it right, but the long and the short of it was that Shinigami had treated Taylor as any new ship in her fleet. Even if she didn¡¯t know the real reason why new girls were to be beat down and starved for the first week, the battleship had done her job.


    Taylor¡¯s difficulties complicated things, but considering what had happened, it didn¡¯t matter anymore. No Princess was an empty shell. So from the start, even the first week of starvation wasn¡¯t necessary, let alone the months of denying her Bauxite. Freddy hadn¡¯t even needed to seek out Sapphire. The workaholic had already sent a written report to fleet command. Which, seeing how most of Taylor¡¯s efforts under Sapphire were on and around Midway, or to the West, went straight to Midway herself.


    That was the first anchor sinking her case. Midway had read that report, and ignored it. The Empress could be excused for missing something her subordinates had kept from her. The other Princess had no such excuse.


    The second anchor dragging her down had come from a conversation with the Ra-Class Repair Ship that had been Taylor¡¯s overseer for harbor work.


    ***


    ¡°I would not seek to presume, Milady.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here asking you on Court matters, Kaede. Presume away.¡± Freddy pressed.


    Normally, she¡¯d at least try to get the girl to call her Freddy, but the Court would rain hell on her if she tried that on official business. Well, on Kaede, anyway.


    ¡°You recall a slight mistake in the shipping plans? One that caused considerable overwork at the docks?¡± the repair ship asked, refusing to look her in the eyes.


    But Freddy knew the Ra for years now, she could tell. The little minx was enjoying some spiteful satisfaction. Possibly because said overwork included her. Tough luck, warships had to be on duty for days and weeks at a time, keeping the perpetually docked girls on their toes was just good practice for emergencies.


    And Midway was being a brat again and demanding perfect paperwork. English was not Freddy¡¯s native tongue. She was perfectly fine at speaking, but spelling remained a pain in her ass. German had some reading exceptions. Most letters were still read the same way, wherever they were. English was an exception. So maybe she delayed a few shipments and rolled them up in a convoy to ensure the safety of everyone. Wasn¡¯t her fault that wrecked the Perfect Princess¡¯s perfect logistics. Maybe if they were less perfect, there¡¯d be more flexibility to them.


    ¡°I trust that this is going somewhere?¡± Freddy reposted. Because she was not reporting their little games to the Court if she didn¡¯t have to.


    ¡°The Miss crashed hard. She¡¯d always been unusually quick, but she¡¯d tire fast as well. A single shift nearly red-lined her. The Princess didn¡¯t believe her. She enforced discipline on her.¡± Kaede relayed.


    ¡°What was it?¡± Freddy asked, because the more she looked the worse this got.


    ¡°She took four fingers.¡± the overseer answered.


    ***


    Because no matter how hard Midway protested that it was about recycling and efficiency, it was a known fact at Court that Harbors that regularly decommissioned ships could get a taste for it. Get more personally involved. Midway had set that example herself. But there was no way in hell she hadn¡¯t noticed that she got Bauxite out of those fingers. And not in traces. So that was proof the second that Midway would be footing the bill for this mess.


    Freddy had yet to find a good time to link with the on duty Ritualist competent enough to inspect Midway¡¯s claims that it was impossible for her sensors to miss a Princess emerging. But no matter the result, it should not have mattered. If not for the fact that her star witness and the main member of Court harmed wasn¡¯t shunning Freddy. Their first meeting had been bad. Bristling, hostile from the start. Freddy was pretty sure it wasn¡¯t anything she did. Freddy had never met the woman. Worse, it was like Taylor was actively trying to undermine her, when she wasn¡¯t holding herself back from attacking her. Which was making this far harder than it needed to be.


    It was chilling, being in arm¡¯s length of the Young Lady, knowing what she could do up close. Freddy would turn her to floating junk at range, but a Carrier was poorly suited to face to face combat on land. Something that Taylor had proven herself uncommonly capable off. Speaking of.


    Freddy¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°A new look, Young Lady?¡± she asked the wandering ship.


    The woman was out of her rigging, but that wasn¡¯t what drew the eye. A web of dark blue fibers was laid over her face, like a sparse veil. It looked like Taylor had hastily patched it from fishing webs. Upon hearing her voice, she stopped in place and reached up, untying a heavier scarf from her head. Then retying it as a blindfold. She turned away from her, standing sideways and retreated when Freddy tried to get close enough to speak easily.


    This was getting a bit crazy. The off behavior, not this particular one, but the feel off it? It was familiar.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Her witness said.


    ¡°Both for yesterday and¡­ this.¡± Taylor vaguely explained, waving an arm in front of her covered face. Freddy took another step forward and watched Taylor take the exact same step away. No fear, no confusion, no stepping on rocks or roots.


    ¡°I see. Are you well?¡± Freddy carefully asked. If this was related to Taylor¡¯s difficulties, then she might be able to help. She wasn¡¯t the first girl to come out wrong, though it was very rare. Freddy had to look it up. If it was about her twist, Freddy was sailing through a minefield. Wonderful.


    ¡°Most of the time. Right now? I¡¯m trying to manage It.¡± She answered.


    So probably the twist. Probably. Best not to linger in dangerous waters. Freddy gave her an easy smile, but was unsure if Taylor could actually see it, so she put some pep in her voice.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re doing batter. If we got off on the wrong course, I hope we can right that rudder today. What can you tell me about your early days?¡±


    Taylor scowled before stilling. She was talking to herself, quietly, but every Carrier had sharp senses. A Princess more so.


    ¡°Not mocking me. Not trying to make me feel weak and exposed. Have some fucking faith in the plan, Taylor.¡± she encouraged herself.


    It took a minute, but the scowl ended. Slowly, Taylor walked to the waterline until her feet were in the surf, her blindfolded eyes raised to the sky. The smile was slow in coming, but a vicious thing, two rows of dagger teeth. Sharp and jagged, meant to rip and tear.


    ¡°Where do I start?¡± The shark asked, smelling blood.


    In that moment, understanding what she was seeing? Freddy felt so proud.


    A Princess could do it. But fighting your twist was never easy.


    ***


    ¡°It¡¯s sunlight.¡±


    ¡°More sleep.¡±


    ¡°Control, duh.¡±


    ¡°Power, obviously.¡±


    ¡°I think everyone here is missing the obvious. New girl is flat as a runway. She took one look at Freddy and knew she was defeated. I¡¯ll bet thirty thousand tons of Oil it¡¯s jealousy! Just look at Midway!¡± the Princess in question crowed.


    ¡°Ladies, Misses, Princesses and Hime-sama¡¯s, let¡¯s all please remember that this is the submission phase. Everyone can suggest what they think Taylor¡¯s twist is first. Betting comes after.¡± Freddy grinned, to which many giggled.


    Court was alright. The usual. It¡¯s just that this time it was being held in Freddy¡¯s head and hosting always gave her a nasty migraine. She hated it, the damn thing would stick around for days. Had to be done, but Freddy didn¡¯t have to like doing it. Even if she could fake it well. It was Court.


    ¡°I¡¯ll add them to the board. Anyone else?¡± Soft murmurs filled the summoned room, with occasional shouts making new suggestions.


    ¡°Now, everyone can place your bets. Those actually interested, we¡¯re over here.¡± Freddy said, leading them to a round table in the back with plenty of snacks.


    Another Princess took over the spotlight. The Caribbean announced:


    ¡°The snack table is now open. Come on you little piranhas.¡±


    ¡°Refuge, come on! Make with the music maestro!¡±


    They left them to the party. There weren¡¯t many women here, but all of them were important at Court. There were Princesses and there were Princesses. Not everyone led their own Courts.


    ¡°I¡¯ve sent everyone the details. Is there any disagreement?¡± Freddy asked to the opening of some violin piece.


    ¡°That depends¡± Raven asked, ¡°on if the Empress will confirm what she saw?¡±


    ¡°I do. It was weak, newly formed and the caster was in a bad way, but that was definitely a Skill.¡± The Empress testified.


    Looks were shared around the table.


    ¡°Well then. If Young Taylor can develop Skills, it¡¯s apparent that she can overcome her difficulties, whatever they may be. Given aid, she should become an asset to the Court. A worthy investment, no?¡± Raven ruled.


    Atlantic North snickered. ¡°And getting resources out of Midway¡¯s bunkers is like pulling oil from the seafloor. Think we can get any Bauxite off her?¡±


    The fan made an appearance as the Empress ducked behind it. ¡°I would not hope to speak for Midway, but you may be better served by asking the British to surrender.¡±


    ¡°Would you care to share how she plans to justify that? Reparations are owed¡± the Brazilian representative asked.


    ¡°I¡¯d really rather not. But I don¡¯t doubt it will be effective.¡± Pacific West finished.


    ¡°That¡¯s not the topic.¡± Raven insisted. ¡°If we are in agreement, then it¡¯s time to decide just how hard we want to hit Midway. What¡¯s Taylor¡¯s nature, from what you¡¯ve seen?¡± Raven asked.


    The Empress smiled. ¡°You know the type. They¡¯ll push and prod, struggling to change the world until they break. I think she honestly thinks she¡¯d do a better job than I did. Precocious little shit.¡± she cursed fondly to raised eyebrows.


    ¡°She¡¯s half-way to having her own chunk of the Pacific East black market and Midway is clueless.¡±


    She leaned back, prim and proper.


    ¡°As to her future. Well, Pacific West and East will support her. Either she fails and breaks, in which case she¡¯ll come looking for guidance to us. Looking for another to guide her. Then she¡¯ll make a good subordinate. Or¡­¡± The Empress said leadingly.


    Everyone at the table broke out in monstrous, deadly grins.


    ¡°Or we¡¯ll have another seat at the table that matters. Another thinking brain working against the Enemy. Fine. Back her to the hilt. Sink or sail, it¡¯ll be her own fault. We¡¯ve done our parts. Even if it fails, Midway will be footing the bill.¡± Raven concluded.


    Say what you will about the First Princess of the Abyss, The Queen of the Indian Ocean, ¡°Acid Rain¡± Raven.


    And she was much: both great and terrible. Petty and cruel. First among Equals. One of the Six Great Ritualists.


    But if there was one thing Raven had done right, it was this: She¡¯d made the women at the table understand what it meant to be a Princess. Set the example. Raven hadn¡¯t formed the Court system, but she supported it and was the chief enforcer. Every rumor about her past had long been snuffed out. But a few at this table were old enough to remember, to have been there when the rumors started.


    They¡¯d been alive to see it in person. To feel the oceans screaming under Raven¡¯s Progress. Everyone here owed her for having no fear from being nuked from orbit for that route.


    But a few knew that once upon a time, Raven sailed for the Enemy.


    None of them would ever speak of it. There were fates far worse than death. Raven had thought up and implemented quite a few. Hard to re-summon a girl, if she wasn¡¯t dead. Only wishing for it.


    .


    ¡°Alright then¡± Atlantic North asked. ¡°Anybody else got fires to put out?¡±


    Pacific East and West smiled.


    ¡°No.¡± Atlantic North immediately interrupted.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you keep doing this. We are not dealing with the Sub Refuge. If you want to go the arctic to freeze your ass off, you do that.¡± she said.


    ¡°But sister, your Scandinavian bases are so much better positioned for the effort.¡± Pacific West sweetly chirped.


    ¡°I am not doing it.¡± Atlantic North insisted, irritated.


    ¡°And stop milling it. Or I¡¯ll pay her to see how you like waking up with the Princess of Refuge over your bed.¡± she muttered, shuddering. Everyone heard, of course. East and West both went blank.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t dare. She¡¯d come to Midway.¡± The Empress warned. That? An Accident would not cover the resulting crater. The entire table shuddered at that. Everyone except Atlantic North. She looked irritated enough to do it.


    ¡°Ban it?¡± Raven laconically asked. The suggestion was met with approval.


    ¡°What¡¯s the wording?¡± Atlantic North asked, suspicious.


    ¡°Pacific East and West will not prod Atlantic North over her accident. Atlantic North will not cause another accident by sending Refuge after them.¡± The involved Princesses mulled it over, before nodding.


    The Empress was a bit more formal: ¡°Agreed.¡±


    ¡°Though if anyone does figure out how to put the bitch down permanently, the bounty is still available.¡± Raven tried. No one took the bait.


    ¡°She does provide an essential service.¡± The Brazilian representative insisted quietly. ¡°Or do you want to try policing the subs yourself?¡± Ravens opinion on that was painted all over her face, but most of the table was not on her side in this.


    ¡°Moving on.¡± The P-I Border Islands representative pushed, from her seat between Indian Central and Pacific East.


    ¡°What the hell happened you two?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got Hainan and Hong Kong screaming at me, and you know that if China Central wasn¡¯t busy with internal matters on Taiwan, she¡¯d be right alongside them. Shanghai died. We barely took it the third time from those PLA and PLAN jerks. What happened?¡±


    ¡°China Central is a moron is what happened.¡± Pacific West whispered barely loud enough for the girl next to her to hear. The Empress swatted her with a chiding look. They were at Court.


    ¡°Behave.¡± she glared at Freddy.


    The two took on stony looks.


    ¡°China Seas Central¡± The Empress stressed the full title, ¡°was informed of the plans and the timetable. And approved both. So shouldn¡¯t you be asking her that?¡± Pacific East asked with a raised eyebrow.


    ¡°Well China isn¡¯t here.¡± Raven complained, ¡°so you¡¯ll do. Won¡¯t you?¡± she asked with a relaxed smile. Like a parked battleship who just happened to be in gun range.


    ¡°Ah.¡± The Empress retreated.


    ¡°I suppose I could shed some light on the matter.¡± She acquiesced.


    ***


    It wasn¡¯t fair. She¡¯d done everything right. And the investigation had born that out. Midway had proven beyond any doubt that if a Princess had emerged on or near her island, her sensors would have caught it. But even for her, the Perfect Princess, there were limits. Limits to her skill, knowledge. She was damn near the only serious Ritualist that had never, ever had a Ritual blow up in her face, but; she hadn¡¯t known. Midway had barely believed it when they told her.


    *


    ¡°I¡¯m not seeing any problems.¡± The Court Ritualist said, looking through Freddie¡¯s eyes. Her strained, bored eyes. Freddy was not a Ritualist and spending hours staring at Midway¡¯s arrays? Her eyes were bleeding. And this was just the public stuff. Serves the Carrier right for doubting her.


    Midway scoffed, loudly repeating her opinion of this whole thing. For the fortieth time.


    ¡°So I¡¯m spared having to go to the back rooms.¡± Freddy cheered up.


    ¡°Unfortunately.¡± The Court Ritualist confirmed, filled with disappointment.


    Petty thieves trying to steal her work.


    ¡°There.¡± Midway insisted, and in an instant she was in Freddie¡¯s head.


    ¡°Nothing is wrong with any of my sensors and I did not summon her. Happy now?¡± she asked the gaggle of girls who thought they could catch Midway in a mistake. The entire gallery was filled with disappointment.


    ¡°You really didn¡¯t summon her?¡± The Court Ritualist asked, frustrated.


    ¡°No.¡± Midway refuted, again. This time it finally took.


    ¡°Well then it doesn¡¯t really leave many options. So unless someone wants to come forward and claim credit?¡± the investigator asked.


    Refuge was visibly vibrating, trying to find her new rival. Practical jokes were her thing. Midway felt the term ¡°deliberate and malicious sabotage¡± were a more accurate description of her so called hobby.


    ¡°Well. I guess a botched self-summoning is the only option left then.¡± the Ritualists concluded.


    ¡°You can botch a self-summoning?¡± a horrified voice asked, as multiple girls shuddered.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°What are you even talking about?¡± Midway asked, affronted with this stupid new angle. Obviously it was a plot.


    ¡°You can¡¯t botch a summoning. Only a total incompetent would fuck up something that simple.¡± She reasonably pointed out. The silence that engulfed the room was almost deep enough to be actual Silence.


    Midway watched in disbelief as face after face dropped in bitter, old shame. Hidden shame, brought into the open by her refusal to fail.


    ¡°Damn it. That¡¯s the Perfect Princess for you.¡± A sour voice complained.


    Horror and rage were boiling up in Midway. Didn¡¯t they know? Didn¡¯t they ever consider? You could cripple a ship by fucking up the summoning. Shell her. How could they try without being actually ready, prepared? How many empty shells that littered the Abyss were once living girls that her so called peers mutilated in their careless ignorance and incompetence before they learned enough not to repeat such simple, avoidable mistakes? Were there truly only six Ritualists worthy of the name in the entire Abyss?


    *


    It was the shame that did it. Convinced her. Made her believe that girls could come out wrong. Not mad, for that was an old and familiar threat. Just wrong. If you made mistakes during the summoning, it was common while the girl was still an apprentice. Mistakes happen. Midway never had any.


    But no Princess had advertised her failures. Why would they? They¡¯d delivered mercy in the safety of their ritual rooms, before most of the damage could settle and become permanent.


    The same girls that often mocked her shortcomings couldn¡¯t look her in eye when she stood before them and confidently said it wasn¡¯t possible. Because it had never happened to her. The awe as her title as the Perfect Princess grew in so many eyes. Midway hated it. She was far from perfect, no matter how hard she tried. With two whole fleets depending on her, every failure weakened them. They killed girls. So she did her best. Delved ever deeper in magic and engineering. On most days it was enough.


    This? This was beyond infuriating. And the subject of her rage wasn¡¯t even at fault. Much. She could have said something damn it. But it had happened. Sometimes a girl, even a Princess, summoned herself. It happened. But very, very rarely, it went wrong. The Girl was the second confirmed case. The second and third suspected cases came undone before a full day had passed and the Court could prove the cause. Ferdinand was the first, but Midway was well aware Ferdinand did not want to talk about her past. Maybe this was why?


    It was just two data points but Midway was working on theories. The trouble with those was that she needed to know their history and Midway knew she wasn¡¯t good at talking to girls. She could order around with the best of them and navigate the snake pit that was Court. Allies she understood. Friends were harder. This? This smelled like a plot. Like one of the others had arranged it all to embarrass her, sabotage her work. How else had it all come ahead while she was so deep in Ritual Prep? How did The Girl evade all her Sensors but with backing?


    Trouble was, she couldn¡¯t see it. It would be easy to blame sabotage. But she just couldn¡¯t find any. Not in any of The Girl¡¯s work on the Ritual, not on her Sensors, nothing. No real explanation how it had occurred, except that the first time her sensors detected The Girl was anything extraordinary was less than a minute before the [Abyssal Call] went out. And that had felt like a Ritual and been muddled by the brute calling on her own Skill in the same room, before she destroyed it.


    But it was something no Princess without backing would have called up on Midway¡¯s home. It proved she was someone¡¯s plant, nothing more.


    That Girl was a Princess. That had been proven beyond doubt when she¡¯d stepped up to the plate. Dived into the Abyss and come out ravaged, but with another. One of Midway¡¯s, the little thief. Which meant the answer to how That Girl had appeared in her lagoon, not a Princess (even though she was, in the end) wasn¡¯t technical. Midway had exhausted all those options, including a possible Ascension, which left only something to do with wrong summoning, an area Midway was tragically deficient in. Something she was now proud off, but was proving inconvenient. Midway wasn¡¯t about to call up girls wrong on purpose. Even if it might be interesting. And she might learn something. Maybe help some of those other idiots with failing less often.


    But probably not. Her friends would be disappointed if Midway did that, so she¡¯d refrain. Even if it was inconvenient, Midway was a considerate friend. Well, she tried.


    Midway still didn¡¯t get it. Why The Girl had kept quiet, endured all that. Seeing what she was letting them do to her was what had decided Midway. No way would any Princess allow it. A pacifier? Sapphire should be worse than dead. It wasn¡¯t worth the brain space to think the thought any would allow such abuse to her person, station. Yet She had.


    And what saboteur would announce herself? The main reason a fourth plate had been planted and Midway had readied for the switch in the Ritual was that an unknown Princess had called down her storm in Midway¡¯s lagoon. A contingency long planned for major rituals, should a Princess show up un-announced, but rarely used.


    Even then, Midway hadn¡¯t really believed it was The Girl. Not as a damn Princess. Some kind of unknown new class? Maybe. But not a Princess. Even if she didn¡¯t trust her own instruments until they were so finely calibrated she could tell what that hack in Japan was doing, the idea that The Girl could hide on her very island while pretending to be a freighter was insane. She would have to completely refrain from using any of her weight and just the thought of trying to go a day without gave Midway hives.


    Only one girl could have come up with a plot that convoluted and she was too busy sending her pouting letters complaining about not being in on the joke of the year. So it wasn¡¯t Refuge. Many would like to take Midway¡¯s position and stipend as Court Researcher but no one else would try something this convoluted just to embarrass her.


    So whatever had happened, Midway trusted Ferdinand and Konoe to figure it out and protect her. As she had for years. Despite her many talents, a great admiral she was not. Let the Court levy their fines. She was Midway. She¡¯d pay them out of the open bunkers and barely strain her cranes. As long as The Girl was gone. Whatever her blame, She was the living breathing personification of Midway¡¯s failure. She would not suffer The Girl to walk the island an hour more than necessary. Or she might just strangle Her for the sheer stupidity and stubbornness involved.


    Midway knew she was being unreasonable. Abyss, in a few weeks when the frozen liquid hell flowing through her warmed a bit her two closest friends might even convince her to reconsider. But whatever the fines, That Girl was off her island. Today.


    ***


    The Empress watched Midway march into the relay room. It was best to do a full court meeting with a bit of support. Freddie¡¯s headaches were bad enough without having to do the entire thing on her own. Midway gave a dismissive glance around the room and settled in to wait. Konoe knew she was gathering up steam. Though in her case it was more like reading the glaciers. Midway burned cold, not hot. Before she could fully get into her persona, The Empress let out a dainty cough behind her fan. It drew the eye and let her signal her friend before she was too deep into her preparations to wrangle the Court.


    Midway took a deep breath, then spoke to the wall, careful not to look at the painful burning coal sitting in a chair in the same room with her. The Perfect Princess didn¡¯t fail, or make mistakes. This was running roughshod all over old wounds.


    ¡°I am going to say many unkind things in next couple of hours. Try not to take them personally. I don¡¯t mean them¡± Midway said snidely, before wincing.


    ¡°I will mean them, but I wouldn¡¯t mean it once I¡¯ve had time to recover.¡±


    She took another deep breath and her tone evened out.


    ¡°This¡­ You? It¡¯s a perfect excuse for that pit of snakes to try and punish me. I won¡¯t have it. I did nothing wrong.¡± Midway insisted. Konoe¡¯s fan snapped closed. It interrupted the budding feud long enough for Midway to get it all out.


    ¡°Even if it also doesn¡¯t seem to be entirely your fault. Maybe. It¡¯s really hard to believe that right now.¡± Yet that? It wasn¡¯t an accusation. It was pained and plaintive and Midway shook with the effort of getting it out. Taylor settled down and that would just have to be good enough because Freddy swept into the room and Court was in session.


    ***


    ¡°No. By every cold hell in the Abyss, NO! I am not her Port of Origin. I will not have That Girl attached to my Name.¡± Midway enunciated clearly, cold as the depths of the ocean.


    Taylor was bearing up admirably, The Empress felt.


    She spoken her piece when prompted and otherwise kept her mouth shut, no matter the provocation from the viewing gallery. The Empress knew Ferdinand would have a massive headache after this, but at least they were near the end. This session had stretched enough already.


    The voices coming out of Ferdinand¡¯s mouth echoed The Court, different girls speaking, sometimes at the same time. Not the most pleasant experience to have your speakers slaved to others.


    ¡°Come now Midway. We¡¯ve already agreed to wave some of her fines and all of her Bauxite in lieu of the damage done to your fleets, as well as the two rogue repair baths. But surely even you must accept that she originated in your waters?¡± the calm voice argued.


    ¡°NO! I did not design The Girl. I did not call for aid. I did not build The Girl. I did not summon The Girl. At no point was The Girl ever invited. The Girl is a trespasser that snuck into my home to wreak havoc and The Girl should be the one paying me for all the trouble The Girl has caused! The Girl is not one of mine, and The Girl proved it by picking Exile. I want The Girl gone. Off the fucking island. End of discussion, unless one of you feels like coming over here to make me.¡± Midway argued, her voice glacial every time The Girl came up.


    Taylor wasn¡¯t happy with it, but kept her mouth shut.


    Lightning came out of nowhere, through the ground, the bunker¡¯s roof and hit the floor in the middle of the room. There were no holes in either, only blackened marks where it had passed. Yet in the flash of its passing, two massive feathery wings had been carved into the wall behind Ferdinand. It looked like someone had burned the shape into the wall. While in an underground, warded safe room.


    ¡°Let¡¯s dispense with the pretenses.¡± Raven¡¯s bored voice emerged from Ferdinand¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°The Empress is not contesting her role in this and has already moved to rectify the balance of her debt. This is not in question. Your own sensor records show Taylor emerged in your lagoon, even if she came out damaged.¡±


    ¡°Damaged?!¡± Midway protested, affronted. ¡°I don¡¯t know what Ritual was used to mask her yet, but-¡°


    ¡°Damaged.¡± Raven said firmly.


    Midway¡¯s face was already red from the arguments but now her cheeks were swollen from how hard she was trying not to speak.


    ¡°Maybe if it was otherwise you¡¯d have some argument but as it is? No. I can see you getting ready to blow up so let¡¯s wrap this up. If you find the association so unacceptable, fine. But you are and you will be her homeport, for Taylor here is a lone Princess about to come into quite a windfall and she needs to spend it somewhere. Or are you incapable of meeting the needs of The Court?¡± Raven asked to thunder so loud it reached them down here, in the buried bunker they had gathered in for the Court meeting. The wings were weeping seawater, releasing a strong wind that made all their hair flap wildly.


    ¡°She is not staying here.¡± There was no give in that voice.


    ¡°Damn it Midway. Fine.¡± Raven bit off, fed up with her.


    ¡°But you owe her a favor for it. And you will take her work orders by radio. She can stay in Hawaii. Are we done here?¡± the irritated voice asked. No one spoke up.


    ¡°Fine!¡± Midway exploded, ¡°But I¡¯m not dealing with her, she can send a damn envoy.¡± With that, she stormed out of the room, cursing all the way.


    ¡°And you¡¯re paying for the lunch room Empress.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s The Empress¡± The Empress reflexively corrected.


    ¡°Send your petty fine to my secretary!¡± Midway shouted back as she left.


    With that, the connection broke. Ferdinand groaned, her head falling in her hands. The Empress quietly led Taylor away. Konoe caught the small document case Ferdinand threw her underhand. Outside, Kaede, the Ra-class repair ship delivered a larger sailors lock box into Taylor¡¯s lap, explaining:


    ¡°You¡¯ve got the exchange rates, brochures, prices for ritual, refits and ship building rates in there, as well as what equipment we have on hand or can produce. Have fun with that and someone can deliver your picks to me. Best to let Midway warm up a bit.¡± She said in a practiced salesman¡¯s voice.


    ¡°What?¡± Taylor asked, bewildered, trying to balance two cases as The Empress pushed the document case to her as well.


    ¡°And this is your verdict and official acceptance letter into the Court of the Abyss. The Announcement will have to wait a bit, as you¡¯re a few years out of date. We¡¯ll have to refit you first, but don¡¯t worry about it. Raven¡¯s agreed to cover that.¡± Konoe began.


    ¡°As we¡¯ve agreed on it and there was no objection, the debts accrued by the Escort Formation have been transferred to their lead and she¡¯s been reassigned to you to serve out her sentence in whatever way you see fit until the debt is repaid.¡± She continued.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You do remember taking Wakumi in Taylor? Without mine permission, I might add?¡± she teased.


    Taylor blinked, flushing. ¡°It¡¯s fine, I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t mind calling that debt even. And while I¡¯m paying some of what the Court has assigned you, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be happy to know that you have Sapphire¡¯s lease.¡±


    ¡°Her what?¡± Taylor asked.


    ¡°Her lease on life Young Miss. I¡¯ll be cross with you if you waste Wakumi, or just kill her. No fates worse than death, understand? And I reserve the right to re-summon if you lose her and can¡¯t raise Wakumi in a reasonable timeframe. But Sapphire is all yours, body and soul. Do with her as you wish.¡±


    Taylor scowled, but there was a bit of vicious glee in her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s fucked up, Empress.¡±


    ¡°The Empress¡± she corrected, bopping her on the head. The scowl intensified, but her eyes softened a bit.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid Shinigami will be staying out of your greedy little fingers. She was mostly doing her job, you¡¯re getting paid for it and she is a battleship. But, to loosen any misaligned screws, let me point out that Midway left you without Bauxite and you need it, if in minor amounts, for any ship. So I trust you¡¯ll forgive me and Pacific East when I say I¡¯ve arranged to seven thousand tons of Bauxite to your bunkers on site. And convinced Ferdinand to donate another three from her reserves. So you won¡¯t have to do slag work for Midway. She¡¯d probably try to get you killed.¡± she said with a smile, but her eyes were serious.


    This would mend bridges, or they were about to have A Problem. The girl was bright enough. Taylor waved it away.


    ¡°What bunkers?¡± she asked.


    ¡°The ones Midway is loaning you as your homeport to keep all your treasures, you silly girl.¡± The Empress said with relish. She popped open the document case.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see what the Court has assigned you:


    -210 000 tons of Abyssal steel


    -120 000 tons of Oil


    -70 000 tons of Ammo feedstock¡±


    Konoe put a delicate finger to her lip in appreciation.


    ¡°That¡¯s a nifty little nest egg. Let me add our contribution:


    -10 000 tons of Bauxite.¡° The Empress added with a pen.


    She finished, laughing delightfully at the utterly confused expression Taylor was wearing. Her hand reached out, fiddling with Taylor¡¯s headscarf, retying the head wrap into a proper style, before she was satisfied. A wide band at the hairline for the fierce up-close fighter to keep her eyes clear and her curly hair free flowing in the back.


    Wouldn¡¯t do for the newest addition to Court to be out and about in anything but her best.


    ¡°I could always gift you something commiserate to your new station, but I suppose they¡¯ll be another chance for more personal gifts at your Announcment.¡± She mused, feeling the material. Silk might be best.


    Konoe let her fingers slip into Taylor¡¯s hair while she fidgeted in place. Concealed from scrying, tapping out invisible beats.


    - .... . .-. . / .- .-. . / -. --- / - . -. -.. . .-. ... / .. -. / -.-. --- ..- .-. - --..-- / -. --- -. . / .-- .... --- / .-. ..- .-.. . .-.-.-


    ¡°And that¡¯s just ours. I¡¯m sure other Court members will want to deliver their own welcoming gifts. One never knew where fresh blood might end up.¡± she finished vaguely, looking at her wistfully for a minute.


    --- -. .-.. -.-- / ... . .-. ...- .- -. - ... .-.-.- / ... ..- .-. .--. .-. .. ... . / -- . / - .- -.-- .-.. --- .-. .-.-.-


    ¡°Oh to be young and unbound.¡± She sighed.


    ¡°Do keep in touch and drop by when you can Taylor. But for now, my fleet has been without their Empress for too long and the ocean awaits. Good luck.¡± Konoe said with a whimsical smile, mussing up the newest member¡¯s hair.


    ***


    Wakumi watched her new Miss step out of the long range comms station. She felt adrift at sea, adrift alone at sea since The Empress had cut her off. Some part of her said that now would be a great time for the Miss to start her revenge. So Wakumi would make sure she¡¯d give Bert-Miss Taylor no reaso-no more reason to leave her here, Exiled. Lone ships were dead ships and she¡¯d already failed Miss Taylor.


    *


    There really wasn¡¯t any point putting it off anymore. After that display, even Midway would notice and her new boss had settled down in the shallows outside, wrapped in a bubble of her own Silence, deep in thought. Wakumi was clearly not invited, so she went to Midway to report and get her transfer. It didn¡¯t go well.


    ¡°Why are you trying to sell me these fanciful tales Wakumi? Just tell me whose storm that was?¡± Midway insisted.


    ¡°But.¡± Wakumi stuttered.


    ¡°But you didn¡¯t. You couldn¡¯t. It was a rule.¡± Did she have to? This couldn¡¯t end well.


    ¡°But it was Bertha¡¯s storm?¡± Wakumi tried, hoping for conciliatory but it just came out as a whine.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly. That one is not Princess. I would know.¡± Midway chided her.


    ¡°You do not tell Midway she is wrong to her face Wakumi.¡± Her Princess had ordered. Everyone knew. The Light carrier swallowed. It was hard to make it come out a statement, not a question. Her mouth was dry but she was doomed either way.


    ¡°Uh. Bertha is a Princess. And her name is Taylor. ¡± And that? That didn¡¯t go well.


    Every last drop of kindness leached out of Midway.


    ¡°I see. So you¡¯ve decided to betray me. Tell me, what did they offer you to be an agent in this plot?¡± Midway asked in a cool tone.


    Denials spilled from her lips but it was far too late.


    ¡°Someone reliable will have to be sent to watch over her. Clearly she too is an agent. If we can catch her contacting her Patron, we can have this all wrapped up today. Or you could just tell me before I get really mad.¡± The Princess threatened. It was hopeless.


    Wakumi was dragged to the sub pens. She¡¯d seen it happen to other girls, but having Midway drag her under the water was terrifying. A Demon or a Princess could do that, take her fleet into the Abyss below, but it was always horrible for anyone not a submarine. They were ships, meant to float, not sail the under-sea. And this time, Midway had not graced her with any of her protection.


    So when Wakumi was dropped in a cramped, windowless room deep under the sea to await judgment? She was half drowned and desperately trying not to fully drown. In disbelief that any submarine could call this tiny, cold cave her home. And all too aware of submarines outside the deep pens keeping an eye out for anyone trying to escape. As well as the sea mines outside the tunnel out of her room.


    Like it mattered.


    Wakumi was a carrier. Her place under the stormy, open skies. She couldn¡¯t even dive, let alone swim while diving. She spent days in that watery hell, sleepless and just trying not to think, feel, praying for the sky until they pulled her out. By then, Wakumi had lost all sense of time. It felt like it had been weeks in there, with no way but her growing Hunger to keep time by. Until one day the resurrection ritual broke over Midway and she felt Taylor dance into the Abyss, even from down below.


    She was let out soon after, the last thing Midway did before crashing into bed.


    *


    Wakumi would not compound that failure with another, by telling her Young Miss about it. No Fleet could feud with their homeport, and it was looking like knowing about it would make Miss Taylor lose her mind. Tenders were sensitive when it came to those they considered their own. And that was the crux of it.


    Wakumi wasn¡¯t in the Fleet. She could partially felt the bond with Shun, Yo-Class submarine, as well as two others, incomplete but there. Those two worried her for the same reason. In her worse moments, Wakumi figured this was to be her punishment. To serve, but never be accepted. A lone, fleet-less ship, surrounded by others yet forever alone, apart. Outside. It was the kind of thing a Princess would think of.


    Knowing all her little brats were freed from the debt didn¡¯t seem like such a great thing now that she was out of the Fleet and holding all the debt, alone before her new Miss.  She rushed forward to help Miss Taylor with the cases.


    ¡°Wakumi, why are they giving me all this? What am I supposed to do with it?¡± Miss Taylor asked in one of those voices the Princesses used when they knew the answer, but weren¡¯t sure how they felt about it. Wakumi wished she¡¯d paid more attention to how the girls in the Fleet Council were handling their Princesses moods and Twist. She wasn¡¯t ready to be this close to one.


    The Light Carrier inspected the contents of the cases and tried to answer with cheer she didn¡¯t feel.


    ¡°So you can build your own fleet, Miss. Every Imperial has one.¡±


    ¡°And make me one of them? Please?¡±


    ¡°How am I supposed to know-how much does it even cost to-how do naval tactics even work?¡± Miss Taylor finally got out, after several attempts.


    Wakumi felt her gut churn. Her Miss was deficient. She really hoped whoever was given the honor to help bring the Miss up to standards was good. Wakumi had no idea how to even try. ¡°Perhaps your teacher can help?¡± she asked hopefully.


    ¡°What teacher?¡± Miss Taylor replied and the carrier felt her hopes crumble.


    ¡°And where is Shun anyway?¡± Miss Taylor asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m really overdue for a talk with that sub.¡± Her Miss muttered.


    Wakumi led her to the sleeping sub. She was on the beach, out of the water and something about that just made Wakumi want to kick her until she¡¯d rolled the tiny girl all the way back to the surf. Subs didn¡¯t belong, especially out of their rigging. They were weak and horribly exposed, their legs ugly as sin. Some of the meaner girls might break them.


    Fortunately, having been carried in the lap of a Princess out of the True Abyss, no one had started anything. Ships that passed her were respectful. Like she was on a Council already.


    ¡°Which isn¡¯t far from the truth, really.¡± Wakumi figured.


    A fleet this small, everyone mattered. Except her. She succeeded in not crying. It was good. The fleet would grow, in time. There¡¯d be space, a place for Wakumi in it, wouldn¡¯t there? Miss Taylor wouldn¡¯t reject her for a second time after asking her to serve. That would be¡­ incredibly cruel and only what she deserved.


    But Wakumi wouldn¡¯t burden the Miss with it. If that was her wish, so be it. She¡¯d endure. She had to. Shun opened lazy eyes, enjoying the rainfall. Her eyes went from Miss Taylor to Wakumi and back.


    ¡°Done with the Court?¡± The sub asked, not whispering but so quiet Wakumi could barely hear it. Couldn¡¯t she speak up?


    ¡°Yes. And I have so many questions.¡± Miss Taylor said.


    ¡°Obviously. Lesson one, don¡¯t miss the obvious.¡± Shun drawled, mischievously.


    Her miss stared at the presumptuous sub, confused.


    ¡°Taylor-¡± Shun started.


    ¡°How dare she?¡± Wakumi felt outrage spark in her.


    ¡°- actually look at her you dummy. You¡¯re not busy anymore, so pay attention.¡± the sub finished, her eyes glancing at Wakumi as Shun spoke.


    Slowly, Miss Taylor swiveled to her, looking her up and down. Wakumi fidgeted under that haze.


    ¡°Wakumi¡­ what¡¯s wrong?¡± She asked.


    One thing, Her Miss had asked of her. Not to lie. But she had to. For the Fleet.


    ¡°Nothing.¡± Wakumi said.


    ¡°Wakumi.¡± The Miss commanded. She was screwed, no way out, all over again. Doomed if you do, doomed if you don¡¯t. Miss¡¯s hand landed on Wakumi¡¯s shoulder and instantly the scowl slipped off her face. A painful touch, growing soft, comforting.


    Miss Taylor looked her in the eyes, worried, worried for her. Her hand was warm, almost incandescent..


    ¡°Wakumi.¡± She said, like her name mattered. Like it wasn¡¯t her fault. Like everything would be ok.


    ¡°I¡¯m here. Talk to me.¡± Her Princess asked her.


    Lightning sparked in her shoulder, poured into her in a flood that consumed Wakumi¡¯s whole world. For an instant, Wakumi was in a massive Graveyard, surrounded by dead, sunk ships waiting for a better day to come back to the world. Far, far above, beyond the surface, a giant lightning serpent prowled the stormy skies. Waiting for the day oblivion would consume the world and they could be reborn in a new, better tomorrow.


    Wakumi woke to concerned faces and could only snivel and cry like a newborn, newly risen. What else was there? She didn¡¯t care and embarrassment was for later. Not this, not now.


    This was sacred.


    They were happy tears, for Wakumi was Home. Her [Fleet-sense] singing with their concern.


    ¡°No Miss. Don¡¯t worry about a thing. They¡¯re happy tears. I was just being a silly ship.¡± Wakumi tried to reassure them.


    Her Miss took on a serious tone, even as a tiny grain of mischief gleamed in her eyes. ¡°Well, you better let me clear out any silliness early next time. I¡¯m a bit slow, but I can figure it out when it¡¯s pointed out to me.¡± Miss explained.


    ¡°No unneccesary suffering in my Fleet sailor and that¡¯s an [Order].¡± Her first. Wakumi could feel her heart filling, overflowing. Ready to burst.


    Then Taylor¡¯s smile turned warm. Her voice tentative, almost shy, painfully heartfelt and vulnerable as the Miss officially said:


    ¡°Welcome. Welcome to the Fleet Wakumi. We¡¯re happy to have you.¡±


    All those nightmares and fears of worse case scenarios evaporated in the clear, warm hugs which engulfed the Light Carrier. Even if the sub was boney and poking her, and her Miss was flat, the hugs were the best thing Wakumi had felt in weeks.


    And if anyone had a problem with that, she¡¯d bomb them to next week. No one insulted Wakumi¡¯s Fleet.


    ¡°I¡¯m happy to serve.¡± Wakumi replied and she meant it as the bonds solidified, binding them in one goal, one purpose. One family.


    Her new one. She¡¯d miss the old one, but that was life as a shipgirl. Sailing, ever onward, beyond the horizon.


    ¡°Now¡± Miss Taylor said, laughing, ¡°will you two help me with all this already. I know almost nothing about the Abyssal economy, the war, the politics of it. Where do we start? How did it even start? How much does a Cruiser cost? To build? To sail? How are they even made?¡± she asked.


    In that moment, Wakumi realized with dread that it was now her responsibility to help fix her Miss. They were all doomed. ¡°I¡¯m not ready for so much responsibility!¡±


    Oh. Wakumi had said all that out loud.


    Shun was merrily laughing at her.


    The Miss joined in.


    It really wasn¡¯t funny. It wasn¡¯t.


    But soon Wakumi cracked up too.


    Maybe it was a little silly. But they were happy. So did it matter? Wasn¡¯t that a win?


    Wakumi decided¡­ She¡¯d take it.

 Interlude II: Angels

    Foreword: There are a lot of people who read stuff casually, without thinking much about it. That is normal and fine. This is for them. I don¡¯t want those who don¡¯t think about things too deeply, or don¡¯t gather hints and consider deeper implications, to get the idea this is a much darker work than it is. At the same time, I don¡¯t want to actually spoil things for the people who do read deeply.


    WOG: The Abyss does not casually go around and kill millions, for fun. They do not enjoy slaughtering humans and baring those that have gone mad, don¡¯t randomly slaughter humans at all, any more than you go around slaughtering ants. If the ants don¡¯t bother you, you don¡¯t bother them.


    Trigger Warnings: Some Gore, burning alive, suicide, mental fuckery, drug use and mass casualties. Mentions of torture. Animal Abuse.


    Part 1: Shanghai


    ¡°Come on Stan, move it. We¡¯re going to be late!¡± the young reporter said over her shoulder as her sensible boots hit the concrete in the underground parking garage.


    Being a war correspondent in Beijing was not where Sara thought her career would take her, but here she was. She hadn¡¯t meant to be exiled from the US but investigative reporters were not welcome by the US government after one of them blew open the story of the century in the middle of a war for survival.


    The young twenty something (don¡¯t you know it¡¯s rude to ask a lady her age?) professional reached back into their van to grab her own bag of essentials.


    ¡°I¡¯m going, I¡¯m going. Sheesh. You¡¯d think they¡¯d give us more time. Why wake us up at two AM?¡± Stan the camera man grumbled.


    ¡°Microphone, check.¡±


    ¡°Compact mirror and makeup, check.¡±


    ¡°Press pass, check.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s work stuff covered.¡±


    ¡°Overnight bag if we get stuck again, check.¡±


    ¡°Rice wine if I need to grease some wheels, check.¡±


    ¡°You got everything?¡± Sara asked.


    ¡°Extra batteries, check.¡±


    ¡°Packed lunch, no check.¡±


    But she¡¯d survive on an empty stomach if there was nothing on offer.


    ¡°Mom and Dad didn¡¯t raise a brat.¡±


    Her hand strayed to the black ribbon in her curly hair, reassuring her it was still there.


    ¡°I got it. I got it. Stop hounding me Sarah. I know my damn job.¡± the cameraman complained.


    ¡°But you can¡¯t remember my name. Perks of a new assignment, I guess.¡±


    ***


    Sara was dragging a camera case. Because of course she was. Of course her professional camera man brought his AP press pass but took last week¡¯s PLA pass, not the new one. To be fair, the new passes had come in yesterday, but still.


    ¡°Do you know where the international press room is?¡± a man¡¯s voice asked from behind.


    Sara checked him over. European, probably a few years younger than her, fresh out of college.


    ¡°Trade you¡± she offered with a smirk. He only had a laptop case on him.


    He took a step back, before drawing himself up, pompously.


    ¡°It will take more than directions to get manual labor out of Julien Claes.¡± he said with a bad French accent, leaning down to pick up the camera bag, with some effort.


    ¡°I must also insist on your name, Mademoiselle.¡±


    Sara snorted, but flashed him her press pass. ¡°You got a name, Frenchy?¡±


    He readjusted the unfamiliar load, then replied with a much softer accent:


    ¡°Frenchy? I¡¯ve heard Americans are blunt, but Miss you take the cake.¡± he said, shaking his head.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Sara protested, just a bit affronted and more than a bit amused.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have you know I had to work on blunting my tongue or I¡¯d have cut you by now.¡±


    ¡°Oh god, why would I say that?¡±


    His own smile grew amused as he graciously let her get away with that. After a few seconds of embarrassing silence he extended an olive branch.


    ¡°Peace then? I am Belgian if you must know.¡± he murmured.


    ¡°Right back at you.¡± she said acerbically. Sara did not have time for this, not in the middle of a war.


    ¡°What?¡± her current camera man asked, confused.


    Right, she actually needed someone to help her. ¡°Fuck.¡±


    ¡°I said I¡¯m Canadian.¡± Sara corrected.


    Well she was, now anyway. It was technically true.


    He gave her a skeptical look. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    Except he didn¡¯t sound sorry. He sounded like a mountie from a Hollywood film.


    It startled a laugh out of her.


    She turned to face him straight on: ¡°Are you for real?¡±


    He pinched himself with his free hand, which caused the laptop bag that was on that shoulder to slide off said shoulder. Chasing that nearly delivered her expensive TV camera to the floor, but he managed to correct his balance.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m dreaming¡± he answered with a wide smile, completely unembarrassed.


    Sara kind of wanted to punch him. She found herself smiling back.


    ***


    Soldiers banging on your door at 2 AM means the story is imminent, right? No.


    Contrary to all the rushing to get there, they¡¯d gotten on site, set up the camera and then twiddled their thumbs for almost three hours before things started happening.


    The military personnel manning the consoles had no interest in entertaining the embedded journalists, but it could have been better and worse. For one, the company was tolerable, if dangerous in another way. For another, they were in the joint task force bunker. They¡¯d only see the bits of ground fighting up close the PLA fed them, but they didn¡¯t have to put up with being extra cautious and polite. The PLA wouldn¡¯t disappear them, those days were long gone, but they¡¯d pull their credentials in a heartbeat.


    And Sara didn¡¯t want fresh blood here getting her involved in an incident that would have them cooling their asses in a hotel prison for a month or three, if he heard or said the wrong thing.


    ¡°We are all fighting the same monsters in the end,¡± Sara thought, her hand unconsciously rubbing the long black ribbon running down her back.


    ¡°It would be pretty shitty not to give them some leeway when people are dying out there.¡±


    And the dying was just about ready to start, if the sudden presence of brass in the command center was any clue. She got her mike ready and waved Claes to action. At least they¡¯d used the time to get him a bit familiar with the model.


    ¡°Hopefully this works. I¡¯d hate to fuck up on my first day in the capital. Fuck you Stan, mister ¡°I¡¯m a professional camera man¡±. When the home office hears about this, you¡¯re unemployed is what you are. You knew we were on call, asshole.¡±


    They started rolling as the messages began pouring in from the U2-ABW high altitude reconnaissance aircraft on station above Shanghai.


    *


    ¡°Eagle One, this is Eagle base, how¡¯re you holding up?¡±


    ¡°Read you loud and clear, Eagle base. Be advised, still no Candle base.¡±


    ¡°Candle is imminent Eagle One. Start warming her up for our friends down below.¡±


    ¡°Rodger that. Warming her up. Lenses nominal.¡±


    ¡°Mating to Eastern Theater Command. Exotics online. T-4 hours and counting. Feeds are live. I repeat: Feeds are live. Confirm?¡±


    ¡°Confirm, feeds are live Eagle One.¡±


    *


    ¡°Sacr¨¦ dieu!¡± Claes cursed.


    ¡°Never seen one from this angle? Or is it too close?¡± Sara asked, trying not to think about it.


    The main screen, a wall to wall installation, was filled with the image of a swirling hurricane seen from above. Lightning strikes sparked within it. One or several with each breath. The clouds were dark and heavy, broiling, the rain constant, never-ending. The storm radiated hate. It had parked itself over Shanghai for four months, almost a hundred miles wide and just looking at it made her eyes itch. Sara put on her glasses, but they didn¡¯t help. Much.


    ¡°Spooky Abyssal Bullshit.¡±


    *


    ¡°You¡¯re dropping altitude Eagle One.¡±


    ¡°Getting a better look, base.¡± the pilot responded, laconically.


    Like he¡¯d done dozens of times on any other day, any other flight.


    ¡°Eagle One¡± the brass cut in, in a calm, relaxed tone.


    ¡°If I find a single feather below angels sixty-two today, you¡¯ll be mucking latrines for the rest of the war.¡±


    *


    ¡°Angels?¡± Claes whispered.


    ¡°Lingo. Thousand feet.¡±


    His eyes clouded for a moment.


    ¡°That¡¯s almost nineteen kilometers.¡± Claes gasped. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Oh to be young and innocent.¡± Sara remembered. She repeated the phrase her senior correspondent had told her.


    ¡°Because it¡¯s bullshit.¡± she groused. ¡°Just watch the lightning.¡±


    The silence had lingered over the channel.


    ¡°Sir?¡± choked out a very confused and mortified airman, as Eagle One climbed back to altitude.


    The answer arrived on his screen. The operating theater exploded. What was a few tentatively marked positions for the enemy bloomed to life as signal after signal came online.


    It started at the edge of the storm, in Nantong harbor. The river off Nantong exploded into a pillar of light, biting into the edge of the hurricane as friendlies from the Japanese Kanmusu Corps revealed themselves from the warehouses.


    But that was nothing to the thousands of friendly PLA contacts that popped out of nowhere all over the peninsula at that same edge, having hidden in the towns nearby. Even as the hurricane¡¯s diameter was stymied by the pillar of light¡¯s resistance, every signal on the ground started advancing into the shrinking storm.


    ¡°Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, base?¡± the shaken pilot asked.


    ¡°Candle, Eagle One. That¡¯s Candle. Haven¡¯t you been looking for it for weeks?¡± the flight officer drily replied.


    ¡°Stay on station. Stay out of the discus, Eagle One. Over.¡± he finished.


    ¡°What discus?¡± her junior asked Sara.


    On a side screen they could see the pilot in his cockpit reach over and lay his hand over the picture of a family taped to his console. The pilot¡¯s gloved hand clenched into a fist, voice firming and he drew up in his seat.


    ¡°Rodger that. Today we play for all the marbles base. Out.¡± he said, as unyielding as his air-frame.


    ¡°It¡¯s an ellipse a bit wider than the eye. Damaging EM interference that can reach all the way up to the upper orbits.¡± Sara elaborated absentmindedly, checking that all her feeds were rolling.


    ¡°In a frame that modern; that fancy? He won¡¯t have to come down to the lightning. He touches it he fries.¡±


    Then what Claes was asking caught up with her.


    ¡°What did you think happened to most of the satellites?¡± Sara asked in disbelief as her eyes itched and the fingers not holding the mike fretted away at her ribbon. On the screens hundreds of camouflaged field guns and tank cannons opened up, firing into the storm.


    ***


    Min Yang found the Dragons to be completely unlike his expectations. The army, any army, needed a strict form of discipline. To secure the chain of command and ensure orders would be followed under fire. He¡¯d experienced the same in the regular battalions and trained as his squad¡¯s machine-gunner. But he¡¯d been offered a chance to volunteer for The Dragons, not two months into his specialist training. He thanked his family for all they had thought him, for surely their contributions to his upbringing were what made him stand out enough to be so noticed.


    Now, after four more months of training with the bulky equipment, it had begun to feel like a second skin, even as he marveled at the ease his fellows moved in it. While most of his poor fellows had to settle for what food could be supplied, the Dragons ate like senior party officials. They needed it to build bodies capable of carrying their kits. Min Yang was happy to now count himself among their numbers, even if he was the most junior among them.


    Even if they could be terribly casual and disrespectful to those outside their chain of command.


    ¡°I can¡¯t help you Captain, my men are using all the connections.¡± The First Lieutenant of the Dragons apologized.


    ¡°But surely you can spare a few for worthy heroes of the party to speak to their families on the eve of battle?¡± the higher officer pressed, his eyes watching the ordinary Dragons lounging about their common room, joking and laughing, completely ignoring him.


    ¡°No Captain.¡± his commanding officer replied, voice laced with sympathy. It was a harsh, but simple truth. There were never enough lines on the front. Another man came off the row of screens in the back and another quickly took his place. Min Yang was third in line now.


    ¡°That is unfortunate, First Lieutenant. Truly unfortunate.¡± the Captain promised.


    ¡°Any misfortune will be purged in fields of fire, Captain.¡± their leader solemnly rebutted.


    That had the Captain filching. His eyes rechecking the casual positions of the men. Noticing the singing tension beneath, as each one savored every taste, every breath. Everyone but Min Yang, who was new. Min Yang had to strain his ears to hear the last exchange.


    ¡°Today?¡± the Captain quietly asked.


    ¡°Today.¡± his Lieutenant confirmed.


    Some of the color left the Captain¡¯s face.


    ¡°Thank you for the warning.¡±


    The Captain¡¯s hand fell on his leader¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°For the Dream of a better world.¡± he intoned with a grave, but hopeful smile.


    ¡°Free from the Abyss.¡± Lieutenant Li finished, smiling himself.


    They parted as another man cleared the computer station.


    Second in line, now.


    ***


    ¡°Look, it¡¯s Min. Hi Min!¡± Fa Yang cheered from the screen.


    ¡°Good Day, Fa. I am happy to see you.¡± Min Yang replied, trying to keep a stony face, appropriate to the gravity of this moment.


    ¡°Uh-ah. None of that Min. You¡¯re always so serious. Isn¡¯t this a time to be with your family?¡± Fa Yang asked with a mischievous smile, nervously washing her hands before her.


    ¡°I am a soldier of the People¡¯s Republic. We must maintain a respectable mien at all times.¡±


    A long and loud burp filled silenced the talk of the other soldiers behind him for a moment, before they broke out in laughter. Min Yang could feel his face heating up. He did not understand why the honorable Dragons were as such this day. They were less formal certainly, but today it was as if¡­ he kept that thought well away. It would not do to concern his family unduly. They worried enough already.


    ¡°How go your studies?¡± That was a safe topic. As his older sister launched into a retelling of all the wonders learning and working as a graduated mechanical engineer in the engine factories he carefully looked her over. Fa Yang looked¡­better. Even hidden by her flowing robes what he could see of her face and hands were far firmer, supple.


    ¡°Good.¡±


    Fa Yang did not tire after a few minutes and the shadows of the troubles that had driven him to volunteer were far behind her. A son in the Dragons and a daughter graduating to the factories had done well for his family. Not all were so fortunate.


    ¡°Thank the ancestors we¡¯ve made it through.¡± Min Yang sent, in gratitude.


    ¡°Is that Min?¡± his father¡¯s voice interrupted from somewhere beyond the screen. This? This is what he was fighting for, Min Yang grew certain again, as his family flooded into the room in their home. Those monsters would pay.


    ***


    The alarms started ringing. The trumpets came right after them as speakers started blasting ¡°March of the Volunteers¡±


    Men were running outside, rallying to transports, rushing to battle. The full might of the PLA emerging from bunkers and tunnels slowly dug over months and moved under cover of night, until they had arrived at the very edge of the storm. The Dragons moved slowly, confidently. Like they¡¯d done it all their lives. Min Yang felt ashamed that his hands were shaking. He¡¯d gone to battle before, but never like this, into the storm. Everyone knew the stories. This was a Princess. This was Shanghai. He was a Dragon now.


    Heavy hands landed on each shoulder from his squad mates.


    ¡°You were chosen for this Min Yang. If you cannot believe in yourself, do not insult our own judgments. You¡¯ll do well.¡± they said.


    Each member reached into their personal lockers, pulling out metal boxes that had been closed weeks ago, and since left unopened. Their personal phones were reassembled, as each removed effects and photos and left them on the table, ready to dial. Men ran past their quarters as the Dragons readied for war. They¡¯d all stayed in their under-suits, but now each was helped by his or her partner into their bulky gear. Waterproof, fire-resistant and fully body, resistant to tearing and shrapnel. With a separate air supply that could last up to an hour and a solid gas masks and visors to shield them from the wind and rain. A ceremonial hammer worn on the belt for men, a sickle for the women.


    Finally, their tanks and flamethrowers. Min Yang, as the youngest, went around the table and hit dial on each phone. They would wait there for them, together. Should any return to tell their families what had happened to their sons and daughters. If none did, another Dragon squad would be along to tell them that too, as they all knew to do if fortune smiled on them, and they were the ones to return. Finally, the twelve heavily armed and armored Dragons stomped out of their bunker, their only compromise to traditional warfare a single pistol with one magazine.


    They piled into their armored personal carrier to a backdrop of fire and rain, as the endless barrage pummeled the storm with an endless stream of napalm, pushing it back further, denting the cyclone inward. Few shells made it to the ground, most detonating in the air and all the flames were sucked up by the wind and rain, dying somewhere deep within. As the vehicle started, each man took a small juice box and drank deeply. The bitter medicine would help.


    Min Yang looked to the slot on his sleeve, on the forearm. There was a plastic see through slit there. Each soldier had one. Min had chosen Fa Yang for his. She looked at him from there, smiling happily on the day of being accepted to university. Bright and hale. As the medicine worked its way through his system, the mix of sedatives and euphoric smoothing away negative thought, he focused on their dream as he''d been trained.


    On The Dream. Of a World without the Abyss. Wouldn¡¯t it be beautiful?


    ***


    Ordinary squads led the way in trucks, rapidly deploying in the muddy and soaked ground won by Candle and the endless stream of fire. Each man carried a pistol, a powerful and rugged flashlight, a Molotov made with kerosene and a wooden spear. The Americans had paid dearly for the first lessons in the war and many others had paid since.


    They¡¯d had years of fighting for their shores to adapt equipment and doctrine. The simple truth was, ordinary guns were useless against the Abyss. But it didn¡¯t mean there wasn¡¯t a use for many modern tools of war, if applied properly. Like the helicopters flying over-watch while the storm was suppressed.


    Each man stabbed the soil, methodically searching it in lines for buried Crawlers, once they arrived at the preplanned positions. Clearing fields for the incoming SPG and towed guns.


    Four soldiers on each squad set up perimeter anti-tank mines, further thickened by crates dropping additional supplies from transport helicopters. Four others watched on alert with their own anti-tank charges in hand. They looked like they were holding particularly top heavy, large black frying pans. The helicopters wouldn¡¯t be much help if one of the spear found a target. Anything that could hurt it would kill them too.


    A pair of squad specialists would set up a Type 54 HMG on a tripod, with extra cases of ammo belts, angling the piece towards the sky. An incendiary RPG was the other specialist weapon in each squad and they sought higher ground.


    Soon, the artillery started arriving as other APC¡¯s carrying scouts plunged into the storm itself. The gun crews flew into a flurry of motion, setting up camouflage netting and shelter from the storm to break up the shapes and hide the guns from aerial assault, while the men dug in. Combat engineers dragged optical cable lines to forward positions, connecting them to hand held flashlights with shutters under command of Morse code clickers, for use by battery commanders. A few Drakes were scattered among the camps, wielding the same napalm flamethrowers as the Dragons, but without their extensive protective gear. They were to hold ground, not charge the enemy.


    As the Dragon amphibious transports and their support squads reached the half-way point of the newly freed land, the order ripped through the lines. Flares lit up the outside of the storm. The pillar of light, already weakened, fell. The guns falling silent. Scouts emerged from the edge to give their final spotting reports over radio. Close air support retreated. Within a minute the storm front began to advance, until it had swallowed the forward positions. But they were under the storm wall now, the wind and rain howling all around them. This time, when the artillery opened up on the Abyssal domes in the center of the storm? Fire fell on Shanghai itself.


    With the pillar silenced? Shanghai fell upon them.


    ***


    The rain and the wind made visibility difficult, but it wasn¡¯t falling so hard to limit it, rather it was hard to keep looking into the storm and not just seek shelter. For the artillery crews, the canvas they had raised and half buried now served them well, but every man not manning a piece was standing well outside with their flashlights at the ready, scanning the terrain, buildings and sky around them. Looking for the enemy.


    So close to the returned edge of the storm, Eagle One actually could see them all mostly clearly through the use of cutting edge observation telescopes, lit up by the lights and the fire of cannons. So could Sara and Claes.


    ¡°I need those recordings.¡±


    ¡°(Pests in my home.)¡±


    The voice that came out of the speakers was completely incomprehensible and painful to the ear, like the scratching of innumerable claws on a steel floor, filled with slime, blubber and malice. Overflowing with hate, not for some reason, but merely because it was and just hearing it made most men and women shudder.


    Even as it somehow sounded bored, as if the entire might of the PLA was beneath it. A chore, spilled rice that ants had gotten into.


    The first abyssal tank emerged from under the carriage of a wrecked truck on the highway. The armadillo was barely 30cm(1¡¯) tall and almost 55cm(1¡¯9¡¯) long and immediately marked by Eagle One. But radio stopped at the storm wall, let alone the integrated information sphere that existed in modern combat. By the time they could have warned the people on the ground, the damn things were already moving. Sara¡¯s fingers clenched around black fabric, painfully.


    In the wind and rain, under the dark clouds in its grey shell? It was a distant, small blur moving among the wrecked town. Another dug itself out of the mud, just upstream from one of the fieldpieces, outside the cleared ground. Others emerged from gardens, buildings, parking garages, ponds, bushes, rabbit burrows. All dutifully marked by the computers.


    All over the surrounding fields and buildings, the armadillo¡¯s emerged with tiny turrets on top. They accelerated to about 40km/h(25mph) and their cute, tiny turrets spat tiny shells with little burps of light that would sound like thunder up close. Those tiny shells vaporized soldiers, detonated mines and blew up field pieces. Invisible lines of machinegun rounds with no tracers scythed through the men.


    ¡°Come on, come on, spot them damn it.¡±


    ¡°Crawlers!¡± the soldiers warned, the screams echoing up and down the lines loud enough that Sara could almost hear it. For in her foolish youth she¡¯d braved a storm like that once-


    ¡°Never again¡±


    -and she knew how ugly it was about to get.


    Once upon a time, tanks were faced with tanks. They¡¯d learned better. RPG¡¯s readied themselves, as beams of light chased each tiny flash of fire, following the thunder of guns through the storm. As dozens, hundreds of flashlights tried to find and keep the damn things in sight and illuminated for the people who could actually hurt them as the voices of the dead and the dying filled the miserable, muddy fields.


    Sara and Claes watched in silent pain as position after position disappeared in fire and explosions. Little pops, distant flashes of light marked places where some of the little terrors found their deaths testing the minefields and every now and again, a lick of fire would mark an RPG¡¯s scoring a direct hit. Soon confirmed by Molotov¡¯s from the infantry, just in case.


    But most? Most had to be killed up close.


    ***


    Min Yang listened in to their advance over the endless crackle of his radio. Even sticking together, there was a constant crackling in his ear, somewhere between static and some demented person laughing. He tried not to think about the rain. It hurt to consider all the water falling around them, its threat and the lost potential. The endless patter ringing on the roof. Their vehicle had risen and fallen, navigating washed out roads and ditches dug by relentless streams, struggling through persistent mud. But finally, the combat engineers and navy storm scouts running ahead of them had run into the enemy.


    ¡°Dragons, deploy!¡± their squad sergeant ordered. As the back doors opened they rushed out into the rain. It had no clear direction, falling up and down and sideways, driven by the wind among the buildings. A wall of air nearly toppled Min Yang not two steps out the doors. Fortunately, this segment of road had survived so he managed not to topple, trying to keep up with his elders. A hand grabbed him by the elbow and he knew his partner. Orders ringing in his ears, Min Yang joined the others in spreading out and advancing on the blue flares hanging in the ski in their path.


    His partner flinched at any sound that wasn¡¯t of the storm and flooded no less than three buildings with liquid fire before they got close. Min Yang was worried, in a distant way, that he was in more danger from the men around him than the monsters. What had happened to the stoic, unshakable Dragons? There was a soft crunch in a window on his left and the man spun, filling the entire doorway with blistering heat Min could feel even through his protection. He rushed away from the conflagration, cursing himself and the drugs. He¡¯d practiced and trained, but it was different in the real, hard to stay that sharp with so much in his blood.


    There was a thump that Min felt in his bones and the face of the building on the other side of the road showered the street in rubble. Something brained him, as he lost a few seconds, waking up prone in the mud.


    ¡°Good helmet. I¡¯ll have to thank the man that made it.¡±


    The angry ball of fire had rammed into a burning building and he could hear it still going through the walls, firing at ancestors knew what. He shook his head and wiped away the rain and found the reason that building was on fire. His partner was on the ground, nothing but a silhouette of fire-resistant gear, slowly melting in a pool of flames that had engulfed the entire street.


    He looked from the flames on one side of the street, to the fires raging on the other. Min Yang thanked his instructors for hammering into him to keep a safe distance between partners and advanced on the flares still hanging in the sky down another path. By the time he got there, most of his squad had already arrived. Only nine remained with him there.


    Multiple buildings were on fire and the Combat Engineers were spread out like the petals of a flower. Laying still around a temporary bridge they¡¯d been making over a river that flowed where a two lane boulevard had once been. A bridge that had only a few supports still standing. Min could see the small river washing away more of the destroyed structure and shrapnel from the bridge was buried in the walls of the surrounding buildings, some of which had collapsed.


    The few still standing from the forward squad were in talks with the First Lieutenant. As Min joined ranks with the others, one of the frog men ran down the side of a collapsed building like a monkey, joining the command huddle.


    ¡°The Sergeant?¡± his fellows asked. What could he say?


    ¡°He died a hero of the people. Saved my miserable life.¡±


    It was hard to resist the urge to giggle. Damn the side-effects, Min had to guard his tongue.


    He man next to him scoffed. ¡°None of that. They feed on nightmares, so we¡¯ve come to drown them in our dreams. He died well, as well as any of us can ask. Just repay the debt when you have your own boy.¡±


    Min Yang wondered at that. Would any of them survive the day? If he did, he swore to care for his juniors as his seniors had cared for him.


    ¡°You¡¯re a Dragon now Yang and Dragons?¡±


    ¡°Dragons don¡¯t flinch!¡± Min finished, the familiar call helping center him.


    ¡°Stow it, Young Blood. Half the front is flaring up, but we¡¯re one of the points deepest. We push on. The hardhats will bridge the river with our rides. Proceed on foot. First wi-¡°


    There was a whistle, growing louder.


    ¡°Scatter!¡±


    ***


    Sara watched the distant, tiny lights.


    ¡°(Persistant little critters. Burning my pets.)¡±


    For a moment, the screens died before the voice of the pilot brought them back.


    ¡°Switching to second core, base.¡± he said with a shudder.


    Almost a full quarter of the beasts were burned by Drakes in the urban environments. The Drakes could and did set entire fields or buildings on fire to flush them out, only to have tiny flaming balls come rushing out of them, completely blind and mad with pain. It could take as much as fifteen minutes for the damn things to finally stop moving once doused in napalm. Usually they triggered a mine before that.


    But the rest were hunted down as rabbits. The Abyssal tanks couldn¡¯t use their machineguns after a Molotov hit, only turrets. And they had never been meant to massacre massed charges on foot, not outnumbered two or five thousand to one. As the living webs closed in, each monster found its paths limited by Molotov¡¯s thrown en mass and men hunting together.


    Slowly surrounded it as men ran at it through the wind, rain and mud. Until one finally hit it with their oversized breaching pan. The pan would detach from the handle, attaching to the tank. Sometimes it stuck, others used barbed wires under pressure to enmesh the creatures. As long as enough lines survived the thrashing to stick it firmly to the surface, it was enough. Then it was all over but the waiting. Twelve to fifteen seconds later, the breaching charges would be no bigger than a button, before they blew and killed the tank.


    The Type 54 HMG started up as the skies rained death, thousands of lights turning to the sky to hunt down their killers. The enemy air force was in the air. The Types were knock offs for the DShK 1938 ¡°Dushka¡±, HMG also used for AA that had served as far back as WW2. Widely sold and distributed for more than half a century and taking part in nearly every war since, each gun carried just a little bit of the greater legend in them. The promise of death at hearing a HMG fire. Enough weight to, with modern armor piercing ammo, puncture the weak stomachs of Abyssal flying wedges that made up most of their common aircraft.


    It was hitting them in the wind and rain that was the problem. Trying to hit aircraft no bigger than a geese with only your eyes was a trial, even with the anti-aircraft ringed sights. The many, many lamps tracking them helped, as did the Abyssal willingness to rake their lines with fighters from low altitude. They just had to accept the bombs from up high. The guns could only reach 2-2.5 km into the air.


    Yet for all their efforts and both sides attrition, those men were just bait. None of the actual monsters were there yet.


    *


    Sara tried to catch a glimpse of the lines of vehicles that had disappeared deeper into the storm as Julien Claes watched on in stupefied horror. He was seeing the war up close for the first time. Even without the screams and shouts, the thunder of guns in his bones, he could still see the broken and dying, piling up.


    Some trained part of him, the insatiable reporter, couldn¡¯t look away. This is what he had come to witness.


    ¡°I can¡¯t decide what¡¯s worse:¡± he thought, feeling as if the world was very far away, ¡°the mercy being dispensed by officers to every man that can¡¯t hold up their flashlight anymore or the horrific states shrapnel, shells and napalm has left them in to beg for it.¡±


    His eyes wouldn¡¯t stop itching and it felt like it was spreading to his brain. He must have imagined it.


    Then an entire line of guns went up in fire as the Abyssal¡¯s poked their faces out of the urban sprawls, floating on streams and rivers carved into the city over months of work and rain and it was time for the real fight.


    ***


    ¡°(Burn)¡±


    Min Yang couldn¡¯t get the afterimage of the lightning out of his eyes or the thunder that had screamed to announce its coming. The whistle of falling bombs had spared them, fortunately and using the APCs as foundation had gotten them across the river. Min had been fifth in line. He didn¡¯t know what happened to the last Dragon. But he¡¯d seen and felt the lightning strike. The two plumes of fire that used to be Dragons, as the storm caught them in the open on the bridge. That entire section was on fire. They¡¯d have to find another way back.


    His Lieutenant had been giddy about it.


    ¡°It means we got the Big Bitch¡¯s personal attention men.


    So we must be doing something right. Forward!¡±


    Min Yang drew what comfort he could from his sister¡¯s face as they marched through the storm. This deep, rivulets ran everywhere, so they were jogging in flowing water that reached above their ankles. It hid holes and unstable ground and was treacherous at best.


    Six dragons, two frogs and two Engineers matched on. A red flare lit up the night ahead and to the left of them. The three surviving leaders shared a look.


    ¡°That¡¯s Gongqing park. Position four.¡± Li claimed.


    The frog looked at the buildings around them.


    ¡°Four kilometers, 4200 meters, tops.¡±


    ¡°We can make that.¡± the Engineer finished.


    ¡°Do it.¡± Lieutenant Li ordered.


    Min Yang couldn¡¯t catch his breath in the short stop.


    The frog retrieved a flair gun from his waterproof bag, sending a red star into the skies.


    More than a dozen joined them in the overcast skies, all converging on the park.


    After an instant to check his wristwatch, Li drove them on.


    Each kilometer felt harder than the next. Min Yang had already twisted his foot twice on holes hidden by the dirty waters. The medicine helped and he knew they were ever closer to their Dream, but he was falling behind. Each step leaving him a bit further back. And they were not slowing down just for him with the enemy in reach.


    Min tried to keep them in sight but it was getting harder. Two grey shapes sped out of a side street between them, nearly giving him a heart attack. Both were turned away from him. Before the evil spirits could obliterate his comrades he raised the flamethrower in his hands and unleashed hell into their backs. Death screams exploded out of the conflagration and one of the flaming balls of death came right at him. Min Yang tried to step out of the way but it rammed into his shin without even noticing.


    Solid boots with steel soles and ankle supports that had protected his footing and his ankle¡¯s against everything the treacherous ground could throw at him snapped like twigs under the impact of an Abyssal tank. At least his bones weren¡¯t pulverized. He did not fall as much as spin on his other foot in place as his right wrenched from the blow, the leg useless.


    Min had to scramble to remove the boot before the napalm stuck to it burned through and worse than killed him. And throw away his gloves afterwards as well as it stuck everywhere. Fortunately, the few drops on him failed to do real damage, drowning under the endless rain and in the stream as he fell onto the street.


    ¡°Good Job Yang. You alive back there?¡± his superior asked, jolly.


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± he got out, shaken and bit strained.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t stopping Yang, so catch up if you can.¡± his squad sent over the short ranged radio, before going dark.


    He had a foggy thought that when he came off the drugs this would hurt quite a lot. He was still laying there when a second squad of frogs came through. In honor of his kills, they left two privates to help him the rest of the way there. Min Yang wasn¡¯t sure whether to thank them or curse them for it.


    ***


    The real fighting had started. They¡¯d been delayed by the Japanese shipgirls, but the monsters were here. Eagle One couldn¡¯t see them that deep in the storm and with all that cover, but Sara could see the consequences of their presence. Positions being reduced to churned up dirt, guns simply moving up and down the lines, killing with exact timers. Firing as soon as they¡¯d reloaded. The PLA responded by finally unleashing their tanks. Lines rushed into the storm, raising large plumes of dust as they advanced.


    Another clock, detailing ¡°T-90 min¡± appeared in the corner of the big screen, as more than a thousand Type 59¡¯s and another thousand of mixed Type 88¡¯s, Type 96¡¯s and Type 99¡¯s rushed to face the enemy. Down the river came almost two-hundred amphibious Type 63¡¯s, now that the Abyss was committed to land operations.


    ¡°There they are.¡± Sara whispered, watching another screen. Far above the low flying Abyssal fliers a few discrete Kanmusu planes slipped into the storm, losing their contacts.


    A Japanese voice formally spoke over the line:


    ¡°This is Kanmusu Carrier Kaga. We¡¯ve successfully disengaged from Nantong. No direct casualties.¡± a professional if pained voice reported in.


    ¡°I¡¯ve lost most of my fighter compliment and suffered moderate damage to my engines and light damage to the flight deck. The bomber wing remains fully operational. They are approaching the operating area from the north, as ordered under the Joint Operation Plan for Shanghai.¡± They could hear her trying to breathe in, her breath hitching.


    ¡°Please advise, Command.¡±


    There was a loud clang over the line.


    ¡°No. You need to dock Kaga-san. You¡¯re barely limping along.¡± a new voice jumped in.


    ¡°Perhaps if you stopped ramming me Mogami and helped tow, we would advance at a faster rate.¡± Kaga replied, frostily.


    ¡°It¡¯s not ramming. I didn¡¯t run into anyone all mission. I¡¯m pushing you!¡± Mogami defended herself, laughter in her voice.


    ¡°You¡¯re not a tug boat. You¡¯re an Aviation Cruiser. Remove your digits from my aft deck.¡± Kaga protested, with a hint of flustered heat.


    ¡°It¡¯s not my fault that¡¯s the only thing about you that¡¯s soft.¡± the murmur came through.


    Someone in the command center choked.


    ¡°It¡¯s the only safe place to push.¡± Mogami complained, louder. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to go faster?¡±


    ¡°Your assistance is not required.¡± Kaga rebutted, unmoved.


    ¡°But it¡¯s working!¡± Mogami protested.


    ¡°Wait one command.¡± Kaga cut the line.


    The man wearing enough brass to slip into a parade marching band slowly raised his hand, before forcefully finishing the motion. The one handed face palm rang in the near silent room as Sara maintained a professional mien with difficulty and Claes was bent over, palms on knees, wheezing for breath. Almost in one voice, most of the room said:


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.¡°Shipgirls.¡±


    It was a curse. A prayer.


    Some were frustrated, exasperated, others nearly laughing or giddy.


    A few who¡¯d known them well?


    Their voices were warm, fond. Sara quickly memorized them. The girls needed all the friends they could get. And their friends should be friends too.


    Nothing like talking about Shipgirl shenanigans to break the ice. And it had shattered. Sara¡¯s eyes, Claes head? They didn¡¯t hurt anymore and the entire command center saw an uptick in speed and performance as the cloying weight lifted.


    They watched the PLA tanks zigzagging and moving in evasive patters to generate misses. It was one thing to hit a cruiser over the horizon. Quite another to hit tanks on land that knew you were firing on them. A few wrecks were still left behind. Even most modern tanks didn¡¯t do well against heavy near-vertical fire. In groupings of two and three? Direct hits were rare, but deadly. Their armor laughed off proximity hits.


    ¡°(They¡¯re a swarm, like locusts.)¡±


    The screen flickered. ¡°Third core, online.¡± Eagle One reported in.


    The biggest killer was the mud. Fording streams and small rivers. Any tank that got stuck for a moment was trapped for good. To Sara it felt like the watery earth didn¡¯t want to let them go. Once immobilized, they were soon swallowed by enemy fire. They needed room to maneuver against it. If they all wanted to keep advancing, there wasn¡¯t enough space without braving the soaked fields. Not one tanker flinched from their assigned routes and for all their differences Sara found herself cheering them on.


    ¡°Come on. Send those things back to whatever abyss they crawled out off.¡± she growled quietly.


    That no one reprimanded her was telling. A few did turn to do so, but stopped dead once they really looked at her. The reporter didn¡¯t look like much. Pale, shaking, tall, dark haired. Muttering quietly but determined not to look away. Dressed comfortably and conservatively in a black shift and a deep sea blazer, with slim soft brown pants. It was the ribbon that stood out, long and black, hanging from her put up hair, absently twisting in her fingers. Two things shined on it. Flashing around her neck and shoulders as her head turned to watch the feeds, leading the camera.


    The first was the Distinguished Flying Cross. The second the Purple Heart. Both on a civilian, wearing black. They turned back to their stations, a few finally figuring out something that had been bugging them: how the hell she had gotten into this room.


    On the ground, the scouts came into play. Now the frail, unimportant men that had gone into the storm nearly unarmed counted. Scouts that stood among the storm and shells, unprotected. Risking their lives to guide the charge around treacherous terrain and then the tank charge was out of view, swallowed by the clouds.


    Looking into that still swirling storm, Sara could feel her heart starting to frost again.


    ¡°Ahem. As I was saying, Command, please advise.¡± Kaga said, reconnecting.


    ¡°MBT assault is underway, Kaga and the guns are firing under scout guidance. They could use something a bit better.¡± a communication officer instructed.


    ¡°Acknowledged. I have eyes on multiple vessels. ¡±


    ¡°Patching you through to artillery central command. Give em hell, girl.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°And Kaga? You¡¯re orders are Sunshine, I repeat, Sunshine.¡± the instructions went.


    ¡°Executing.¡± The dry voice replied, but there was a hint of satisfaction in it.


    ¡°Sunshine?¡± Claes asked.


    ¡°Just because they can¡¯t hack us, doesn¡¯t mean they aren¡¯t listening.¡± Sara answered.


    Because while there had been no known success of Abyssals hacking their lines, they didn¡¯t have to when some of them could just listen into the command center itself with their magi-exotics.


    ¡°We¡¯re in Beijing. No reason not to be polite.¡± Sara concluded as Kaga filled the airways with location data. Data crunched by powerful computers far, far away. After being completely stripped of any meta-data. It spat out individual targeting instruction for every gun commander.


    Instructions that were delivered in shorthand through the pre-set optical cables in the form of light based Morse Code. Because that? That could pass through the storm wall just fine. The first targets? The Artillery Imps that had been pounding away at their guns. Those at least couldn¡¯t move much and would die quickly.


    ***


    Kaga was sailing away from the fight. It felt wrong, but their hosts had insisted. Sunshine would at least allow her to participate. She¡¯d offered herself as bait, in case the Ritual proved insufficient to draw the Abyss to Nantong. Buying time for their allies to establish a beachhead. Now, she was escaping because of their sacrifices. She said a prayer for the lost souls. Kaga had a job to do and she would perform at to standard. If not better.


    She missed Akagi. Worried for her. And Japan. All this, a sideshow to the fleets clashing off their coasts. Sometimes, she hated war. The sooner they were done here, the sooner Kaga could go help. With Mogami flying observers, she could focus on her bombers, even as a part of her kept track of enemy ships and Kaga reported their positions to the allied network.


    [Far Sight] was a staple Class Skill for any professional Carrier. Of course, Kaga had mastered it. She would not accept anything less of herself, her fleet depended on her. While Kaga¡¯s voice was occupied relaying positioning data, she planned her approach for Sunshine, looking through the eyes of her planes. With so many Abyssal aircraft busy with the guns and tanks and the enemy focused on the west? Kaga wondered just how close her fairies could get before they were spotted.


    A double line of tanks rushing down an open boulevard that had survived the occupation and the fighting suddenly braked to a stop. Kaga could see the Abyssal tank, but all her planes were already promised for. And she couldn¡¯t get there in time. It was less than two blocks away from the tank lines. The leading Type 99¡¯s armor laughed off the first shell and the Types weren¡¯t paralyzed for long. Unable to reverse, they started up again, turning into side streets to clear the firing lines even as they fired their cannons.


    Six tanks fired in the time it took the Abyssal to cross the distance. With only optics to rely on, a target only a bit larger than their shells? In their face with barely any time to aim and so low to the ground, only one scored a direct hit, the rest splattering the street. The high-explosive incendiary splattered the tank in thermate paste, scaring its hide but missing the turret. One hit wasn¡¯t enough. One hit was all they got as the range closed under thirty meters.


    The next shot? Even as the modern tanks scattered the previously obsolete Type 59 charged the Abyssal, trying to run it over. Kaga could see it, not from so far above, but she¡¯d come prepared. Kaga would not neglect her duties or her allies, so she¡¯d read up on the threat they would be facing. The Abyssal shell left its barrel no bigger than a large grain of rice. It carried the full force, power and density of the whole shell, focused in that tiny space. Even then, modern armor could have handled it. But the rest?


    Within 20-30m, before it caught up to having Abyssal field and expanded fully into the real world, the shell threated the armor of any target struck as if it was the distorted one, which left even modern armor no denser than soft wood. The Type 59 blew up inside as the Abyssal tank drove on, passing under the slain tank¡¯s undercarriage to strike the next tank from below as they desperately maneuvered to crush it with their tracks.


    Six of the fourteen tanks would be knocked out, before the mechanized infantry following along could intervene and deal with the enemy. Five Type 59¡¯s sacrificing themselves to buy more modern armor time that it might survive to reach the enemy ships battle ready.


    ¡°Brave men. Brave fools. How we failed so hard that they must this themselves? I shouldn¡¯t think such dark thoughts. There are enough nightmares in the world without adding to them, and it helps no one. Smile Kaga, smile and fight on. We¡¯ll win this yet.¡±


    If not for the supplies, logistical and informational support from the US, China and Russia, Japan would have fallen by now. Her home was mighty, leading the world in Ritual development and among the top in fighting spirit and numbers of Kanmusu. But they could not support them all, not over the years, through all that fighting, not alone.


    Fortunately, they weren¡¯t alone. If this grand sacrifice finally let them kill the Battleship Princess that had been leading the war on Japan, Kaga would honor their sacrifice and maybe accept they might not be fools, no matter how brave. Proving that men could kill an Abyssal Princess with only minor Kanmusu support might just change the world.


    The first artillery shells with corrected spotting started falling on enemy ships and the Abyss screamed. Tanks closed in and began to trade direct fire with the Abyssal fleet. Quicker and more maneuverable on land, with the Abyss limited to their rivers and channels, it was an exchange they could win. Every Abyssal turret hit would mission kill a tank, by flinging it and badly injuring the crew, if nothing else. The simultaneous hits of two six inch shells more than enough force to rattle any tank. This at least, Kaga and her fleet had given them, reducing most destroyers in Shanghai to ruin in their fighting retreat.


    So they faced mostly cruisers and enemy aircraft. But the tanks did not face them up front. They hunted the Abyss like hounds, attacking from cover and immediately falling back, each hit like a bee sting. Not dangerous alone, but they added up as now the Abyss had to deal with both direct and indirect fire raining down on them.


    Kaga watched the balance shifting, considering where best to be of use. No one else could see the whole field as clearly. She picked her targets, still keeping an eye on lookout duty for the Abyssal Princess. Everything was going well. Even Mogami had figured out a new trick, proving that all her accidental collisions had not been in vain.


    ¡°It¡¯s still embarrassing, even if it¡¯s efficient. ¡°Not soft anywhere else¡±. I heard that.


    Perhaps, if pressed by Akagi, Kaga might admit that she was focusing so hard on the fight to not think about her current state. Being towed was embarrassing enough. Having Mogami push her was even worse. Did she have to keep shifting her hands? Couldn¡¯t she just apply a constant, steady force?


    ¡°What am I thinking, It¡¯s Mogami. Consistency is the enemy.¡± Kaga suppressed a snort.


    It wouldn¡¯t do to be impolite when Mogami was earnestly trying to help her. Even if Kaga was certain someone, somewhere would snap photos of her disheveled, uncouth circumstances and put them online. Kaga just hoped no one was filming. That would be too embarrassing. Surely with the massive assault on Shanghai, everyone had better things to do?


    ***


    Fortune would smile on Kaga that day. For while photos were made by a layabout teen, their family caught them. The images were sent to the Japanese Embassy, not the internet. From there they made their way to the Kanmusu corps and Akagi¡¯s album.


    ***


    Attacked from in front and beyond the horizon, with infantry in their face and tanks playing hit and run? Kaga¡¯s bombers got far too close to react in time. The Abyss saw them coming too late for anything but their own AA fire to matter. Too late to recall their own fighters and interceptors. The bombs fell, not to kill, for Kaga didn¡¯t have enough bombers for them all, but to wound, to breach. The constant harassment had weakened and pitted their armor, and now Kaga blew it wide open. Through those holes, a swarm of burning bees poured in, and ship after ship stumbled and fell as the Abyssal lines finally collapsed.


    But not without answer. The areal swarm turned and came after her planes as they fled for clear skies. A new wave of Abyssal Revenge Torpedo Bombers followed them from the one horned Harbor Princess in their wake to pull Kaga down into the Abyss. A distorted, barely comprehensible voice that sounded like a choir of dying nightmares sounded on Kaga¡¯s bridge.


    ¡°I see you¡­ little Carrier¡­fire¡­run¡­ you are tired¡­lost¡­I¡¯ll find you¡­help¡­understand¡­into the Abyss.¡± the mad ship wailed.


    With all the damage her formation had already taken, perhaps Kaga would have sunk under so much airpower. But she wasn¡¯t alone. Sunshine was coming and Kaga had done her part to bring it to the field as enemy planes chased hers beyond the hurricane and into the open sky.


    ***


    Sara was watching with bated breath. The reports flowing in from Kaga and Eagle One were encouraging. The monsters were breaking. The artillery park had taken horrendous damage in a duel with the Abyss, but now even the 15inch guns were falling silent. Redirecting to closer threats. By now most of the Abyss had been destroyed or made combat ineffective. Like the air wings chasing after Kaga. But somewhere in there, a Princess of the Abyss was still fighting.


    Kaga¡¯s bombers finally cleared the storm and the Abyss was right on their tails.


    ¡°Sunshine, Sunshine. I can¡¯t keep them off me for long.¡± Kaga called out.


    Hundreds of Xi''an JH-7s, Chengdu J-7s, J-10s, Shenyang J-8 and J-16s came out of the sun, moving at speeds the WW2 aircraft couldn¡¯t match. Anything that could mount an autocanon that was rugged and immune to EM interference. And could fire HEIAP rounds.


    The mass of fighters and multi-role jets had only two goals: remove enemy airpower in the region and don¡¯t clip the storm. Even coming this close would do some damage to their systems, but that could be fixed. Their craft blowing up because a weapon system failed in a new and interesting manner was rather final. Fly-by-wire failures would at least let you eject if the worst happened.


    Even as Sara waited for the Abyss to finally die, the reporter in her was disappointed not to see any Russian MiG-AWs. Next to the US¡¯s F-AWs they were just about the only dedicated military aircraft that could brave the storms. There were hints the Europeans and the PLAAF were working on their own Abyssal War jets. But if none were here, China didn¡¯t have any ready yet and the Russians weren¡¯t lending them trainers. Or if they were, it was buried so deep they¡¯d rather take all these loses than use them to save lives while the internationals were watching. Speaking of internationals¡­


    ¡°Claes have you been watching non-stop?¡± Sata asked. She knew to pace herself, take regular breaks, don¡¯t watch the feeds too much, don¡¯t stare into the Abyss. Regularly check her eyes in the mirror.


    The girls helped as well, but now¡­


    ¡°Didn¡¯t anyone tell him to pace himself?¡±


    She was distracted by the feeds dying. ¡°Those are coming faster. The Princess must be pissed.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Eagle One snapped. ¡°Switching to final core, Command. Degradation gradient rising. Exotics are elevated.¡±


    ¡°Of course. I wouldn¡¯t miss a second of it. It¡¯s my first time seeing it for real. This is history in the making.¡± Claes told her, turning to face her. His eyes were heavily bloodshot, like he¡¯d pulled an all-nighter then retired to a bar crawl to get blackout drunk and woken up with barely any sleep and severely dehydrated. His eyes were manic. He sounded fine, like it didn¡¯t even matter.


    Sara slapped him outright, filled with horrified disbelief.


    ¡°Are you trying to die, stupid? Do you like getting strokes?¡± she asked, as anger replaced horror.


    He reeled, taking an unsteady step back, as if the slap was a straight from a heavy weight boxer, ending up flat on his ass.


    ¡°Ow. What are you, some martial artist? What stroke?¡± he asked, rubbing his face and shaken.


    ¡°That¡¯s just some conspiracy theory. Abyssal curses aren¡¯t real.¡±


    ¡°So help me God.¡± Sara fumed.


    ¡°Of course they¡¯re real, what the fuck do you think happened to Cali?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Radiation? Come on, you can¡¯t tell me you believe- that¡¯s nonsense. It can¡¯t be real. Can it?¡± Claes said, plaintive and confused, but not about to argue with a senior. A more established reporter in the field while a battle was going on, inside a command center. It just wasn¡¯t done. So he asked.


    ¡°Medic!¡± one of the attending guards called into the radio, grim.


    Sara opened her compact and crouched down, letting him see himself in the mirror.


    ¡°Yeah? Then what happened to you? You get drunk while I wasn¡¯t looking?¡±


    The Belgian paled as all color fled his face. A moment later, his nose started bleeding.


    ¡°But. But. I¡¯ve watched them. I¡¯ve seen many videos!¡± he protested.


    ¡°You saw recordings, not live transmissions.¡± Sara pointed out bluntly.


    ¡°How did you get into this room without knowing any of this?¡± she asked.


    ***


    The Shenyang J-16 pilot checked his EW readouts again. He was flying one of the finest war machines humanity had ever made and he would not fail his mission. Between all the tools of modern air combat, from radar-absorbing coatings to his comparatively massive EW suite, he was convinced the first thing the enemy craft would see of him would be the autocannon rounds hitting. They¡¯d even come out of the Sun, just to blind any optics the Abyss might have.


    The Weapon Systems Officer signaled her readiness. The board was green across the wing.


    ¡°Remember targeting protocols, and good luck everyone.¡±


    He gave the signal. It bounced off Eagle One and went to the Japanese allied assets. A moment later the sky bloomed with tracer fire. The Abyss may be cold-blooded. It might have the scientists of the Party divided on if their craft were covered in superior radar absorbents coatings, or the exotics were just eating radar pulses. But in the light of the dawn, with tracer fire to follow? It didn¡¯t matter.


    Task Force Sunshine followed the lines of light. The Weapons System Officer found her target on purely mechanical optics that had some electronic control assistance from her end but no chip behind the controls. Optics refitted for that very task, because while the craft might have no exotic resistance, humans did. She was the one watching, not the J-16. The resistance was miniscule. This high up, this close to the storm and looking right at an Abyssal craft while about to pass close enough to almost touch it? It was lethal in under two minutes. Enough for the twenty seconds it would take them to enter the engagement envelope.


    She reached out and adjusted her intakes to track the craft¡¯s steady flight while the plot kept his heading. Then the Weapon Systems Officer put that positional data; altitude, speed, heading, into the pilot¡¯s guidance system even as her eyes and brain itched. Careful not to close both eyes, blinking in a trained pattern. Because if she did, the Shenyang would be the one watching and it had no resistance. They¡¯d crash.


    The pilot watched the countdown and as it neared zero he aimed and fired.


    ***


    The first thing the Abyssal airforce knew of Sunshine was the heavy explosive armor piercing incendiaries ripping into them and pumping them full of burning zirconium. For while Abyssal tanks could shrug off thermite shrapnel and keep coming, Abyssal planes were nowhere near as resistant to fire or armored. Planes were notoriously easy to down, once hit, which worked against them.


    As well, the Gryazev-Shipunov GSh-23 firing many shells worked on principles of the Gast gun developed in 1916. The other autocannon present, the Gryazev-Shipunov GSh-30-1 worked on recoil operation, in use since the nineteenth century. Most famously by the Maxim''s 1883 automatic recoil operated machine gun. Both had been in use for decades, the refinement of pre WW2 principles. There was a legacy to them, a weight of history behind them as weapons of war.


    It was useful, and it had unfortunate implications.


    There was an unspoken agreement to suffocate an inconvenient fact among the world¡¯s nuclear powers. That the effectiveness of missiles against the Abyss had grown after the first ¡°Limited Nuclear Exchange¡± between India and Pakistan. Not enough to actually be useful, but if they kept nuking cities, they¡¯d get there. The sane counter-argument was that it was insane. The insane counter argument was that the Abyss was already experimenting with early jet models and primitive missiles. Did they want to give them the Bomb as well?


    ***


    Most went down in seconds. The Abyssal Revenge Torpedo Bombers of the Princess needed a second pass. The second air wing sweeping up survivors cleared the skies. The spotters and pilots of single seat craft would need a good meal and a long rest, but they¡¯d be fine in a week.


    (Leave us alone!)


    They were on their way out when a mad, ugly screech deafened every man and woman in the sky. A moment later they were down seventeen aircraft as fingers of lightning reached beyond the storm to pluck them from the sky. Sunshine fled the storm before they lost any more. As they left, the storm fell. Clouds falling towards the ground, temperatures suddenly dropping to near arctic levels.


    ***


    ¡°Well, you led me in remember?¡± he said, still pale but suddenly roguishly smiling. ¡°I¡¯m your camera man.¡± he finished. The slew of curses that erupted from Sara would have done any Navy brat proud.


    For while Claes did have a valid International Press Card from the IFJ to be in the nerve center of allied operations, he was not part of a team cleared for the live portion of the exercise. That was her scoop. Not hers alone, there were two other press teams in the room, but Claes had ridden her coattails in. The sort of thing a young man might do, that an old man would shudder at. It was incredibly daring and stupid of him. He also may have been just a bit distracted. A tiny bit.


    Sara? Sara was well within her rights to recruit another certified journalist into her team. Sara had merely neglected to notice she had done so. And by the end of this, Sara would swear she had recruited him after her previous camera man failed to fulfill the basic details of his contract.


    ¡°I¡¯d figured since he was in the building someone had filled him in. He had the pass, the skills and was on the grounds. Hells, security checked us both over on the way in. Obviously he was cleared. I just didn¡¯t know his European education was so flawed.¡±


    Neither of them wanted to go to Chinese jail, their homelands jails or have their passes pulled. Which is how twenty something Sara Anne Hebert-P¨¦rez, divorcee and AP War correspondent for the Eastern Front and Julian Claes, IFJ independent and newcomer from Belgium ended up on the same press team.


    It was a net positive for the world. Even if it was a rocky start for the two now stuck together.


    ***


    Min Yang was watching the end of the world. Gongqing park had been eaten by the Abyss. He¡¯d walked those paved lanes once, visiting the great city to see where Fa Yang wanted to go to University. It was Shanghai. Of course he went. The family made a day of it. Now it was gone. The trees ripped out, most worn down stumps drowning in the mud. The Hangpu river had flooded the banks and it was as if the entire park had slumped into it.


    It was watery swamp of mud and dark, gleaming metal that itched to look at even past the medication. Half remembered warnings told Min Yang that was bad. It was hard to care. They were here. Channels and streams had been carved in that mud, a monstrous harbor usurped from a place of beauty. There was a deep, wild, repugnant beat to the place. Telling them in no uncertain terms they were not welcome and the Harbor Princess was waiting for them.


    What had survived Abyssal occupation had not lived past the hours long bombardment, napalm coating near every surface of the flooded park until it looked like a scene from one of the Western hells, broken black domes still sticking out of the liquid fires. And somewhere in there, the repeated thumping of cannon. The brown flares were coming closer, the tanks closing in. A mix of brown and reds marked the sky over the river side of the park.


    ¡°The river tanks have beat us to it." The amphibious Type 63¡¯s coming in down the empty river, with the Abyss so busy on all sides. But they couldn¡¯t kill it. The tanks would help, but¡­


    ¡°Min Yang!¡± Liutenant Li greeted him as he was helped to the rally point at the edge of the park and the fires.


    Even within his suit, it was difficult to breathe and sweltering. He was sweating a stream in all this cold rain. It seemed unreal.


    ¡°Lieutenant. One shot, two kills.¡± Min reported in.


    ¡°Well done young man. You do the family proud. And the party!¡± he laughed, checking his wristwatch.


    ¡°I feared you would not make it in time.¡± he added. ¡°But it seems you have.¡± The lieutenant finished, with a hint of respect and a bit of regret.


    Min Yang wasn¡¯t sure how to respond.


    ¡°Well, we do what we must. Ready up. We¡¯re charging in two.¡± the Lieutenant informed him.


    Dutifully, Min readied his final shot. They were provided to the Dragons for their daredevil charges. If he was to charge into that firestorm, Min could use some chemical support. He was not afraid to die if he must, but this one looked almost as ugly as what happened to the Sergeants.


    As he removed the needle and the bottle of drugs Min caught Lieutenant looking at him in confusion.


    ¡°The final charge medicine Lieutenant.¡± Min said.


    The Lieutenant turned his eyes behind Min was the other Dragons started howling.


    ¡°Did I or did I not tell you to stop pulling this shit on newblood?¡± the Lieutenant rang, as loud as a bugle for muster.


    ¡°Tell you what the Lieutenant, you can brig me if I live!¡± the squad responded merrily.


    ¡°We bring the Dream to the enemy! What are we?¡± the men howled, proud and unbowed before the flames.


    ¡°Dragons!¡± the entire squad, Min and Li included screamed.


    ¡°Fine you miserable louts,¡± the Lieutenant said, fondly and with regret.


    ¡°But when I see you after you¡¯ll be learning traditional calligraphy as a punishment detail! One Minute!¡± he shouted, as golden flares lit up the night from seven different places around the park.


    ¡°Watch carefully Min. You¡¯re a bright Young Man. You¡¯ll be in my position someday.¡± he promised.


    More flares, of every color, every flare so far unused by every officer in the city jumped for the sky behind them. A chain unbroken leading all the way back to the artillery park and out of the storm.


    All over China, news stations that had been reporting on the battle, changed. They alarms and sirens had woken the People of the Republic and spend that last few hours readying them, priming them.


    As ¡°The March of the Volunteers¡± played on every channel, across televisions from Shadong to Fuijan, Henan to Hunan and everything in between.


    People all over the Provinces were glued to their screens, none more so then Jiangsu and Zhejiang, who bordered Shanghai. As among the millions of watchers, every Dragon that had gone into the storm was divided, portioned. Their individual faces broadcast on screen to a predetermined segment of those watching. Without interruption while their lives and deeds were held up as living examples of virtue and hope, of people carrying the Dream of a World Free from the Abyss.


    As the hymn ended, political officers from every station extoled their courage and told the people that the hour was nigh.


    ¡°That even now, the brave Dragons of China have come of the enemy!¡± they roused.


    ¡°The valiant sons and daughters of China will push the enemy off our shores and send them back to whatever dark abyss they¡¯d crawled out off!¡± the stirring, rousing rhetoric would continue as the feeds flickered and changed. The picture of their assigned Dragon in uniform staying in one corner, while the storm came into every household. Every family.


    A storm illuminated by thousands of tiny lights of every color, defiant against the dark clouds, the wind and endless, stolen rain.


    ¡°They are charging! The Dragon is coming! The March of the Volunteers!¡± they proclaimed, demanded over every screen, into every home.


    ¡°Cheer them on, loyal sons and daughters of the Republic! That the Dream may be real! Support the Volunteers!¡± they cheered, naming each one.


    The explosion of sound and emotion as more than two hundred million tiny souls sang in a chorus Echoed. Watching as the light struggled against the storm and seeing the people fighting in their name. It Resonated.


    Sara had been spared the rhetoric in the command center, but she knew to scream anyway as Claes kept the camera rolling, watching the whole thing in wonder. They all shouted defiance into the thing that fed on nightmares and wished to drown it in their dreams as the ribbon in her hands burned her heart. Dreams in which it had no place. In which it never should have happened.


    Flowing from screen to camera to field, the hopes and dreams of a nation washing up against the stormwall. A stormwall that was cracked, broken. Pierced first by a pillar of Kanmusu make, then the breach further widened by bloody sacrifice. Blood freely, willingly spilled. Martyred to break the living Nightmare and bring the Dream forward.


    On it flowed, a sea of barely focused power, down lanes and highways, following the charge of tanks and routes of combat engineers, dancing through the still burning flames. Crossing bridges built this very day to bring them all to the heart of the storm. To the faces it was focused on. Until it pooled at the edge of a hellscape and the Dragons dreamed.


    Min Yang could almost see his family gathered around the television, watching him. His back firmed and his leg was no longer a concern. He stood, unbound from mortal flesh, his very soul burning as every Dragon on the scene doused themselves in their own fires as their tanks overflowed. Covered in napalm that wasn¡¯t. That was something more. Something that didn¡¯t burn them or trouble their eyes as it glowed a bright, soft blue, the color of clear skies.


    Seven consolidated, surviving squads of Dragons plunged into the watery inferno. The fires grew blue in their passing and the mud and waters had no hold on them. They ran on the floating flames as if they were was solid ground and charged into the inferno towards a hole, a blight that didn¡¯t belong.


    ***


    Kaga was watching still. It was poor form, but she felt the need to bear witness. So while most of her planes had returned, a few had turned around and now circled above the Installation. On they came, seven blue, fiery bolts that sliced through the half-destroyed ruins and went for the Harbor Princess herself. She was demolishing Type 63¡¯s by the dozen as lightning after lightning came down, so enraged she¡¯d forgotten all about her cannons.


    They came on even as she turned and sent the lightning against them. As her cannon tore them apart they left their flesh behind and advanced as Living Echoes in the raging fires. Seven bolts struck the Harbor Princess and the dome shield that had taken everything else the PLA had thrown at her without so much as a scratch, shattered like glass. She stumbled, stunned. The tanks had not lost time, everything that could gathered on the edges of the park and aimed for the enemy.


    The storm of shells that followed should never have worked. They should have interfered with one another, but not one did. Each one flew true, as if drawn by the blue flames drowning the Pale and Black monster, taking on their sheen as it flew, leaving burning after-images and swirling in the firestorm. The firestorm, for by now it was more fire than rain as shell after shell hit the exposed and added to the conflagration.


    ***


    Her people, her girls were burning. And Shanghai was helpless to stop it. All this, she could take. Every last bit of damage they had done her, was fixable. Mostly physical and as such easy to heal. Even with an ocean of power, the humans didn¡¯t have the skill or the weight to truly focus it into something that could hurt an Abyssal Princess. They could break her shell apparently, but her spirit would retreat to the next major port and she¡¯d be back in under a month. The ocean of power around her would even allow it, encourage it, as long as she left these shores.


    But none of that would help her girls. Girls who were in most cases, still alive. Disabled, stuck and filled with liquid fire, but still holding on, because they could hear and feel her distress, even as she was trapped in here with theirs. And she was helpless to stop it, because her shell was failing. Whatever new trick the humans had used, it had broken her shield. Something Shanghai thought was impossible. The entire China Seas Court had laughed at reports humans? Humans could do that. They were just pests.


    Yet now she had felt tens and hundreds of millions of ants together overpower even her, if only for a moment. And it was too late for regrets and recriminations. She would not abandon them. It was her mistake, so she would pay for it. Her soul had been hurt far worse by what her failure had brought on her fleet, then their primitive attempts at Ritual. So when Shanghai plunged her own hands into her chest and ripped it open in a death scream, the power that flooded out had not been reduced and weakened, as would have been fighting the Enemy. She was not lesser for trying to fight so her soul was still potent enough to bring the touch of the True Abyss to Shanghai.


    ***


    As the storm fell, everything froze. In one breath, every light, every fire, every engine was extinguished everywhere in the storm circle. Tanks and vehicles without NBC seals froze solid, while those with merely became artic inside. Those tanks would survive unharmed. Their crews wouldn¡¯t. Of the entire incident, anyone within forty miles of the death curse would experience arctic temperatures and winds, many dying from exposure or suffering horrific frostburn as the whole city froze in an instant.


    Everything but the waterways, down which the surviving Abyssals would flee, screaming for aid. Under cover of snow, as Exotic levels plummeted. Their screams would call away three fleets form the battle around Japan and ultimately serve as a beginning of the end to The Empress¡¯s ambitions for this campaign.


    ¡°You don''t understand... anything... at all...¡± Kaga heard her utter at the end. A whisper, a death rattle, a curse on the world.


    ***


    Only seven would live untouched by the cold. The youngest in each of the bolts loosed. Min Yang was one of them. He would return to his empty rooms, to all the phones and families waiting there for him, hailed as a Hero of the Republic. A member of the Dragon Team that took back Shanghai. He felt unworthy, yet tried to project the image of A Dragon on his way back to his quarters. Just his now.


    ¡°Fa Yang is recovering well.¡± His mother told him back in the bunker.


    ¡°What?¡± he asked, demanded. And it was a sharp, ragged thing that came out of his throat.


    ¡°Do not worry Min Yang. It was the lungs, bleeding. It scared us half to death. But the doctors got to her in time. Her brother is a Dragon after all.¡± She reassured.


    ¡°And Grandma had her third stroke. ¡°They won¡¯t get me yet!¡±¡± she mimicked.


    ¡°You can hear her laughing.¡± she said, happy, giddy with joy that her son had survived.


    ¡°Oh¡± Min Yang concluded, and finally, finally collapsed. He had no desire to move from this spot for at least a week. His leg was killing him. Well, if it helped the family, he would have to endure. Become worthy of the accolades they were planning to pile on him. What other choice was there? What would have happened to Fa Yang if her brother wasn¡¯t a Dragon wasn¡¯t worth considering. So a Dragon he remained. Even if he never wanted to brave a storm ever again.


    ¡°No wonder they¡¯re all weird. They cracked. I¡¯ll crack too. Thank you, my fellows. For everything.¡± he thought as sleep claimed him.


    ***


    The initial casualty count was almost forty-five thousand dead. And just under a hundred thousand injured. The injured were inspected for wounds. Anyone with blunt trauma or burns went to the hospitals, so did the frostbite. But those with only such were few, less than fifteen percent.


    Cuts? Puncture or bullet wounds? Any kind of external bleeding? They were offered a choice. They could give their service weapon to a friend to give them mercy, or ask their commanding officer for it. If not, they would give up their arms and strip of everything but their underclothes and be remanded to warm cots. Where they were secured so as not to injure themselves. Because they¡¯d been open and the Abyss was in them.


    Almost twenty percent chose a bullet. For the rest came unending nightmares and no sleep. Night and day, as they slowly deteriorated. For some it was a few days. For most over a week. Few of those lived, and they died hard and ugly, some trying to attack their nurses and doctors in suicidal mania.


    But the biggest casualties were not among the men. Almost a million and a half civilians died, among those watching. Strokes and heart attacks were the leading cause of death, followed by internal bleeding. Because as they¡¯d poured their hopes into Shanghai, they¡¯d pushed back the Abyss, but it too had touched them. Nightmares and suicides were common in the weeks after, as was increased crime.


    And yet, the PLA felt the battle a victory. Worth it. They¡¯d proven that men could kill even a Princess. And because all those numbers joined over nine figures of citizens already buried in the Abyssal war just in China. And that number did not start with a one. The PLA had not shared it with anyone in the war, even their own people, but rumors floated about and some security agencies knew.


    This was why the people of the PRC and the PLA hated the Abyss beyond thought, beyond reason. Why the main export of the Chinese Abyssal ports wasn¡¯t food, or steel. Ammo or oil, but new Abyssals.


    For the Abyss? It fed on nightmares and the long war had seeded so very many on these shores.


    ***


    There was a final change after the battle. The last consequence. As evening fell on the following day and rescue and recovery operations filled the city, the first drops of water fell on the fields past Shanghai. The parched, cracked ground welcomed them after almost four months without rain.


    <hr><hr>


    AN: Damn, Shanghai was hard to write. But it¡¯s necessary in a way. It¡¯s one thing to show the aftermath of Acapulco. But if the Abyss is to be taken seriously as a global threat, it needs to be one. On to calmer waters.


    Part 2: Wardens


    ¡°They¡¯re breaking off.¡± the communication officer reported.


    ¡°China?¡± the Japanese Admiral, Kouki Aruga asked.


    ¡°Still nothing, sir.¡± the foreign liaison answered.


    ¡°How many?¡± Aruga absently wondered, waiting for his strategic situation to update.


    ¡°All of them.¡± the officer replied, as he put the report through the strategic image on everyone¡¯s screens adjusted. All three Abyssal fleets from the South China Sea were in full retreat.


    ¡°What?¡± the Vice Admiral snapped. A moment later he settled down with a thoughtful frown.


    ¡°Why?¡± was the more relevant question.


    ¡°Does it matter?¡± the PM asked.


    ¡°It does if it¡¯s a feint. Thought why they¡¯d need to fake anything at this point¡­¡± the Vice Admiral answered, while the Admiral gazed into the middle distance. The strategic situation was dire. If they could hold out while the Americans got here through the Northern Corridor, they might turn it around, but that had looked like a rather bleak proposition minutes ago.


    ¡°I think¡­ it¡¯s real. Fleet Intelligence has shown the two do not play well with one another.¡± Admiral Aruga said.


    ¡°If this is China and the southern fleets are being abandoned by their allies, we might yet turn this around. Get me confirmation on what was hit.¡± he ordered the officers. The PM raised a hand to interrupt the order, picking up his own phone.


    Kouki considered the map of Japan. The Abyss was pushing, hard. Both from the north and south and in overwhelming numbers. Or at least it had been. But while the Battleship Princess was making a mess of things up north, without a similar class of heavy combatant in the south and with their numbers so reduced¡­


    The PM answered a phone call, connecting to their Ambassador in Beijing. After a short conversation, he put the phone down. ¡°Shanghai is down. They claim they killed the Hime with conventional weapons.¡±


    Every uniformed officer around the table scoffed.


    ¡°Can¡¯t be done. But if it is dead, no matter how it was done¡­¡± the army general lead.


    ¡°They might be able to do it again and the South China Seas Hime has to honor the threat. It¡¯s real.¡±


    The table descended into silence. Admiral Kouki Aruga, the second Commander ever of the Kanmusu corps smiled. ¡°I¡¯m feeling bold today, Prime Minister.¡±


    He picked up his own connection and punched in a number.


    ¡°Not too bold, I hope?¡± the PM asked. When the answer wasn¡¯t immediately forthcoming he continued a bit worried.


    ¡°The last time you felt bold our economy took weeks to recover.¡± he reminded the Navy brass.


    ¡°We also pushed the Abyss half-way to Midway.¡± Kouki kept to himself. He was already facing enough silent opposition for ascending to so exalted a rank at the tender age of thirty eight, it was best not to add to his burdens. Even after almost two years of leading the war, some officers still called him the Young Old Man behind his back.


    ¡°Nothing quite so drastic. But it seems to me that if we can but tie up the northern force-


    ¡°Yamato here, how can I help you?¡± she asked to the bustle of pots and pans.


    ¡°Yamato-¡° the Admiral started in a grave tone.


    ¡°I volunteer.¡± she interrupted him.


    ¡°You don¡¯t even know what you¡¯re volunteering for.¡± Kouki grumbled good naturedly.


    ¡°I volunteer.¡± the Flagship said, firmly, determined, with not a quiver of doubt.


    ¡°Are we not past this?¡± she asked, her voice calm, relaxed.


    ¡°There¡¯s protocol.¡± Kouki protested, just a bit uncomfortably. He was a damn better than decent strategist, but the near worshipful regard some of his ships held for him was a bit much.


    ¡°After all we¡¯ve been through? You are my Admiral and I your Flagship. It¡¯s that simple.¡± she rethread the old argument.


    ¡°Where am I needed, Sir?¡±


    ¡°How long could you stretch out a duel with the Battleship Princess, if you tried?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Quite a bit. She is quite¡­ taken with breaking me properly. If I tried to stretch it out? At least a few days.¡± Yamato responded, not a hint of reluctance or fear in her voice.


    ¡°You understand we¡¯re betting your life and the fate of Japan on her madness being reliable?¡± Kouki asked whimsically, while the PM looked on, sweating a bit.


    ¡°The detachment I¡¯ve in mind to assign you would leave you terribly outnumbered and surrounded.¡± he continued.


    ¡°I will not fail.¡± she responded, unflinching.


    ¡°We battleships were made to take punishment and keep fighting, Admiral. To protect our fleet, our home.¡± she finished softly.


    The Admiral breathed in deeply. ¡°I guess if the only thing constant about them is the madness, we might as well use it.¡± he pondered, his resolve solidifying.


    ¡°Pick a Light Escort formation that will keep you alive, Yamato, if things go wrong. If you can hold her for four days, we¡¯ll break the southern fleets and come north. If we time it right, between us and the Americans, we might finally sink her. But your orders are to come back home, first.¡± he emphasized.


    ¡°You hear me Flagship!?¡± the Commander of Kanmusu Corps thundered.


    ¡°You come back, and that¡¯s an [Order].¡± he commanded.


    Yamato¡¯s voice perked up. ¡°I hear you, my Commander. See you in four days.¡± she finished with reassuring, soft laughter, as the line cut off.


    The PM and the rest of the gathered brass ignored the inappropriate behavior. The Admiral carried many hats, and none so outside of the box as Commander of the Kanmusu Corps. No one really reacted anymore to their antics. Well, if they were within reason. With Kanmusu, you never knew. The spontaneous Karaoke tournament in the middle of Marunouchi Central Plaza that went on for four days without stopping at night, and grew in thousands of listeners and hundreds of competitors was a bit much.


    The Admiral coughed into his hand, re-assuming the mien of a serious Navy officer that never, ever played with children as a part of his job.


    ¡°If the enemy has given us a chance to serve them up defeat in detail, I say we take it.¡± he pushed.


    It would take the Admiral almost an hour to bring the PM around, but in the end, he did.


    Really, it was the least the Americans could do to come help, when they bungled their raiding so badly. How they¡¯d let more than fifty thousand tons of Bauxite through to Midway without making the Abyss pay in spilled oil and broken steel was a mystery for the ages.


    ***


    ¡°It really isn¡¯t fair. Saratoga and Yorktown get to go for a jaunt on the Northern Corridor and go fight the Battleship Princess, riding to the rescue. We? We¡¯re stuck in this place. It¡¯s a graveyard in here, out there, I¡¯m bored out of my skull.¡± USS Lexington rightfully critiqued.


    She did not complain, or *gasp* whine. She was critiquing her current circumstance. It was important to set a good example for the smaller girls and this was just un-acceptable.


    ¡°Seriously, Lexi could you not? You do this every time they assign us to San Diego.¡± Wasp pleaded with her.


    ¡°First you get all manic, then you go quiet, then the humming starts and the instrument experiments and by the time we get back to San Fran you¡¯ll have an entirely new song ready to record and my poor head will be ringing. Can we skip all the complaints and get to the good stuff?¡± Wasp asked.


    ¡°Here, I¡¯ll go get my bow, you get your notebooks and some instruments and we¡¯ll take it from there? This place is bad enough without your endless whining.¡± Wasp suggested, pushing her buttons.


    ¡°I don¡¯t whine.¡± Lexington whined. ¡°I critique you tasteless brute.¡± she sniffed.


    ¡°Well this tasteless brute loves your music when it¡¯s done.¡± Wasp rebutted, causing Lexington to flush.


    ¡°But your process could use some work. Tell you what, if you¡¯re doing well, I¡¯ll even sing along.¡± Wasp offered, flushing herself. She wasn¡¯t very good. Lexington was beaming, ready to explode in joy.


    ¡°But! If you whine, I¡¯m using you as target practice. Deal?¡± Wasp offered.


    ¡°Deal.¡± Lexington agreed, smiling widely.


    So the two carriers assigned to San Diego amused themselves and their smaller sisters. There wasn¡¯t much else to do. Apart from the Navy bases, San Diego was evacuated. The only town lucky enough to have that privilege when Raven¡¯s Progress came to Los Angeles to die. The Shipgirls stationed here had managed to shield the town, warned by survivors from Pearl Harbor racing ahead of the hurricane and a feeling of directionless dread. The rest of southern California was not so lucky.


    Raven had sunk in the end, not showing her face for almost a year afterwards.


    Iowa had broken out of her museum as the storm lashed Los Angeles. Dueled and sunk her, herself.


    But that was bitter comfort for the Shipgirls, for before she¡¯d sunk, Raven had slammed her four-hundred mile wide acid rain and cursed waters hurricane right down the throat of Los Angeles. It had lingered there, for days, until it was spent. Raven had sunk only 560ft (170m) south of Point Fermin and 2300ft(700m) east of it, within sight of Terminal Island. That was the center of the storm. For a bit over two hundred miles (330km) around that point, everyone everywhere but Shipgirls and a small area around San Diego, had died. Almost ten million dead, in the opening shots of the Abyssal war going hot. And that was just civilians.


    Evacuation orders had helped keep the death toll down somewhat. But they had been given in warning of a normal, if abnormally powerful hurricane. The first warning any of them had of the real scope of the threat were Pearl Harbor survivors limping into port, running before the storm. And San Diego Shipgirls, feeling unwell, until they were possessed to prepare the first defensive Ritual circle ever made, so lost to their work it would take months of study to replicate their creation.


    Nothing lived in that giant circle around Los Angeles anymore. No grass, no trees, no animals. What trees had been there were frozen in the moments of their deaths, crumbling to pale ash at the touch of any living thing, but ignoring the blowing winds. The animals, the people? They¡¯d disappeared. You could drive a car over the roads that survived, in complete silence and never hear a thing, but whispers lingering just beyond the edge of hearing.


    Some roads were still maintained, but southern California was a land of ghosts. Of empty skyscrapers and abandoned towns. At night, there were shapes moving in the darkness, gone the moment you looked and any human that spent the night on the cursed soil would have only nightmares. A Year and a Day after the hurricane had collapsed, the effect had finally started weakening, retreating towards the shore. Nature reclaiming the land. But it was still a wasteland.


    The Californian Wasteland. It would take decades to heal. In the process, geologists had determined that a significant chunk of the coast would fall into the sea. By the end of the century, San Diego would be an island.


    So Wasp and Lexington played, and their sisters amused themselves as well. But one eye was always perked, one ear listening to the airwaves. Waiting for the call to sortie as submarines and scout planes kept an eye on the Pacific.


    That Uwi-Class Panamax monster had slipped by once and now Japan and China were paying for it.


    It would not do so again. The next time the Abyss tried it, the US San Diego Shipgirl Command would be ready for them. They just hoped their distant sisters could get to Japan in time to make a difference.


    They did.


    ***


    Missouri, and it was just Missouri, got out of bed and made sure that the covers were nice and flat. Making your bed in the morning was just common sense. She made herself a light breakfast and went out to greet the morning commuters from Hawai¡¯i. The personnel that manned the old museum had stuck around after Raven¡¯s passing, but only Hawai¡¯i was still inhabitable for humans. The edge of the hurricane had barely clipped its northern shores when Raven sailed her storm between Kaua?i and O?ahu.


    Pearl Harbor was abandoned. The base anyway. There¡¯d been a time in the war that the US had held it at the start and they¡¯d reclaimed it once, when it looked like Midway would finally fall. These days, these were firmly Abysssal waters. Missouri didn¡¯t care. She was neutral, a museum ship. She¡¯d seen both sides and could support neither. It was a cruel, pointless war started by idiots high on their own power and importance on both sides. Missouri would know. She¡¯d been there.


    No, the museum ship made her rounds and visited her old body, making sure everything was in top shape and that relief supplies were still flowing for everyone stuck on Hawai¡¯i. That was the deal. Missouri would stay and Hawaii was off limits to Abyssal nonsense. What was left of it, anyway. An Anchorage Princess kept station off the coast of Hawai¡¯i, but that girl liked to keep to herself and loved Missouri¡¯s cookies.


    It was nice that at least some of the children weren¡¯t on the front lines anymore. She? She was old and had served her time. Missouri would protect her little slice of the world, and the rest could take care of itself. She needed to keep Pearl Harbor open, ready. Raven, and it was always Raven these days, needed a home to come back to, someday. Or she might never come back.


    So Missouri would tend to her chores, sort out her paperwork and set up a table with coffee, tea and a bottle of German lager, near Hammer point, overlooking the entrance to the harbor. Watching the world. For she was a museum, and was it not their place to remember history even as they were themselves forgotten by the younger generations? Left in dusty old rooms until time wore them away. Silent witnesses to the world and the ebb and flow of history.


    Missouri drank her coffee and closed her eyes. The museum ship reached into that place that made her unique in the world. She had been there, when Japan surrendered in WW2. Lingered far beyond her time, until she stood witness to the passage of entire generations. And she had held her soul and preserved her purpose. Remained a museum, a scholar seeking truth, a teacher. Any Abyssal that dared brave her waters, she would teach whatever she could. Whatever they would learn.


    {WITNESS}


    the ancient Shipgirl intoned, the echoes of her Soul Skill shaking the entire island.


    For she was one of the first to wake and her power had only grown with practice. And Missouri practiced every single day. Now her eyes wandered past time and space. To things that were, had been and could be. Never would, never that, but could be. For she was the Blind Seer, party to every secret on the planet, and blind to the one that had been closest to her heart.


    She could have stopped all this, but she¡¯d been fucking blind for all her vision!


    In her office, above her table, her mistake was immortalized, so she would never forget it. It was widely considered one of the finest pieces of investigative journalism and it was one. A masterpiece. But even a master could only compose with notes they knew and some of those secrets were buried deeper still. Not out of some malicious plan. But because shame had cut too deep to share the full story.


    The title was large, two bolded big lines reading:


    ¡°THE TRUTH WINS OUT: US FIRED WMD FIRST


    ABYSSAL PRINCESS NUKED TWELVE TIMES¡±


    Below them, in smaller but still prominent letters the subtitles read:


    ¡°White house sources claim they were acting to contain a clear and present threat against the world.¡±


    ¡°Hawaii and California acts of retaliation for the use of Weapons of Mass Destruction.¡±


    So she sat there, on that beach and witnessed. Watched for the moment that could make a meaningful difference in this pointless war. She saw Shanghai fall and would write a chronicle of the battle, another to be buried in her internal archives. Missouri watched Japan struggle on and the Court plot. She glimpsed half a dozen command centers and secret rooms. Few places in the world could keep her out.


    She Witnessed A Promise that broke her out of her reverie. Something new. It was always hard, coming out of time viewing. The past was easier, the future forever murky. Missouri had lost herself more than once in the early days, going comatose for days.


    Seeing through time left her drained and dry, weak as a newborn kitten. Of course Refuge was there, drinking her lager when Missouri came out of it. The German Submarine Princess helped her drink her sweetened coffee without even needing to be asked. Peri¨¨re was good people and one of the few in this whole mess who hadn¡¯t made it worse. God knows Missouri did her part.


    ¡°I know something you don¡¯t.¡± She sing-songed, in her most ¡°spoiled little girl voice.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you can have cake.¡± Missouri interrupted. Peri¨¨re was a simple girl at heart.


    That neatly derailed whatever prank was in motion. It was best not to let her catch steam.


    One pretend volcano eruption was enough for her heart. And the locals.


    Peri¨¨re jumped into the freezer bag so fast, only her legs were sticking out. It was a big bag. Shipgirls could put it away like professional athletes. Like a tiny hurricane soon the table was set with two cakes, the little Princess almost vibrating in her seat. Polite and waiting for Missouri to have the first bite. They talked of things, great and small, as was their way. Keeping each other sane in an insane world.


    Finally, the point came back to the beginning. ¡°Oh yeah, I do actually have a missive from Court. You¡¯re going to have some guests. I think you¡¯ll like this one, wrinkly bones.¡± Very polite girl, filthy mouth though. Cursed like a sailor.


    For the first time in a long time, Missouri was looking forward to tomorrow. It had such¡­possibilities.


    In the end, her eyes strayed to the same spot they always did. Sixty-five miles South-West of Pearl Harbor, where it all began. The point of no return, where She had come, ragged and near death after the bombs, but still stubbornly holding on. Demanding answers and in answer served the death of a traitor for consorting with the enemy. Raven was born that day and the war became unavoidable. Perhaps, this time, Missouri could do better. She could hardly do worse.


    One thing she was sure of. The world would not survive the rise of a second Abyssal Queen. The Pacific Ocean had not healed from the birth of the first. But she was no grand schemer, no great manipulator. All Missouri had was herself and her friends. She was a teacher. Maybe, this new kind of Princess would let herself learn.


    That? That was a nice dream. Not remotely likely with how the Abyss and Shipgirls repelled one another, but a girl could dream, couldn¡¯t she?


    All Missouri did was dream every day. It why she came here every day and set out coffee, beer and tea. Hoping that one day, a girl would join her. Any girl. But especially Her. That was her Dream.

 Chapter 15: Anchors

    Taylor was finding out that the Abyss twist thing wasn¡¯t by far the only thing that had changed about her. Nor was she faced with new shipgirl instincts. Wakumi, as her attendant, had offered to join Taylor in the baths and she¡¯d almost casually accepted. Taylor was halfway naked by the time it occurred to her that this was weird. And not necessarily bad weird. This? This felt human. Taylor had politely asked her to refrain while she tried to unscrew her own brain first and slipped into the bath under a towel.


    ¡°Ryokan are traditional inns built near natural hot springs, usually with an onsen, a communal bath.¡±


    ¡°And that? That¡¯s weird.¡±


    Because when she tried that in Japanese?


    ¡°A language I¡¯m suddenly fluent in, because that part was so normalized it almost slipped my mind.¡±


    ¡°Traditional inns are traditional inns build near natural hot springs, usually with a communal bath, a communal bath.¡± Because it sounds fine in English but it was hurting her brain in Japanese.


    ¡°Are all gaijin this stupid?¡± she asked the empty room.


    ¡°There! There it was again.¡±


    She¡¯d just¡­slip and suddenly be talking, thinking in Japanese, like it was normal. Like she¡¯d done it since she was a kid. For the life of her, Taylor couldn¡¯t figure out how this was some kind of Abyssal plot or influence. Which made it more likely to be a Shipgirl thing. Especially as more memories and knowledge just popped into her head as time passed in the baths. Slowly fixing herself, fully.


    Taylor had spent twelve hours in the baths now. The clock had finally unscrambled and showed she needed another three. A quick (shouted) conversation with her attendant had revealed these were usual numbers for a heavy Princess. If she was half dead, or crippled.


    ¡°Which, okay, fair enough.¡±


    Her arm was itching something fierce. Had been for the past two hours. But it was hard to care when an entire belief system suddenly bubbled up in her mind. It was like something from a cheesy eighties movie. ¡°Sudden competence, out of fucking nowhere.¡±


    Taylor had half a mind to try it. The shrine maiden costumes were amazing and she felt confident enough to pass as a Shinto priest. Except priest wasn¡¯t the right word, but there really wasn¡¯t a proper translation. Did she even need one?


    It was weird. Nice, very nice. Surprisingly nice for the usual bundle of surprises in her new life, but: ¡°Definitely an adjustment.¡±


    As if summoned by that thought, the itching finally grew bad enough she just had to start scratching. It was irritating as all hell. More and more skin peeled under her nails, until the inflamed, engorged limb suddenly burst like an overripe fruit. Rather than pain, all Taylor felt was blessed relief.


    ¡°Finally I have my hands back. Terrible work environment, great health in-¡°


    .


    Taylor stared.


    ¡°Wakumi!¡±


    The Carrier opened the door and stepped in at her shout.


    ¡°Yes Miss?¡± She attentively asked, eager to help.


    ¡°What?¡± Taylor asked flatly, waving with her monstrous tentacles. Three of them in fact. Her shoulder had sprouted a dark, metallic growth that looked almost like a piece of armor. From it, three thick tendrils hung where her stump used to be, about as long as her other arm, tipped with spearheads. No, longer. Taylor was suddenly sure that they were exactly long enough to brush against the surface of the sea as she ran. She was weaving and waving them around as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Like the knowledge. Taylor just suddenly knew how to use them. Not to say, write. But she could swim and grab things and fight. Oh she could fight.


    The three closed, curling up in each other to form a wicked looking segmented spear/whip/snake thing, as thick as her thigh. The outside of each was covered in black, hard, armored scales while the inside was pale white, covered in vicious dagger teeth that perfectly fit into each other to form a solid but somehow jointed core of the limb when closed. Taylor¡¯s new limb had many, many joints, almost like links in a chain that could snap solid and rigid at will by tensing specific muscles. She flexed her new arm a couple of times, fascinated by the interplay of the muscle, dark armor and pale flesh.


    ¡°This is me?¡±


    ¡°Very nice Miss.¡± Wakumi replied, happy and completely oblivious.


    Taylor blinked several times, rearranging her reality.


    ¡°Right. Monster. As in what I am.¡±


    A long sigh slowly deflated her, until she was back in the bath up to her chin.


    Frankly, after getting over the surprise, they looked fine.<sup>4</sup>


    It wasn¡¯t that weird. Certainly not compared to some girls she¡¯d seen. Taylor would just need to practice for a bit. Test them out. Get a bit used to them and remember that humans wouldn¡¯t be as accepting as the girls were. She was itching to get out of this bath. Midway did not want her here. It was like a low background whine, telling her to ¡°Get out already.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going, I¡¯m going.¡± Taylor complained.


    ¡°Miss?¡± Wakumi asked. Taylor nearly jumped out of her skin.


    ¡°Ok, that? That¡¯s not okay. Attendants are one thing, but Wakumi isn¡¯t some paid employee in the service industry to ignore. I need to keep an eye on this.¡±


    ¡°Nothing Wakumi. Just¡­adjusting to the addition.¡± Taylor lied.


    The link flared with shame, nausea and pain even as not a trace of it appeared on her face as Wakumi left Taylor to it. The no longer crippled Taylor. She didn¡¯t even know where to start unpacking all that. At least she had time to figure it out.


    Taylor¡¯s review notes for the day:


    ¡­


    Note 4: ¡°They were creepy as all hell, like something Bonesaw or Nilborg would make, but I suppose it¡¯s good I can¡¯t see them like that. Or have to relearn how to use a new limb. It would make whatever psychological issues body transformations cause much worse to deal with. Do I have any? Isn¡¯t this a different body? <u>This needs more attention.¡±</u>


    ***


    Octodad made his way down the ships corridors towards the brig. They were sailing out, which meant it was time to implement the next step of the protocols. Really, why couldn¡¯t every duty come with clearly laid out rules he could follow like this one? The Wilted Lily was a considerate crewmate. He should get a gift for the Chief. Show his appreciation. If the sensor crew were getting mead rations, maybe he could arrange something for the Crane crews while he was at it.


    Well, the First Mate would be glad to be rid of all the extra duties that had piled up in the meantime. He was sure the Captain could handle the backlog.


    Passing through the last bulkhead let him into the detainment area.


    ¡°I DON¡¯T HAVE A FUCKING CLOAK YOU MASSIVE¡­¡± She inhaled. ¡°YOU! YOU SEA BISCUIT!¡±


    After days stuck here, the Captain was running out of curses.


    ¡°Sure you don¡¯t Captain,¡± the Wilted Lilly replied casually, for God knows which time, lounging in her own cot. A baby monitor was on the table next to the Chief, babbling about positional data.


    ¡°Told you we¡¯d have company, Cap,¡± the smug flower cheered.


    ¡°Here to torture me with you own brand of nonsense?¡± The Captain huffed.


    Octodad opened first one cell, than the other under the watchful eyes of a security guard.


    ¡°There we go, free to leave Captain, Chief.¡± His job done, he turned to leave.


    ¡°Oh hell no. You are going exactly nowhere First Mate. What in all the Abyss possessed you, you spineless worm, to side with the mutiny against me?¡± The Captain asked as holes tore open all around her.


    After a moment, the scary growling stopped and the holes in the universe floating around the Captain trough which unnatural eyes were dissecting him retreated.


    ¡°What do you mean it wasn¡¯t a mutiny against me? Why did I wake up in the brig then?¡± she asked in disbelief.


    The moment he opened his mouth to respond the Captain exploded even as the Wilted Lilly watched, shaking from how hard she was holding back laughter.


    ¡°I do not have a Cloak! And even if I somehow did, which I don¡¯t, stupid! You couldn¡¯t mutiny against it! I run this ship, not some fucking joke!¡±


    Octodad was trying not to laugh. Really, he was. But the Lilly looked ridiculous, her petals changing colors from how hard she was holding it in. The moment Octodad started laughing the Lily exploded as well. The holes in the world opened again and puppet wires leapt from them, freezing both in place. Octodad found himself turning under the will of another and asking:


    ¡±You think this is funny?¡± in a cold voice he wished he could produce himself.


    The Lily was fully paralyzed and helpless and somehow still answered. The voice sounded merry, but there was a riptide of danger and death beneath it.


    ¡°It¡¯s hilarious. It¡¯s so funny, if I let you in on it, you might just die laughing,¡± she joked.


    And that? That finally stopped the Captain cold. The strings snapped as the holes retreated again and the Captain fully seized up the Security Chief. Examining them from top to bottom.


    ¡°That funny, huh?¡± The Captain murmured, her hand going to her shoulder, feeling around for a cloak that wasn¡¯t there. Yet when she did, her hands shook, suddenly terribly cold.


    ¡°And if I ordered you back in the Brig?¡±


    *


    ¡°I¡¯d be happy to go, but forced to invoke Article Five of the quarantine procedures.¡±


    The Captain¡¯s head tilted as she perused the ships regulations in her head.


    ¡°If the Captain should choose to remand the Chief into custody without removing her from her duties, the Captain is to personally oversee the prisoner for the duration of the stay.¡±


    Almost admiringly she wondered: ¡°When did you switch that?¡±


    The Lily just smiled.


    ¡°You know damn well I can¡¯t reassign you when the ship herself gave you that post. Is this going to keep happening?¡± The Captain asked, already tired of it.


    ¡°That¡¯s not up to me,¡± the Lilly began. The Captain¡¯s head dropped.


    ¡°That¡¯s up to your Cloak. It behaves and stops mucking around with the sensor intakes and I won¡¯t have to quarantine you Cap.¡± the former Sensor and Communication Chief said with relish.


    No one messed with her babies. If the Lily had to usurp a whole other department on the ship to make sure her people could work in peace? Well, so be it. Never mind what headaches it caused her poor Captain.


    What happened to the former Security Chief was a mystery and everyone knew it was better not to ask. Or they would suddenly find themselves not having ever existed. The Taylor Hebert¡¯s sensor crew was known for it: Going Above and Beyond the call of Duty. And good sense. Really, if they weren¡¯t so good at their jobs the Captain would have had them all up on charges weeks ago. Especially the new Security Chief.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a Cloak.¡± The Captain repeated, defeated.


    ¡°Sure you do Captain¡± The Lily hammered in yet again, cheerful, joking yet with that same undercurrent. Then had the nerve to start making some demented mix of fart, babble and burbling noises.


    ¡°As if that was real.¡±


    ¡°And why has my berth been moved to the Brig? You can¡¯t expect me to sleep there.¡±


    The nonsensical sounds didn¡¯t stop.


    ¡°And stop talking to the Cloak!¡± The Captain ordered. She was sick and tired of that game back in the Brig. ¡°It¡¯s not any better now that I know it might not be a game. Worse actually.¡±


    ¡°He started it.¡± The Security Chief shamelessly deflected.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.¡°Why? What did I ever do to deserve this?¡± The Captain plaintively asked.


    ¡°You really do need to sleep in the Brig, Captain. If you want, I¡¯ll keep you company.¡± the Lilly added normally, ignoring her bemoaning her fate.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s really not needed.¡± The Captain quickly rebutted. She¡¯d had it up to here with the Lily and her antics.


    They made it to the Captain¡¯s quarters and Octodad, today¡¯s chosen moniker, made himself scarce. The Captain did not want to be disturbed with so much work ahead of her so she dismissed the Wilted Lily. She was looking forward to seeing her rooms again after days in the Brig and finding out just what they¡¯d been doing with Her ship.


    The Captain opened the door, hoping to finally be able to leave the position at the door and just be herself for a bit. A flood of documents poured out, deep enough to reach her ankles. A quick check with the crew showed someone, no one anyone could name since he kept changing them every day, had just thrown them in the room. ¡°They weren¡¯t important, right?¡± The First Mate was in the habit of asking when The Captain had been the one doing the reports.


    ¡°You damn squid. No, you¡¯re not even a squid, you¡¯re a worm! Get back here Inkworm!¡± The entire ship rang.


    Newly renamed First Mate Inkworm?


    He ran.


    ***


    Sachi had said a teary farewell to them all. Didn¡¯t even bring up her reading lessons. Far as Taylor could tell, there was a lot of work to be done on Midway to make it even half-way functional as a village of people, instead of some kind of regimented base of walking piles of issues. Which might be a contributing factor to why Midway was trying to hurry her out. She didn¡¯t want an ¡°ignorant newborn¡± to mess with her perfect system. ¡°What a joke.¡±


    ¡°Everyone has everything?¡± Confirmations came in over comms.


    Even so, Taylor was feeling almost unchained. Liberated. Free in a way she hadn¡¯t been since she crawled out of the lagoon. She could set sail across the horizon and never come back. Just find some out of the way place and rest a bit. Her main limitation was still not knowing so much, but soon she hoped to rectify that with a quick stop at Hawaii and a local library.


    ¡°Books!¡± After months of dealing with the Abyss Taylor wanted something sensible again.


    ¡°Hells, I¡¯d settle for school work, right about now.¡± she laughed.


    The freedom, the ability to choose? Make her own choices, plans not constrained by someone constantly looking over her shoulder? It was doing wonders for her mood.


    Shun glanced at her. Taylor was learning more about [Fleet-sense] every day.


    ¡°You¡¯re doing it again,¡± she softly reminded the sub girl. Shun had been suppressing her signal, again. It was a habit with her.


    ¡°Or is it all subs?¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡± The sub apologized, the link blooming with faint, distracted embarrassment. Taylor¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°What is she up to?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here, I¡¯m here!¡± Wakumi came running up, burdened with at least four gym bags, all reinforced with woven steel chains and plates. She was making a nasty, screeching racket as she ran. The carrier poured bittersweet happiness into what Taylor was starting to call the fleet¡¯s common pool. A shallow lake of emotions that wasn¡¯t strictly any one ships. Or strictly real yet still there, something anyone in the fleet could touch with [Fleet-sense]. Behind her a gaggle of girls looked on. They looked like they wanted to tear Taylor¡¯s head off for taking Wakumi. <sup>7</sup>


    They were not the only group come to see them off, as Montana and Riptide watched from shore, surrounded by their own girls.


    ¡°I¡¯m not late, am I Miss?¡± The Carrier asked.


    ¡°No. But aren¡¯t you going to stow that?¡± Taylor asked her.


    The Carrier flushed. ¡°I never learned that trick.¡±


    At an inquiring look she added, quietly embarrassed: ¡°We usually have support when moving. Freighters to carry whatever is needed.¡±


    Shame and worry poured into the pool: ¡°Not that I¡¯m asking you to do it Miss, I would never-¡°


    That¡¯s as far as that silliness got before Taylor¡¯s cranes moved and started picking the bags off, one by one. Moving them into her containers. She detailed one for each of the girls personal stuff while she was at it.


    ¡°Anyone else have something they¡¯d want to bring but refrained because no other freighter is along for the ride?¡± she asked.


    The communal outpouring of embarrassment was expected. The river of gratitude tinged with awe and just hints of genuine, almost familial love was not and had Taylor leaking embarrassment as well. She kept the discomfort to herself. Years of pushing her emotions around coming in useful, yet again.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a big deal.¡± she insisted, looking away. She¡¯d gotten a handle on dealing with people over her years as a Ward, grown up. But having everyone¡¯s emotions right there was surprisingly intimate. A part of her just wanted to shut it off. Taylor was trying, but she barely knew these people, even if some had wormed their way into her heart. Another wondered if this is what Gallant¡¯s everyday life used to be like.


    Wakumi stuck around, but Shun quietly skulked off and fourth went away as well. Taylor wanted to start drilling the Carrier with all her questions but maybe that was the problem. This was the first day of her new life.


    Was that how she wanted to start it?


    ¡°Probably best to face the issue, as the professionals say.¡±


    She took a deep breath. Making new friends was never her strong suit.


    She looked for a way to start and settled on a simple one.


    ¡°So what¡¯s your favorite color and why?¡± Taylor asked Wakumi.


    And if the following discussion was filled with entirely too many added ¡°Miss¡± and unsure hesitance?


    It was a start. ¡°Only real cure to not knowing people is to get to know them.¡±


    Note 7: No that wasn¡¯t the Abyss taking. They were really not happy with their leader going. Thinking about it, I think they believed I was going to punish Wakumi for everything they¡¯d done. Whatever Wakumi had told them, they figured she was just putting a brave face on for them. It seems like the kind of thing Abyssals would assume. Or what another¡­ *sigh* Princess. You¡¯re a Princess Taylor. Accept it. That is never not going to sounds silly: Princess Taylor. What another Princess would do. Not sure what to do about it except bring Wakumi back for visits.


    ***


    ¡°They¡¯re pests that get their beaks stuck in everything, get covered in oil, and then come crying to us about it.¡± Wakumi was insisting.


    ¡°No, they are beautiful. A sign you¡¯re finally near land and the homeport is within sight. I love hearing their cries. Even when I¡¯m away on deep raids they remind me of home.¡± Shun argued.


    They were talking about seagulls. For all that they were skating over the surface of the sea, the more they spoke the less Taylor saw ships.


    ¡°Where the hell were you launched that those flying menaces remind you of home?¡± Wakumi asked, a bit irritated.


    ¡°None of your business,¡± Shun quashed that line of questioning.


    It was alright? The two had very different world views and very different fleet roles and lives, but they were idly bickering, not seriously arguing. Probably because they could feel how amused Taylor was just watching them talk.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re one of the ones feeding them. They¡¯ll follow you home, you know?¡± Wakumi warned.


    ¡°That is the idea, yes.¡± Shun answered factually, as if it was obvious.


    ¡°Damn it. No wonder, you¡¯re a sub. You don¡¯t have to clean up after them. I don¡¯t want birdshit all over my new home.¡± Wakumi protested.


    She stuttered in motion at that thought. ¡°Where are we going?¡± she asked as they crossed the line over the edge of Midway¡¯s true territory. The Princess wasn¡¯t just a girl, or a building or a dock. She was the whole island, seafloor included. That was just a bit scary.


    ¡°Hawaii¡± the fourth answered.


    ¡°Nice.¡± Wakumi grinned. ¡°Haven¡¯t been back there since my last break. I¡¯d love to see what new stuff there is.¡±


    Before Taylor could get into it, she felt someone whistling on her bridge. The Wilted Lily was there, entering from below deck. Finally back and that meant¡­ Taylor¡¯s eyes slowly glanced around the room, careful not to go near the center, or where she felt any resistance. The Lily gave a merry grin at being reunited with her baby, which promptly buried itself back in the planter and went to sleep.


    ¡°Good.¡±


    Taylor could feel out the edges of the effect. As long as she didn¡¯t push too hard, she wouldn¡¯t lose her train of thought or her memories of trying to look. That had been a nasty shock to find out from the journal.


    Her Captain was there, even if she couldn¡¯t see her. And because Taylor was looking for it, she felt it. Her brain unwound. It wasn¡¯t like a filter, or a master effect. What it was, was hard to describe. But she ran a bit taller, faster, better. And a clue-by-four struck her in the face.


    ¡°So that¡¯s mid to long term planning severally hampered with The Captain off the bridge. Bad, but not as bad as it could have been.¡±


    All her Black Market contacts? Taylor had done nothing to prepare them for the move. Or really used them at all during this. Which was really obviously something she should have done, if only to figure out more about the Court, the various players and how it all worked before the session. Or at least make sure she could still access them from her new temporary base. That was a lot of potential resources, power and influence to carelessly throw away. And she''d just missed it, caught up in her current worries. Then another clue struck her.


    Taylor leveled a suspicious but relieved glare at Shun. ¡°What have you been up to all this time?¡± she demanded, faux harshly.


    The sub was the very picture of innocence.


    ¡°Made sure everything was in place and we had all we needed to remain players in the underground market?¡± she replied, radiating smug satisfaction.


    ¡°Woken up, have you?¡± Shun cheekily added while Taylor was trying to figure out if she should praise her initiative or chew her out for hiding it first.


    ¡°It¡¯s not fair to take advantage of a blind person, you know.¡± Taylor grumbled, lifting the veil from her eyes, seeing the blue skies again with her own eyes. The warm sun. Feeling the winds of the Pacific on her unbound face as they sailed. If the Lily was on the bridge, she didn¡¯t absolutely need it. The Security Chief would whistle if she noticed something was off.


    ¡°But that¡¯s wrong!¡± the former Escort Leader protested. ¡°Wakumi, straitlaced? Oh, her and Shun the smuggling submarine were going to get on like a house on fire¡±, Taylor could tell.


    She left that whole subject for later.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t give you any trouble?¡± The smaller players could get awfully skittish about their pieces of the pie.


    ¡°I have a real Princess backing me.¡± Shun answered, her tone implying Taylor was being slow again.


    Taylor wasn¡¯t sure if she should deal with the insolence. Parts of her were demanding she make her ship show proper respect to command. Or she could encourage it. It was hard to know what the right choice was with so many blank spaces on the roadmap. It felt like she¡¯d be setting some kind of example for future ships.


    Yet as she recovered her full faculties, another thing had her shutting down her engines and slowly drifting to a stop. Turning back to the distant island they¡¯d left with a frown. Because Shun wasn¡¯t her first connection. The sub-girl was her first Fleet member, but not her first friend. And even when she¡¯d reached inside herself to shear everything off, two lines had remained untouched because they hadn''t been in her fleet, but something more.


    Buried under everything as the first friends Taylor had connected to in her new life. Not Fleet but something else. Invisible under all the muck that used to cover them and the wreckage after. Even as they spent every moment they could comforting her.


    She was leaving them behind.


    For the first time, that really hurt, because Taylor wasn¡¯t sure if and when she¡¯d be back this time.

 Epilogue: Princess (Redux)

    Part 1: Faith


    Midway was buried in her ritual chamber. A place so warded Raven would struggle to enter it. Well, enter without it blowing up in her face at least. She still had no idea how that little Japanese shipgirl pest had snuck in and stolen her designs, but she was fairly out of it at the time. Starvation under siege will do that to you. Maybe she hadn¡¯t armed one of the wards? She didn¡¯t want to dwell on all her failures and that was getting easier now that That Girl was out of her hair. It was like an itch that just kept picking at her.


    Midway knew from experience dealing with her twist that more time and distance would make it easier to deal with, even if the root problem never went away fully. And yet she couldn¡¯t focus. That didn¡¯t happen to her. Something was disturbing the environment. It took her a moment to find it. Her secret escape tunnel was open. They¡¯d opened it from the other side and were now rolling around in the sand, the silly things.


    ¡°Well. I do have an hour to spare this week. I can indulge myself for a bit.¡±


    She left the books and designs open on her reading table. The first jets could wait an hour. It was a project months in the making and probably with months more to go. Being a Court Researcher was hard, if important work.


    ¡°And I like just fiddling with things. Machines, artifice, they make sense. Have clear rules, best practices. Not like people. And when they break, nothing important is lost.¡±


    The last thought hurt all the way down to her core, like it always did. The price of her failure was never far from her heart. At least this time, her failure hadn¡¯t cost anyone anything important. Wounds and lives could be fixed, minds and souls not so much. Midway found them at the end of the tunnel, half beached. The two ships that had been with her since she was just a repair shipgirl, wandering the ocean. Unknowing of the weight of the world.


    Itchy and Scratch had gotten Midway out of more trouble than she could clearly remember or see.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never been good with people, but even at the start, the two were talented at spotting mean girls.¡±


    Midway scratched Itchy just the way he liked it, under his jaw, while inspecting Scratch. The fix that had left the distinctive line on his side was holding strong. A part of her wanted to replace and repair it. It wasn¡¯t perfect. But Midway never did accept that. Perfection was a lie. She was Midway, and for all they called her one of the Six? She was Peerless. So was it. The scar was a legacy of love. Midway would never take it away from the destroyer, when it was so proud of saving her life.


    She¡¯d given them a safe home and a lot of girls to play with, even if they sometimes saw things she didn¡¯t. And that thought? It stopped her, wheels spinning as she looked into their big blue eyes. After a few years of being Midway she¡¯d gotten to know most of her girls and didn¡¯t need their help anymore, so she let them patrol around the island and enjoy themselves. They¡¯d earned it. Every now and again, they¡¯d expose some thief, or a girl who was breaking Court rules.


    Now Midway looked at them again, peering at the links they¡¯d forged in [Fleet-sense]. As she studied them, her heart was filling with bitter vindication, broken laughter erupting to echo off the tunnel walls.


    ¡°Contingencies, always have contingencies Midway. For everything. Because no matter how good you are, the world will throw something completely crazy at you. That¡¯s why perfection is impossible, but it doesn¡¯t mean we don¡¯t try.¡± She told herself.


    ¡°Where have you two been?¡± She asked for the sake of it. Midway didn¡¯t need the answer, though confirmation was always best, no matter how obvious the proof. And she could see it, feel it. Never had their bonds wavered. Not to each other and not to her. Or some of her girls, the rare few they found deserving after years of watching one of the largest gatherings of Abyssals in the Pacific. Even back when she was a repair ship, Midway had trusted them more than her own ability to judge if a girl was mean or nice at her core.


    And they¡¯d picked That Girl. They had Bonds to Her. Except as she looked at those bonds, something deep within her unclenched and she could finally face it. She¡¯d failed, utterly. Midway could clearly remember the moment they told her.


    ¡°A Princess just tried to commit suicide on your island Midway. How in the lightless hells didn¡¯t you know about it?¡± The Empress had cursed her out. Nearly broke her all over again.


    The second coming of Katharine? On her island. Every girl on it would be pulled so deep into the Abyss they¡¯d never come back, never come out. Just their mad, Abyss filled Shells running berserk on the ocean. And it all would have been her fault. Midway had wondered, when she heard about it. How a Princess could commit to suicide and do it not out of despair? Because if she had despaired¡­


    ¡°Deep breaths,¡± she told herself and a moment later was buried in blubber and tongue baths. Whatever the description of the Graveyard, they paled to a full blown repeat of Katharine.


    Yet it wasn¡¯t some quirk of fate. Some accident of¡­ of Taylor¡¯s birth. It wasn¡¯t blind luck that had saved them all and that made all the difference. Midway had failed. In the now. But past Midway had known she¡¯d get distracted with a position like Court Researcher and sent an arrow into the future. Two insightful, observant, loyal destroyers. To be there, when she couldn¡¯t or forgot to. She could feel her eyes leaking while she hugged them fiercely.


    ¡°My dear heroes.¡±


    Because she hadn¡¯t failed. Because it wasn¡¯t going to happen again. No more girls would go mad on her watch because she figured her work was ¡°good enough¡±. That her preparations were sufficient.


    ¡°No more. No more.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t a failure of a Princess.


    ***


    It took Midway a while to gather her composure.


    Now that she could finally think straight? She had no intention of letting future Midway be a failure either. No matter how hard it was to say goodbye or how unfair it was. That Gr-Taylor.


    ¡°Deep breaths girl, you know it helps.¡±


    Taylor had already stolen one ship from her. But in the grand scheme of things, Taylor needed Itchy and Scratch much more than Midway did. With how her life up till now had been, Midway would be surprised if she¡¯d bonded with more than five ships. So every bond was precious. They were retired here, but now needed again.


    ¡°How much more must I give up to live up to the ideal of a good Princess?¡± The two wiggled their fins. It was easier, she supposed, that at least they were willing.


    ***


    Taylor was still there. Two hours later four ships still stood in place where she had stopped and all conversation ceased. She was trying. Trying to leave. Taylor understood that there was nothing she could do to convince Midway or trade with her. Midway just wanted her gone. Giving Taylor her oldest ships? Even if there wasn¡¯t some fucked up reason why they were actually important, the woman would deny her just to spit her right now. The smart option was to leave, and come back later. Pretend they aren¡¯t important so she could buy them cheap next time. But just the idea of it?


    Of buying and selling Itchy and Scratch as if they were toys, things? It sickened her. Only now, that the possibility was staring her in the face, did she realize just how much she¡¯d come to depend on them to be there, waiting for her when she got back. Their support was silent, innocent and pure as only a simple pet could be. And Taylor missed the giant monster sharks all the more for it. Because they didn¡¯t have issues or problems for her to worry about. They fought, played, ate and slept. That was their whole world. Wasn¡¯t it?


    ¡°Why is this so hard? Can¡¯t I just come back later?¡±


    Yet a part of her knew, no matter how much she didn¡¯t want to face it. Until Shun crawled into her bed, the Imps had helped, but not enough. Not enough to sleep, to breathe. She didn¡¯t want to be alone. Taylor was already cut off from everyone and everything she¡¯d ever known. So each bond she¡¯d made here was all the more precious for it. Taylor had a feeling that if she ever lost them all, she might just stop moving and never start again.


    ¡°What would be the point?¡±


    A part of her shied away from the other option. That without them, she¡¯d become a monster herself.


    So she stood there and delayed, thinking, scheming of a solution. One dropped in her lap as her overseer Ra and the two came bounding over the horizon. They were snapping at each other¡¯s flanks, tails, playfully dancing across the waves as the repair ship tried to keep up. Kaede, Taylor dragged out of her memories. That was her name. A smile slowly took over her face as the two large lumps of blubber and steel accelerated towards her, bowling her over.


    The Ra was talking but it was a distant thing as Silence wrapped around them. Taylor could feel the intent woven into them, into their coming. She was an amateur at using her more esoteric powers, but even she could see they¡¯d been served up ready to cut. She wasn¡¯t sure if this was Midway¡¯s idea of an apology, but she¡¯d take it. Oh how she¡¯d take it. Half remembered time in that deep pit slowly let her shape the Silence around her into a blade to cut, to sever. To free them from Midway¡¯s grasp, now and forever.


    Every thread linking them to that damn island had been separated and bound together so even a toddler couldn¡¯t miss. Some cynical part of her wondered if there were other hidden connections that she¡¯d have to scour them for, concealed links or orders. The rest was just happy to claim them.


    And yet? Something stayed her hand. Maybe it was the slight whimper from the two when she squeezed the rope leading back to Midway to better hold it for the cut. Maybe it was the itching at the back of her head that something about this wasn¡¯t right. Words echoing in her Silence, relayed from Midway by the repair ship and ringing hollow.


    ¡°These two are really obsolete. So why don¡¯t you take them off my hands, they are no good to me anyway.¡°


    Because if Taylor could see the links to Midway, she¡¯d have to be blind to miss Taylor¡¯s own connections. And Midway was blind in many ways, but this? This was her field of expertise. Taylor could feel it in how carefully each strand of the rope was woven. With exquisite attention. She¡¯d been sewing for weeks now and Taylor couldn¡¯t believe how fine the weave was. She¡¯d never made anything like it. She wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d seen anything like it even among Parian¡¯s works. More than anything it reminded her of her own fabrics, woven by individual spiders, each thread placed just so to create a greater whole.


    Taylor wondered:


    ¡°What are you hiding behind such a precise weave Midway?¡±


    She peered into the fine weaves, trying to separate them and see inside, her fingers feeling entirely too blunt and lacking, like the entire thing had been made so she couldn¡¯t figure it out. But Taylor knew fabric and threads. And something else. Something pulsing inside her head, in an empty place, coming out. There was care in these bonds. Care and love. From both sides. And that?


    ¡°That made no sense. Why send them away if she loved them?¡±


    ***


    They watched the Silence wrap around their Princess. Watched her still and stand. Watched her crane lower her one seaplane and it fly off. And all through it, she paid them no attention. Her hands gently rubbing the heads of the two destroyers. Wakumi and Sapphire felt jealous of them. Almost as one they thought:


    ¡°What did they do to deserve such closeness from the Miss?¡±


    One was immediately ashamed of thinking it. The other wanted to interrogate them to figure it out.


    Shun? The subgirl just smiled.


    ***


    {Far Sight}


    Taylor watched the island. There was a mien of normalcy to it, but looking closer? Everywhere girls were retiring. Getting out of the open. There was a weight to the air. A feeling that staying outside was dangerous. It led her to an out of the way place. The reef most distant from the main compound and the docks. Shallow pools filled with shoals and a pale tree under which Taylor had spent so many nights.


    Midway was there, scowling, looking right back at her. With her hands on those very threads linking them? Taylor wasn¡¯t a half-blind cripple anymore. As Midway reached out she haltingly reached back, like a child learning to stand for the first time, in that place beyond the real. They spilled into each other¡¯s eyes, flowing through the Abyss in them.


    *


    She was small and it was hard to stay herself. But this was hard enough already. Important enough to try, struggle. To be sure. Taylor was eight and trying so hard to stay big. To be the mature one, responsible. She raised her eyes and glimpsed The Mountain. A behemoth rising out of the sea, a peak unimpressed by the ocean trying to swallow it. A mountain of metal bristling with airfields, cannon and so many wards carved into its very bones that it could swallow the sun and not blink.


    Covered in rivers of red and white flowing steel, living steel, forges, factories and machine shops churning out weapons and gear as at its base the entire edifice ground at the seafloor, digging up more ore for the war. Unfeeling, untouchable and perfect. Unmarred by any troubles and unmoved by the shaking of the world. A stoic and distant overseer over the fleets that fed and clung to its skirts, the dock from which the lifeblood of war flowed. Standing before it, was its personification, Midway herself.


    Clad in flowing white, her hair flowing in an invisible breeze, like some ghostly demon risen from the sea, come to drag her down into the Abyss. Unimpressed, quickly growing furious but for all the mountain looming over her? All Taylor could see was that scowl. Those teeth. Her hand ached. Not the one that she¡¯d just got back, but the fingers of the other. Until she was cradling them against her chest from the phantom pain and the memories.


    ¡°Teeth, grinding down, breaking, snapping, cutting, chewing on her.¡±


    On the last few fingers she still had, that worked.


    A curtain of curly hair had taken the nightmare from the world. Obscured it enough that Taylor could feel anything but echoes of pain and hate. Hate for the callousness, for the empty eyes that didn¡¯t even care they were torturing her. Her mind knew better now, at least a bit. But the heart didn¡¯t care.


    ¡°I¡¯ll never forgive her.¡±


    Whimpers from her hands drew her back outside her pain. Two felt shark toys were wigging in her hands in pain. She struggled to relax her aching fingers enough not to hurt them. It was so hard. But it wasn¡¯t about her. What kind of superhero would she be if she hurt those who¡¯d done nothing but support her?


    So she looked up at The Mountain, the Dragon of Steel and Fire and faced, like some Princess from a fairytale. And that at least, brought a bit of relief to her heart. Stories? Stories she knew. Books were a familiar friend. So she gathered up her courage and asked:


    ¡°I¡¯m not very good at this yet. But all these threads, they go into them. They are woven through them, a part of them. If I cut all these, would they even still be themselves?¡± She rambled.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt them. They don¡¯t deserve that. So I want to do it right. Please help me do it right.¡± Taylor hated it. Hated having to ask Midway for help. But they were hers and Midway was had woven the rope. So what choice was there? The scowl shuttered into blankness as clouds came to bury the mountain in obscuring fog and Midway¡¯s face became a mask made of stone. As unmoving and unfeeling as a mountain whose winds were quietly whistling in Taylor¡¯s ear.


    The island bent over. Her teeth close enough to rip Taylor¡¯s throat out in one lunge. Then she¡¯d eat the rest of her.


    ¡°So be it. This is the last favor I¡¯m doing you.¡±


    It was like diving into the cold ocean, the voice, the breath freezing. She wilted before the onslaught.


    Long fingers uncurled and struck like liquid lightning. Taylor was blinking, flinching, trying to keep up. Then awed at how none of them came for her, but what they did. Each slipped between threads and found knots and lines to pull, ring, snap, until the entire rope was vibrating like guitar strings, singing of pain and loss. Until the vibrations grew to a pitch that had something inside snapping. The rope unraveled and impossibly precise and determined hands gathered the two ropes, one in each, as they unraveled into dozens of threads laid over Midway¡¯s palms, hanging from fingers, each separate, clear and singing a different song.


    Here was loyalty, there shared pain, joy. Warm gentle brushes and hard commands trusted to carry them all through. She wasn¡¯t looking at links, but parts of their souls, for the bond had grown so deep it was a part of them. Just glancing at them so bared, Taylor could almost read years of Midway¡¯s early history. Even as her face remained totally impassive, as though she was just waiting for the opportunity to strike. But it didn¡¯t tell her enough about who Midway was now.


    The temptation grew. Taylor could cut now. Cut out the loyalty. Trim some shared pain, a bit of the love so that they wouldn¡¯t choose Midway over Taylor. Shed suffering, wash out the colors of sacrifice to weaken the other bonds. Undermine the awe and worship and happiness that linked them enough that she could be sure. Sure that they wouldn¡¯t betray her.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t it enough? This is already hard. They¡¯d still be themselves. Mostly.¡±


    Yet what had Itchy and Scratch done to deserve such suspicion?


    Of every Abyssal Taylor had met, nothing and less than that.


    And still she hesitated. Because she couldn¡¯t. Because it wasn¡¯t about them, it was Midway. Her servants, her ships. Taylor couldn¡¯t let Midway have a spy in her ranks if even half her plans were to be viable. Was Midway an enemy? Or just another horrible misunderstanding made worse by the nature of Abyssals? Taylor couldn¡¯t tell.


    And until she could, she couldn¡¯t trust them. She¡¯d have to hurt them, just enough to be sure. Sure she was finally safe. A new beginning couldn¡¯t start on shaky grounds, filled with suspicion. Taylor just couldn¡¯t, when full freedom had been a step away. Was this how they got her, on emotion? Her mind argued reason and restraint but the heart wouldn¡¯t stop seeing those teeth. Hearing the abuse. Feeling hunger gnawing at her stomach.


    For all that Taylor could push her emotions around, she couldn¡¯t hide them from herself. Not with that creepy blank face so close, the teeth in her face. She saw no way out, and only grew more certain there would be no true victory here. No matter how much she wished otherwise. How Taylor wished she could sidestep their issues and just talk to Midway. That wish? It was almost a prayer.


    ¡°Please, let there be a better way.¡±


    Part 2: Ancient


    An Abyssal is never truly alone. Especially not a Princess, not so far from the real. In that place between where they were so close to the True Abyss that each could just reach out and touch it. Taylor¡¯s Captain¡¯s cloak, the floor of this place?


    It heard her and tried to help.</a>


    *


    There was a gurgle, somewhere in her head, as a loud whistle right in her ears nearly deafened her. The first sound ate itself and slid right out of her memory even as the whistle lingered, but that wasn¡¯t what drove her. A hum, a howl echoed down her bones right out of her skull. It boiled out of her lips into the dead, impassive mask before her. The sound that was Silence was caught by flaring sigils that burned to look at on Midway¡¯s dress and the pulse flung away, the Island untouched.


    Yet even as Midway recoiled, the pulse of sound reached Taylor¡¯s boots. Words from a lost dream boiled out of her lips as Taylor stomped, like any child unhappy with an unfair world. All her indignity, disgust and refusal to accept that world wrapped into one step protesting existence itself.


    It struck the floor of a place that wasn¡¯t and echoed through it like a wave on the sea foam. Foam made of forgotten nightmares. Slipping through the endless black beneath them and into Midway¡¯s mines. Echoing right past her wards. Climbing from the inside out as it Resonated with the True Abyss inside Midway.


    The ping rose until Taylor could see everything, map every twitch, almost lift the thoughts from her head. Hearing the heartbeat ram into overdrive as Midway¡¯s impassive mask shattered into a dry river begging for relief. For she¡¯d been silently sobbing beneath the mask, her eyes bone dry because Midway had long since run out of tears. Trying to carry her own burdens and the entire world on her back for so long it had become habit.


    Anxious that if she couldn¡¯t, others would see her imperfections and worry. That the worry would be too much for them on top of everything else and they¡¯d fail to carry their own burdens. So everyone would be buried in the end, useless. So Midway suffered in silence, because she had long since learned there was no one else, that everyone had their own problems. It was alright. She was used to it.


    But on top of all that, she was afraid to show it here, now. To show weakness, to be anything but at her best before a girl she¡¯d said such horrible things about not a day ago in Court because that¡¯s how the game was played. A Princess she hurt so bad but couldn¡¯t see as anything but an enemy. It was too soon.


    Midway was terribly pained and afraid that she¡¯d fuck this up as well because she was bleeding. Her twist was a livid, bleeding scar running from her hip to high on her ribs on the opposite side. The bleeding gut wound hidden by her dress, torn open by Taylor¡¯s existence and exacerbated by her closeness. A weeping red line carved across her stomach Midway was hard pressed now not to keep picking at and scratching until it gutted her. And only recently bandaged, treated. The dressing so fresh Taylor could sense Midway feel it soaking in the blood.


    It was where the mines met the seafloor, for even as she ate the world to feed her fleets she was eating away at her own foundations and future as well. Blaming herself for every mistake, every failure.


    The wound was failure carved so deep it would never heal. Could never be undone. It was felt every moment of every day. Midway had spent years learning to handle and manage it. Until she was good enough to keep it stable. So used to the everyday effort Midway didn¡¯t even notice it until the wound flared up.


    She just lived with it. A mistake, to think the bunkers full enough for the unveiled rage of the world in the wake of Raven¡¯s progress. For a war going hot. Until the siege. The starvation. Until she was scuttling and carving up girls to feed the rest and tearing out pieces of herself as well because it was her fault. She failed to plan for a world gone mad.


    A mistake that had driven girls so deep into the Abyss they drowned and sank beneath its burbling surface into the True Abyss itself. Where she¡¯d never find them, reach them. Never get them out, no matter how much she dug and tried. A wound she had learned to carry and manage, but freshly torn open by everything around Taylor. How did she not see it coming? How was she that stupid, that arrogant? The Perfect Princess.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    So she blamed herself. For them and for Taylor. For not being able to forgive her, instruct her properly. For not noticing her. Because it still hurt so much just to look at Taylor. The fears of what could have happened if she had turned into the second coming of Katherine dancing before her eyes as she lost girls again.


    None of this was helping. It was agony, as Midway felt exposed like few times in her life and helpless to stop it. Bound by her duties and wishes until she and Itchy and Scratch were at Taylor¡¯s mercy. And Midway was desperate not to show it, for she no more trusted Taylor than Taylor trusted her. Midway barely knew anything about her, and all she did felt like a lie. All that? On top all the bad blood spilled between them.


    To do any less than her best would be failure and Midway couldn¡¯t fail. Not without tearing herself open all over again. Yet there were few things she wanted less, than to so hurt and cripple her oldest friends. Except maybe lose them, or be helpless to protect them, as she was now that Taylor had seen through her.


    Midway was recoiling, making the monumental effort to push aside her failures, trying to fail as a Princess, because anything was better than this torture of being exposed and helpless with some of her oldest friends on the chopping block before another Princess that hated her and with no one to help her.


    ¡°Where¡¯s her Princess?¡± Taylor asked herself, faced with yet another mess. One that couldn¡¯t wait.


    So no matter how her hands shook, how large the teeth loomed and she wanted to run, Taylor tried.


    ***


    The little menace had returned. One of her planes was buzzing around Midway¡¯s island.


    ¡°What is it with that girl? I warned her not to stay and she comes back. Didn¡¯t Kaede explain?¡±


    Midway felt the plane circle around to her and looked right at it. ¡°What?¡±


    The beginnings of a primitive connection were trying to form. So primitive and basic they disgusted Midway. Almost on reflex she spun the threads into being, forming a two-way link. Nothing that shoddy would be allowed to exist in her presence. They spilled into each other¡¯s eyes by the same base principles the Court used to hold sessions: that each Princess was a point that touched the True Abyss. It didn¡¯t care about such petty things like mere distance.


    *


    The girl was taller. Midway had been deeply engrossed and distracted during the Ritual, but that much was obvious. The girl was taller, older. Not quite as a Light Cruiser in the real, but more like some of the children they saw on TV shows. Someone just starting school, in a white blouse and dark blue pants that stopped halfway down her calf. Ending just above her black little ankle booties.


    She wore a backpack with two straps going over her shoulders. It was an ugly thing. A large plushy spider, its head with many pale lidless eyes bobbing over her shoulder. Six long floppy legs bounced around loosely as she moved, the lowest pair reaching just below her knees. The backpack was done in shades of a black outer side and white underside, one shifting into the other at the edges.


    Midway¡¯s eyes snapped to Taylor¡¯s hands as Itchy and Scratch whimpered in pain. Static filled her mind. The girl was talking but Midway couldn¡¯t hear any of it. They were still hers and they were in pain. She was failing them, right now. Tension filled her whole frame, the cold deepening until the she could feel the Abyss ready to boil out of her to freeze the little upstart solid. Midway had warned her. Warned her to stay away and like a glacier suddenly calving, Midway was ready to fall upon her for daring to hurt her ships right in fro-


    ¡°So I want to do it right. Please help me do it right.¡±


    The line, the words? They exploded into her mind past the static, echoing down to her core. Because Midway always did everything she could to do it right. To get it right. To never fail. So how could she not understand another wanting the same? That wish, that desire? Midway felt it to her core. It resonated, ringing through her hate filled mind. Like hitting a sea mine, the polluted ice shattered as fractured glass. Thousands of broken, sharp fragments carving Midway inside as she was left in the ruins of her hate.


    Empty, but for the pain and loss. It was so much easier to just hate her.


    ¡°But what kind of Princess would I be if I did? A failure and no more.¡±


    There was no way out. Only through. So she would bear it. As she had all along. The lack of choice at least made the decision easy. She threw out some excuse to save face and tried to hide her bleeding heart, but probably only succeeded because the newborn was so new.


    ¡°I doubt this poor a mask would fool many at Court. Look at me, wallowing.¡±


    Midway chided herself as she opened up a simple triresonanant seal. It was an old trick.


    If the present hurt too much, don¡¯t think about it.


    ¡°This too shall pass. Don¡¯t think about how you¡¯re baring all your souls to a girl who has every reason to hate you so she can cut out the parts she doesn¡¯t like.¡± It wasn¡¯t working so well, but she was trying. The jet plans played behind her eyes as she waited for the blades to fall, for judgment to finally end so she could make her excuses and bury herself in her research for a week.


    Out of nowhere power coalesced in the Princess before her, a scream ripping its way out of Taylor¡¯s lips. Some kind of targeting pulse that caught Midway entirely flatfooted. But not unready. Wards potent enough to delay even Raven herself flung the attack away as Midway recoiled.


    ¡°What in the Abyss?¡±


    She didn¡¯t get far. Taylor¡¯s hands closed around her own even as she retreated, Itchy and Scratch trapped between them, so that if either pulled they¡¯d tear them apart.


    Midway gathered her will to unleas-


    A second pulse shook the very Abyss they were standing on. It travelled in that space Midway could and did wield in Ritual with peerless skill and did so at almost no apparent effort from the newborn. Slipped by all her outer wards and somehow bypassed all the internal protections meant to stop harm and accidents.


    Midway could feel it ringing in her, mapping every last part of her.


    ¡°Was this not enough? You greedy bitch! Aren¡¯t you happy taking my ships now you want to steal my secrets as well?¡± Midway screamed in her face, beyond done with this. Beyond tired. The bitches face was clouded, like she couldn¡¯t even hear the words, like she was listening to something else.


    For the second time in her life, Midway felt violated. Someone was rummaging around inside her again.


    ¡°What, does she want to know how best to hurt me? Was this it, the moment she took vengeance? Was she always going to be a Court hussy? I won¡¯t allow it. Not them. If I must fail, I¡¯ll pick my own poison!¡± Midway swore.


    No one else would pay for her mistakes, not again.


    Images of her fleet starving danced before her eyes.


    ¡°Not again. Never again.¡±


    Yet before she could act, Itchy and Scratch whimpered. On the wings of their pain, an ocean of emotions flooded into Midway through them that pinned her feet to the ground. A ghostly window hung in the air behind Taylor as the legs of the spider all went rigid and straight, each supporting an image. All were monstrous, but Midway only had eyes for one. Through it she saw terror.


    *


    The monster had unnaturally wide teeth. Its eyes were dull and utterly devoid of humanity, of any care for others. Almost disinterested in the horrors it was casually committing as the Cannibal chewed on her fingers as she stayed still so the monster wouldn¡¯t have some excuse to do worse to her. This was already horrible enough. Not as much as some vague memories, but up there.


    Taylor could already imagine she¡¯d be having nightmares about this for weeks to come, and that¡¯s if she survived being permanently crippled without her last few fingers. Taylor tried not to watch and couldn¡¯t. It was impossible. That was her hand as the monstrous teeth went snap as liquid fire flooded her mind, already filled with an ocean of bitter helplessness and pain.


    She was an even worse cripple now. If she lived.


    If the monster didn¡¯t suddenly decide she liked the taste and ate her alive.


    *


    That thought? Those fears? That she¡¯d be crippled!? Like fingers were once and never again, like Taylor couldn¡¯t heal, regrow, rebuild. Like those were the only fingers she would ever have, and the last ones at that. Disappearing down the gullet of some uncaring monster. Or worse, one amused by the pain it inflicted. If it wasn¡¯t just playing with her until it grew bored and ate her alive.


    Midway recoiled from that more than twisted, alien visage of herself. Like living in a world where [Fleet-sense] didn¡¯t exist. Like she could ever do something as horrible as scrap a girl for fun. Her gorge rising, mind spinning, churning alien thoughts, invaded by foreign understanding. No, that wasn¡¯t her.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do that. I didn¡¯t. I don¡¯t. None of it was true.¡± That was distorted. Mad.


    It was sick. Bile fell from her lips. In that moment she was even thankful for the other Princess gently pulling their joined hands out of the way so she didn¡¯t despoil the open souls in her palms. But they were a truth. Her truth at the time. She knew it. Felt it.


    ¡°How could it be true?¡±


    Crippling. It was like some alien kind of madness of the body. Harm that wouldn¡¯t go away, no matter how hard anyone tried. Like the loss of a limb was permanent and any scratch life threatening. How could anyone live that way? How could anything so frail survive? How could an Abyssal ever believe something that alien? The body was just a shell. They were not just metal and oil and bauxite. They were Abysssals.


    It was the earnest innocence that convinced her. That this wasn¡¯t a trick to hurt her, some vicious lie or manipulation. The other Princess had opened her own connection wide and was beaming everything down the link. Hiding from Midway when she could see the other so clearly wasn¡¯t possible. Not here, not this close.


    ¡°I refuse to believe a newborn could play me so.¡±


    Midway raised her eyes to meet Taylor, to look into her soul. There she found only the Abyss. But this close, this connected? She could glimpse something else. Sharp, wicked points poking at the underside of the Abyss. Wreckage of a soul the Abyss had consumed barely glimpsed beneath the dark waves. The bits glimpsed scrambled, distorted by the ocean. Unrecognizable and alien.


    When she came out of it Midway found herself paralyzed at the look she was facing. The depth to those dark waters.


    ¡°I know those eyes. I know that look. Like she¡¯s lived a life before being born to the Abyss.¡±


    In those eyes, Midway saw an Ancient. How long had Taylor lived to Midway¡¯s short six years? What did she remember, know? Even now Midway could see, feel, that ancient judging her. Weighing the worth of her soul and all her works. It was a familiar feeling. Frederic had approved. Raven pitied her.


    Midway hated that. She hated pity. It did nothing to help.


    ¡°Raven isn¡¯t better than me.¡±


    In the ancient before her? Midway found enough pain to drown the world. She found a thread so worn by fate it cared little for itself. This was how, why. The secret to how a Princess could commit suicide and not punch a hole in the world in doing it. Taylor did not run from her own death. She¡¯d embraced it. Accepted it. She deserved it. Taylor was still here because there was still work to be done, things, people to fight for. Because she was needed.


    But Princess Taylor? She carried her own graveyard with her and one day they¡¯d bury her in it.


    In that alien feeling, Midway found comfort. Because all this? This wasn¡¯t about the pain. It wasn¡¯t for suffering. Taylor had had enough of it to fill entire oceans and had no desire to mete out more. Though she would.


    ¡°Oh she would if she had to.¡±


    Midway shuddered at just how much violence was hidden behind the clouds of her spirit world. A giant serpent promising oblivion even as the waters cradled the ruins of her past.


    It was about disgust with the world. About fear and understanding. About doing the right thing. Trying to reach Midway through Taylor¡¯s own twist so hard it was flaying her soul. Taylor acted like the pain was an old friend, stopping by for some drinks and to catch up. Like the reaper Raven pretended to be, weighing her soul.


    And despite the ocean of pain and not one iota of forgiveness?


    Hate did not bloom for Midway on those sunken shores.


    ¡°You are terribly, horribly wanting. Flawed and insufficient. Self-destructive and just not good enough. But we¡¯ll work with that, one way or another.¡±


    Not something to just accept or pity. It was something that could be worked on, improved. No matter how hard it might be, Taylor was going to try.


    That? That Midway understood. Improving on past works. Building something better. She couldn¡¯t see the deficiencies in herself, or she would have fixed them by now.


    ¡°But they are there anyway. Waiting to ambush me so my girls pay for it. If this can help?¡±


    Midway surrendered to the current and let it carry her away. What else was there?


    (I¡¯m sorry.)


    Midway understood now how a child could grow that fast. She wasn¡¯t growing. She was catching up.


    She knelt before the ancient child and awaited judgment, instruction. Whatever it was that promise of oblivion and a better world actually meant. Watching the ancient watch her, and trying to catch a glimpse of that understanding. Straining to hold out because none of this made it so Taylor¡¯s very presence wasn¡¯t fire in an open wound.


    (I can¡¯t forgive you.)


    Freddy was wise beyond her apparent age. Raven was a powerhouse. The powerhouse at Court. What was this ancient like? Midway needed to know. It was gnawing at her.


    ¡°I just want to understand. How are you here? Who were you before this? Why you? Why here? Why now? Why?¡±


    (It still hurts too much.)


    No answers came as she returned to her position. Able to accept it.


    Helpless and holding the souls of her friends, laid bare, trusting Taylor not to hurt her.


    After a minute of carefully going through them, the ancient child made her choice.


    (I¡¯m sorry)


    From all the threads she took only two. They were thin, frayed, shriveled things. The marks of authority every Princess had over her fleet. Unused for years, because Midway had long since not needed them for these destroyers.


    Threads that encouraged obedience, deference. Enforced order. Those two only, Taylor took, and in her fingers snapped.


    (I can¡¯t forgive you.)


    Relief flooded into Midway. Relief and vindication. A hand extended. Trust, unpunished. Rewarded.


    Even if she was still losing them, she wasn¡¯t losing them.


    ¡°Itchy and Scratch always could tell, who was mean and who was nice. I should have trusted them from the start.¡±


    Taylor¡¯s hands fell on Midway¡¯s and they both gathered them up, rebuilding Itchy and Scratch. Almost untouched. New threads snapped into being as Midway surrendered them back into Taylor¡¯s hands. The same ones they had cut, now to a new master. A new Fleet.


    ¡°Finally, this ordeal is over.¡±


    (I never meant for any of this.)


    Without a word, Taylor turned and fled, her little feet carrying her over the cold, dark floor, the two toy sharks grasped to her heart. Unable to bear it any longer. Floppy spider legs wobbling all over. The spider head turned around to watch Midway. A single leg came up and pointed at its eyes, before pointing at Midway. Because it still didn¡¯t trust her.


    Without the closeness, without the connections? The bond was fraying, closing.


    (But it shouldn¡¯t, it doesn¡¯t have to be this way.)


    Her flight slowed. Stopped. The ocean had retreated but Midway could still almost feel the pain. The disgust. So vivid were the fresh memories. Taylor didn¡¯t turn around but thrust a single hand back, Scratch in it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want him.¡± Taylor claimed and even Midway could tell it was a lie. Or no.


    ¡°A face. A front.¡±


    ¡°This repair is amateur and won¡¯t hold up. It isn¡¯t worth the cost of trying again so he might as well stay at a port where someone can keep an eye on him. And didn¡¯t you tell me not to come back? Might as well use him as an envoy. Get at least some benefit out of it. So take him.¡± Taylor said, her voice dismissive.


    Midway didn¡¯t care about the excuse. Or remember crossing the distance. Only the feel of having her friend back near her heart, checking him over. She was drawn out of the warmth and happy wiggling by the sounds of running feet. The Island looked after her retreating back and wondered.


    (Someday?)


    The Mountain silently asked in the beats of giant hammers, the flowing of steel rivers.


    Wondering, curious of the things she could not speak aloud.


    And in the fading patter of the running feet of an ancient child, she felt the unspoken answer echoing back to her.


    (Someday.)


    ***


    The two brothers waved each other goodbye with their fins, grinning happily even as the distance grew. The feud pruned, its roots pulled before they could be watered with resentment, distance and hate until they grew to choke both Princesses. They¡¯d call that a success. Sometimes the big girls were blind and silly. With stupid big people rules. So they needed a clever destroyer to watch out for them.


    For all is well that ends well and in the Abyss?


    A clean wound; one that could heal?


    It would. And that was good enough.


    ***


    Midway came out of it rubbed raw and beyond tired. Had she been this worn down before all this? Or was this whole series of terrible events so hard to bear?


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but I can¡¯t go on like this. There¡¯s no point in being there for them if I undermine myself doing it. Sooner or later, I¡¯ll break too.¡±


    For in the reflection of those ancient eyes, she¡¯d seen herself more clearly than in any mirror.


    ¡°When¡¯s the last time I really stopped and looked at myself, my own soul? I¡¯ve been working for so long, so hard, I forgot. Always too much to do.¡±


    Midway wandered in a daze. Her feet brought her to the center of her lagoon. There she gazed into her own reflection, the storm above her. There, she finally let go.


    Rain fell on Midway. Not the whipping storm of anger, nor the terrible promise of vengeance. The cold, freezing waters of warning and threat.


    No.


    Soft, warm rain patterned over the beaches, homes and trees as the heavens cried, overflowing.


    Regret fell from the skies. Regret and pain washing away the hate.


    Within minutes, the entire island was in hiding, huddling in their homes.


    From behind that warm, wet curtain, crossing the silent sea of pain they came.


    Freddy came first, her bow breaking the still waters, beaming. She crashed into Midway and hugged her so hard Midway felt screws popping, her walls flexing. Until Freddy was almost hanging off her right shoulder, her head resting right against Midway¡¯s cheek, lips to her ear.


    ¡°I¡¯m so proud of you Middy,¡± she whispered.


    Sachi came next. She was a tiny ship in a storm far too big for her and terrified of being wrong. Of intruding.


    But she came called by the rain, a shining star of courage in her heart to ward away the anxiety and fear. Sachi burrowed her way under Midway¡¯s left shoulder, curling into her chest for warmth and safety. Radiating gratitude and a deep and unshakable wish that she could do more.


    Amelie trailed in her wake, worried. In the end, she dared not be so direct with two Princesses, but still placed her hand on Midways left shoulder, pumping support into the still waters.


    An image of The Empress rose out of the waters, made from the sea. ¡°Frederic, what is it now? Oh.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°Oh Midway. You weren¡¯t supposed to defrost for another two weeks. I wanted to be there,¡± she pouted, before hugging both Princesses from the front. Sachi giggled as she was sandwiched between two Princesses.


    ¡°Hush you.¡± The Empress chided.


    There was a dot on the horizon. Quickly growing as Scratch screamed his way into the Lagoon at full speed and crashed to a stop before the gathered girls, spraying them all with his waves. The giant shark panted happily in place, before its tongue gave Midway a massive lick, catching all three Princesses in the process.


    The image of The Empress was disrupted; ¡°So uncouth!¡± while Freddy rocked back:


    ¡°Not in the face, not in the face!¡±


    Midway? Midway found her heart swelling with warmth. It pulsed into the Fleets, through the rain.


    ¡°Thank you. Thank you all.¡±


    To that Echo, that missive? The ocean, the joint Fleets answering to Midway from all across the Pacific?


    They answered as one:


    ¡°No Princess. Thank you. For everything you do, for everything you are. Thank you.¡±


    ***


    Three woman sat around a fire in that place beyond the real. The heads of the Pacific Court. Midway sat on a stool while the Empress coated her weeping wound with medicines and Freddy stood behind her, wrapping her up in bandages. Both fondly berating her for letting it get so bad again.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you take better care of yourself Midway?¡± they asked, almost in tune.


    Around them, dozens, hundreds of toys and dolls played and cheered, some dancing around other, less important girls. Dancing, racing, and drinking. Eating special food that spoils and celebrating. For the ice and snow had melted and the warm rains were back.


    Looking at it all? Midway felt her eyes fill. She didn¡¯t know what tomorrow would bring. But here, today? Surrounded by her Fleet and friends and more than friends? Today was a good day. For the first time in weeks, her eyes were wet.


    ¡°Us against the World?¡± Midway asked.


    ¡°Us against the World.¡± All three agreed.


    The happy tears that fell fed the floor. It liked them, they were zesty. There was that tiny spark to them. A Promise from one Princess to another. That it could be better. That it would be better. Someday.


    Midway didn¡¯t know how. But she kind of wanted to see it.


    ***


    Taylor? Taylor sailed away. Towards Hawaii and her future.


    She went with Itchy, Shun and Wakumi, warm and basking in their presence. Bittersweet.


    Her Fleet, her people. Her little monsters. Still reeling from the experience in the beyond, dazed.


    Running while the others skated across the waves, her Imps hanging off her.


    Kaede the repair ship came with them, to map the new Princess and help plan the remodel.


    Resigned to it, since Taylor didn¡¯t actually have her own plans.


    ¡±It¡¯s lot of work, ok? And I had to leave the docks. Do you know when the last time I sailed was?¡±


    Itchy lapped them all, dancing around the formation, cheerfully splashing everyone to Shun¡¯s irritation.


    Shun? The subgirl kept an eye beneath the waves while warding off the giant shark, looking for trouble. Smug at her own contributions.


    Wakumi carefully watched the skies and stole glances at her new Princess. Unsure what her future would be. Only certain that it will be interesting.


    No trouble found them.


    None, but a burning footprint in the sea.


    But that? That¡¯s another story.


    ***


    ¡°We make it work Taylor Hebert. When their twists drive them to despair, we are there to lift them up. We care for and guide them, quell their ills and fend off their fears. We pick them up when they fail and clean up after them when it goes badly.¡±


    ¡°Because that¡¯s what it means to be a Princess of the Abyss.¡± Taylor murmured.


    Book 1: ¡°They Called Her Bertha¡±


    Outro Music</a>


    Fin.


    Soundtrack:


    1) Acceptance (Wonder upon horror upon wonder upon horror):


    -Don McLean - Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)


    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oxHnRfhDmrk</a>


    2) Prayer (Abyssal Echoes)


    -Katelyn Tarver - You Don''t Know Cover¨C Chino(Nightcore)


    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YQk9Wc20y1c</a>


    3) Birth of a Fleet (A World Our Own)


    -Starset ¨C It has begun Cover ¨C HaelCius


    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4qrve0lDZU</a>

 Intermission: Taylors Things

    Taylor''s Things


    <ul>


    <li> 1) A large selection of cooking pots, pans, utensils and various implements.</li>


    </ul>


    ¡°It¡¯s like loose change. Almost every girl I¡¯ve talked to gives and takes these stainless steel kitchen items to make up for any number of minor disagreements/trades. I¡¯ve seen some snacking on them, like they were candy bars. Where are they getting all these?¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°And what do they taste like? Would actual silverware taste better?¡±


    <ul>


    <li> 2) A sewing collection of needles, buttons, zippers, other bits and various knick-knack¡¯s. </li>


    </ul>


    ¡°Hell of a way to learn your blood can change ordinary steel to abyssal steel. One moment I¡¯m bending each needle any time I touch it wrong, the next one is buried in my palm and drinking my blood. Turning dark. I exchanged one problem, breaking so many of them, with another. I may no longer need my hooks for sewing but needles hurt. Ow.¡°


    <ul>


    <li> 3) A fairly large (for a girl) and minor (for a Princess) collection of various luxury trade goods. </li>


    </ul>


    ¡°I can¡¯t figure out how the Abyssal economy works from all this junk, or where they keep getting it, if they spend it like this.¡±


    <ul>


    <li> 4) A dress room. </li>


    </ul>


    ¡°It¡¯s not a dressing room, it¡¯s a dress room. Stop changing the name.¡±


    ¡°When I find out which one of you keeps stealing my things, I am going to throw them overboard. Without a lifebelt.¡±


    <ul>


    <li> 5) Library of blueprints</li>


    </ul>


    ¡°Midway seems to keep a basic library of blueprints freely available to any repair ship or Princess that passes by. It made getting my hands on basic gear designs fairly simple, but from what I¡¯m both hearing and seeing, much of this is considered obsolete by the other girls. No wonder almost anyone can get their hands on it. Even if that strikes me as shortsighted, as what¡¯s stopping enemies from studying your gear? Still, better to have something than nothing. For all I know, once I leave I¡¯ll have no way to get more. Knowing where the others are weakest, vulnerable, will come in handy one of these days.¡°


    ¡°These notes are turning into a mess.¡±


    Prices: Varied


    ¡°I think it¡¯s just whatever whim struck the ship that was copying them over for the little stuff. Much of the smaller gear I could arrange for as low as a few bowls of black oil fish stew. Some of the bigger stuff got expensive, but being able to just get a blueprint for a full ship damn near blew my mind.¡±


    ¡°They just give these out for a pittance. They¡¯re huge. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ll actually be able to make sense of them all.¡±


    They¡¯re kids. <u>Fuck.</u>


    Includes the blueprints for:


    Base:


    -Anti-Air Dispersal Shell - Anti-Aircraft Shell ¨C ¡°What? They¡¯re free. Who doesn¡¯t have them yet? Did your contact misplace hers?¡±


    ¡°Is that how ship cannons kill planes high up? Would that make them flak?¡±


    -21inch Torpedo Early Model ¨C Torpedo ¨C A bag of shiny, round pebbles.


    ¡°I get the feeling someone out there was surprised to be asked to make a copy of these. No way that price made any sense otherwise.¡±


    -21inch Torpedo Late Model ¨C Torpedo - Four pots of Black Oil fish stew.


    ¡°Not sure what kind of fish, but it¡¯s spongy and warms up nicely. Shun had to dive for them. Customer requested something from the depths. They don¡¯t seem to come up to the surface. Some of the other girls seem to like the variety as well.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t really tell what the difference between the early and late model is yet, but maybe comparing the two will give me some idea how the Abyss advances.¡±


    -5inch Single Gun Mount - Small Caliber Main Gun ¨C Several fashion magazines


    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­a gun. Only much bigger. Not sure what I was expecting. Why does it seem so small and weak when I consider it?¡±


    -3inch Single High-angle Gun Mount - Small Caliber Main Gun ¨C A coloring book, mostly filled in.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t this too small? I¡¯m not sure this could even hurt me.¡±


    -5inch Single Anti-Aircraft Gun Mount - Medium Caliber Main Gun ¨C Smuggling four thousand tons of oil to Ivo Jima. Fucking pyro. Fucking twists.


    ¡°Why do the escort girls think I should already have these?¡±


    -6inch Twin Rapid Fire Gun Mount - Medium Caliber Main Gun ¨C Four clay pots of fresh juice. Which were a bitch and half to get my hands on.


    ¡°How is this basic? It looks innocent from the outside, but I can barely understand parts of this. I know some gun safety, maintenance. But this is ridiculous. This is straight up military level gear mixed with the work of some biotinker, not just a bigger gun. What the hell?¡±


    -14inch Twin Gun Mount - Large Caliber Main Gun ¨C Two puffy tribal-wire sundresses, spun from Abyssal steel wire and over a hundred pretty clams. Took forever, but what am I supposed to do while sailing?


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I want to know what a pair of these could do when parked off-shore, in view of a populated city.¡±


    General Note:


    ¡°Why are they called main guns? Are there side guns? Are guns the men in the Abyss? Because that would be creepy as all hell. And explain so much about how some girls treat their weapons. Or they could just be gun nuts and I¡¯m slowly losing it.¡±


    -12.7mm Machine Gun - Anti-Aircraft Gun ¨C Seaweed and netting headscarf


    ¡°Probably also works just fine on people. But it means something that it¡¯s not marked that way. I know they have land bases, so are soldiers just not a concern in battle? I can¡¯t tell if that¡¯s good or bad. Probably both in some new and horrible way.¡±


    -20mm Autocannon - Anti-Aircraft Gun ¨C A three black pearls necklace. These are a thing?


    ¡°And I thought the Machine Gun was bad.¡±


    -6inch Single Gun Mount - Secondary Gun ¨C Two crates of fresh bananas.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.¡°I¡¯m guessing this is a battleship thing. It would make no sense for a Secondary to be bigger than the main gun.¡±


    -5inch Single Anti-Aircraft Gun Mount (Secondary) - Secondary Gun ¨C Six bottles of sunflower oil.


    ¡°Why? Why are two completely different weapons systems called the same name? Because they are the same caliber?¡±


    -Reconnaissance Seaplane - Reconnaissance Seaplane ¨C Studied from example. Yes!


    ¡°The plans for an entire plane. This is kind of surreal. Am I a tinker now? Will I be able to just build these? Midway must be able to. Why else keep them as a basic blueprint?¡±


    -Fighter - Carrier-based Fighter Aircraft


    -Torpedo Bomber - Carrier-based Torpedo Bomber


    -Dive Bomber - Carrier-based Dive Bomber ¨C Seven book series on child wizards. Copies filed to library. Note to self: Teach more of the crew to write. Also, learn to write properly with the hand you still have. Ow, my poor fingers.


    ¡°These came as a carrier package. An obsolete one. Why do they have to specify it¡¯s carrier based? Just how different are carrier planes and regular ones? And I thought the guns were complicated monsters.¡±


    -Depth Charge Projector - Depth Charge ¨C One fish oil/black oil shake.


    ¡°Really? I thought maybe it delivered cookies, milk and happiness. No? Go figure.¡±


    ¡°On further consideration I would not be surprised if a Princess did make one. Fuck.¡±


    -Air Radar Mark.I - Small Radar ¨C The fourth copy of a children¡¯s songs book. Surprising demand for them, for monsters.


    -Surface Radar Mark.I - Small Radar ¨C Four rolls of Abyssal bandages. Abyssal Steel wire reinforced, cloth bandages. Soaked in fresh blood and left to settle in a hole on the seafloor where the sun never reaches. <u>Why?</u>


    ¡°The range on these Mark I¡¯s. That can¡¯t be right. Right?¡±


    -Air Radar Mark.II - Large Radar ¨C Fourteen brand new jokes. Good ones. Abyssal humor is violent, horrifying or depressing. Or all three. Black humor. Or so sweet I feel like my teeth will rot just from hearing them. That¡¯s not how jokes work.


    ¡°Ok, that¡¯s better, but still. My gear¡¯s kind of awesome. Like the sensor crew. Wait. Where¡¯s their sonar? How is sonar not basic for a ship?¡±


    -Searchlight ¨C Searchlight ¨C Fourteen AAA batteries.


    ¡°A square is a square. Sometimes I wonder who these designations are for. Then I remember the butterflies. Seems even the Abyss isn¡¯t free of meddling bureaucrats.¡±


    ¡°You know somewhere in my head I was wondering why so many of these all had pictures as well as written explanations. God damn it.¡±


    - PT Imp Pack II ¨C Destroyer ¨C A formal request and proof I am carrying some. Except not, because Bruce, Judy, Bentley are III¡¯s, not II¡¯s.


    They are ticklish.


    Also: Sapphire can burn in hell. I¡¯m not a pony to give out piggyback rides to smaller ships.


    ¡°No they are not. They¡¯re patrol torpedo boats. Who makes these designations? And why is the first one not even available?¡±


    -Destroyer I-Class ¨C Destroyer ¨C One day they just showed up with theirs. Sometimes I wonder just how smart those two are.


    ¡°Itchy and Scratch. These are their blueprints. Wow.¡±


    -Destroyer Ro-Class ¨C Destroyer ¨C I had no idea how hard it was to find 150+ proof alcohol in the middle of the ocean. Let¡¯s not do that again.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look that different, on the outside. I wonder how much the internals changed. Or the performance. I need some time alone to really dive into all this.¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t get my hands on the other two Destroyer blueprints. Even with all the subterfuge, someone out there got wind that an interested party was getting a lot of blueprints and now people are looking for it. So this operation is scrapped, for now.¡±


    Standard gear:


    ¡°Standard Midway? Is it the same everywhere? Probably not.¡±


    ¡°Standard Court maybe?¡±


    -Fighter - Carrier-based Fighter Aircraft, Mark II


    -Torpedo Bomber - Carrier-based Torpedo Bomber, Mark II


    -Dive Bomber - Carrier-based Dive Bomber, Mark II


    ¡°The Mark II Carrier package. I feel like I swallowed some hidden hook for these and the other shoe is yet to drop. Had to smuggle four containers from the forward anchorages to Midway for it. Without breaking the seals, so who the hell knows what was in them? I¡¯m not sure I wasn¡¯t caught at the docks. But why would Midway let me get away with it? Was she in on it?¡±


    -Attack Seaplane - Seaplane Bomber ¨C Copy found among the manuals donated by the Seaplane Tender (Princess), ¡°aunty Ena¡±


    ¡°This one? This one doesn¡¯t feel standard at all. Or look it. I can¡¯t understand half the performance numbers, but they¡¯re all bigger than the base carrier based planes. Nearly all of them. Are seaplanes just better in the Abyss? And why does it look like one giant angry floating monster head? That¡¯s not how planes work!¡±


    -High Speed Torpedo ¨C Torpedo ¨C Traded for a waterproof Walkman and couple of cassettes.


    ¡°Better in every way. Except the cost and difficulty in making it. Damn it. My engineers are going through their training so slowly and I can¡¯t tell if it¡¯s me or them that¡¯s slowing everything down. She must be able to make them, so why wouldn¡¯t I? I¡¯m pretty sure this is a good copy, so it shouldn¡¯t be the plans.¡±


    -5inch Twin Gun Mount - Small Caliber Main Gun ¨C Won in a bet off a drunk Destroyer Tender. I¡¯m not sure what the Wa-class was drunk off. I didn¡¯t think we could get drunk.


    ¡°Why even start with one if you could have put two into the same space?¡±


    -16inch Twin Gun Mount ¨C Large Caliber Main Gun ¨C Convinced a battleship I was in awe off her guns. And could I please take a copy with me to cherish? I need to wash out my mouth from the taste of all that simpering. Stupid bitch. At least all that training was worth it, yeah Saph? Maybe I can train you some day. See how you like it.


    ¡°Bigger is better, applied in practice. I¡¯m not sure I ever want to feel one of these. With my luck? I¡¯ll happen eventually.¡±


    -Sonar ¨C Sonar ¨C Acquired from the desk of my so called ¡°overseer¡±. She won¡¯t miss it.


    ¡°Seriously? Seriously. Sonar isn¡¯t basic, but advanced gear? What decade are all these ships from?¡±


    <ul>


    <li> 6) Actual Library</li>


    </ul>


    ¡°Which is dreadfully small. I really need to get some real books in here. A single half empty shelf is just sad.¡°


    ¡°Hawaii, here we come.¡±


    <ul>


    <li>7) The swimming pool.</li>


    </ul>


    ¡°Favorite gathering spot of all my nightmares. Good for morale. Maybe get some toys, balls, stuff like that. Water polo when?¡±


    ¡°These are my notes. Don¡¯t mess with them you creepy flower.¡±

 Poll closed, updates to resume when Book II is ready to go up

    Like the title says, we have a clear majority and I''ll be closing the poll. It''s been open long enough. Perhaps not enough on its own for a ping, but I figured it was best to make things official. See you in a...month or three? Something like that, I think, muse willing.


    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    In the meantime, I''ve started posting something original, so if you''re interested, it''s right over here.</a>


    Thank your for your time and have a nice day.

 Forgotten, Forsaken - Book 2 – Prologue: Walk

    ¡°All right, everyone ready?¡± Wakumi asked, in full flight instructor mode.


    Slow affirmatives came in from her crew.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Taylor answered, with a soft smile.


    There were so many things to do once she came out of her daze after her heart to heart with Midway. But for once, Taylor didn¡¯t feel like any of them were urgent. There were questions and problems all around her, but she just didn¡¯t feel like dealing with them right now. So she¡¯d taken a look at her self-assigned responsibilities and training. Gone down the list until she found one that felt like she wanted to do it.


    ¡°Now, slowly reduce your power to idle and gently lift the nose. You¡¯re looking for that moment when the plane starts to falter and shudder.¡±


    Taylor had the manuals. But reading dry instructions and having a teacher just wasn¡¯t the same. And she could do that now. Just order Wakumi to teach her.


    ¡°Ask. I asked, but it might as well have been an order from God as far as Wakumi is concerned.¡±


    Nope, Taylor wasn¡¯t thinking about that. About the Flag, or mastering, or any of it. Wakumi was happy to be useful. Reassured that she was still a Carrier, not just an attendant. That had to be enough for now.


    ¡°Later. Don¡¯t ruin this for yourself.¡±


    ¡°Now. Full rudder. You want this nice and clean. It¡¯s much easier to get out of a controlled spin than a natural one.¡±


    Taylor watched her pilot comply. She¡¯d grown used to watching the world through her bugs over the years. Bug eyes had nothing on her planes. Nor did flying insects approach the thrill of actual flight. Her pilot went down, their view spinning like crazy. So much that Taylor was swaying as she ran and had to stop sewing for a moment to recover.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Now, as we trained. Idle power. Ailerons to neutral. Flaps up. Full opposite rudder <u>and dive</u>.¡± The instructions went, again. They¡¯d gone through them at least ten times in the last hour.


    Taylor could feel the rush of the pilot as they followed along, Wakumi¡¯s plane keeping pace beside them. Slowly, the world stopped spinning. Gently pulling up, her plane stabilized. That took a lot more attitude than she¡¯d expected. Like a plane flying and one falling were entirely different modes of movement. It fell so fast.


    ¡°Which, I guess they are. I can see why people would panic.¡±


    Yeah. There were a lot of problems and Taylor still had so much to learn. Quickly too, because she needed to know enough about the world, the war. About shipsgirls and fighting and politics and Court and Abyssals and people and The True Abyss and Rituals and on and on. All of it a list that just wouldn¡¯t end.


    All that, in time to provide input, to decide on a refit that sounded more like undergoing major reconstructive surgery. Or multiple organ transplants, or something. Something important, a life changing procedure.


    And four. Just, four.


    But she¡¯d get to it in time. Step by step. None of it was urgent. None had to be done right now.


    Right now, on the way to some hopefully beautiful Hawaiian beaches?


    Taylor wanted to fly.

 Chapter 1: Runt

    They were three days out of Midway when Taylor was forced to take a break from her break. Not that she hadn¡¯t been working, training and drilling. Flight school was no joke and fresh cooking remained popular. But for the most part, Taylor had let the other girls just be while she was decompressing. Watched them quietly, unwilling to ask or order too much before she knew more about them. Apart from her own issues with four, there wasn¡¯t another clear problem.


    Shun and Wakumi didn¡¯t get along, but no more than Lisa and Regent, near the start. They argued, squabbled and had very different ideas about how things should be. But they could work together. Itchy was always underfoot, daring her shoals and splashing the other girls when they got lost in their own heads. Almost playful. Much more energetic than he was when sliding up to Taylor for pets. Which usually coincided with moments just after Taylor would start to dwell on things, her mood plummeting.


    Taylor was on to him. She approved.


    ¡°Itchy deserves all the scratches.¡±


    Simply thinking that had the destroyed sliding up to her for his reward. [Fleet-sense] was weird, beyond useful and terribly intrusive. But she just had to figure it out and how to live with it.


    ¡°Pretty sure it comes with the whole ¡°Fleet¡± thing.¡±


    Some control was obviously possible. The recovery time was another new thing. It can take a while for a human to fully recover. Shipgirls seemed able to recover while sailing. Which was the one good thing about their relaxed pace. They should have been on a beach by now.


    Taylor herself couldn¡¯t rest quite as much with how she ran on the waves, but the other girls were not at all strained. It felt more like they were out for a relaxed stroll. Like they could sleepskate all the way to Hawaii. All but one. What was true for teams with parahumans was true for fleets with shipgirls: a fleet only moved as fast as its slowest member. And that wasn¡¯t Taylor anymore.


    It was a simple and obvious thing, yet none the less galling if Taylor wanted to actually go anywhere. Shun was a submarine. They were meant for stealth and diving, not speed. Taylor could do 24 knots on a good day.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± Shun apologized, yet again.


    ¡°Not your fault.¡± Taylor reassured her.


    But she couldn¡¯t quite stop leaking a bit of irritation over the entire situation. 13 knots was unacceptable as a cruising speed. Shun could go faster but would start wasting fuel quick. Combat speed was not meant for traveling, not only for the fuel but for the stress and wear it put on the engines. A trip that should have taken a bit less than two days was now at the end of a third. They were just coming up on the first island. Over oceanic, continental distances? Even without knowing much about strategy at sea, Taylor understood speed. What it meant to get there too late. This was a problem. One Taylor hoped had a solution she could stomach.


    ***


    Taylor could see Hawaii. Or at least her planes could see the first two islands. It wasn¡¯t pretty. Her maps called them Ni¡¯ihau and Kaua?i and their route took them right between them through a Kau-kaulak-


    ¡°Kaulakahi Channel. Which, I¡¯m sure the name makes sense in Hawaiian, but that doesn¡¯t really help me. How did we even get these maps?¡± Taylor asked the crew.


    Some part of her was aware that the response sounded like something out of an undead horror movie: ¡°Argh! Gragh-clack, blaurgh, rahg!¡±


    Taylor was getting better at noticing all these fun little distortions in her standards of what was normal. What she saw and heard. It was like some mix of a person drowning and screaming underwater distorted through a faulty speaker and filled with extra insectoid clicking.


    But Taylor understood them just fine. The answer left her frowning.


    ¡°Don¡¯t just take things that other crews give you without at least talking to me.¡± The frown got worse.


    ¡°Oh so the captain said it was fine, did she?¡± Taylor grumbled. She felt like it needed repeating: being a ship was weird. And ok, thinking about it, she wasn¡¯t sure how or why taking on maps would be bad, especially what looked like regular, human geographical maps, but still.


    ¡°You¡¯d think someone would ask me about it when they want to bring something on board.¡± Taylor quietly complained to herself.


    ¡°Miss?¡± Wakumi asked, a note of polite confusion clear in her voice.


    ¡°Let her be.¡± Shun advised.


    ¡°Her crew is weird.¡± The submarine stressed, looking at the First Mate on Taylor¡¯s shoulder. Which, alright, it was a tiny upright squid. Or octopus. Or whatever the First Mate was wearing today.


    .


    So it was just her crew, they weren¡¯t just regular weird, she got the extra special kind.


    ¡°Wonderful. Just wonderful.¡± Taylor concluded.


    ¡°You¡¯d think if I was a Princess I¡¯d have fairy godmothers or something, but no. Nightmares and demons for this one.¡± Taylor complained in the safety of her head.


    Her skirts shook. ¡°I can hear you laughing!¡± She threatened, not sure what she was actually threatening. Just that it would hurt. The Imps settled down, but still. Weird.


    ¡°Where was I?¡±


    ¡°Kaulakahi Channel, Miss.¡± SaPH!-Four.


    Four reminded her. Taylor was getting better at that. She turned to face the fourth ship in her fleet, the Heavy Cruiser obliviously sailing on. Or uncaring of the waves Taylor made in the common pool any time she spoke.


    ¡°I wonder if Four can even help herself from answering. Not her fault Taylor. Not her fault.¡±


    She kept reminding herself that. But the explanation, the excuse? It was really wearing thin. There¡¯s only so many times you can say something before it stars sounding like so much static. Maybe focusing all her hatred on one person wasn¡¯t such a good way of coping. Who¡¯d be stupid enough to put them together, right?


    Taylor had thought that before she knew The Empress would just give Her over like a docile cow to slaughter. Like death and worse than death for one of hers was a worthy price for a new Princess. That idea? It sickened her.


    ¡°Almost as much as what I want to do to Sapphire. Good thing she isn¡¯t here.¡±


    And that would stay that way until Taylor could at least rest a bit and recover. Gather herself up for facing all the ugly shit boiling in her gut.


    Because Taylor¡¯s early observations were still true. Abyssals loved to hate. It brought them real, genuine joy. Not even the act of doing something with it, just¡­ just hating. Like acting on it wasn¡¯t even needed and just dreaming about what they would do to their target was enough for a hit of sweet, sweet happiness. That was a nasty way to train someone. And another question for her promised talk.


    ¡°Because why? What possible reason could there be for something that messed up?¡±


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    And now? So did she. As she was discovering, to her guilty pleasure.


    ¡°If I can¡¯t get rid of that, I really need a better target for it.¡±


    ¡°Girls,¡± Taylor said. Every head turned her way.


    ¡°Why are the islands¡­ how to put it? Dead? Dead works. Why are they dead?¡± It wasn¡¯t adequate, but it worked.


    That brought the mood right down, plummeting almost as fast as her plane had. For Wakumi. And oddly enough Itchy, who¡¯d taken everything else with ease. The rest perked up. Even Four.


    ¡°It¡¯s proof of the power of the Court.¡± Shun answered.


    ¡°It¡¯s where the world was shown our might.¡± Kaede said.


    ¡°It¡¯s one of the two debated starting points for Raven¡¯s Grand Progress. It is said-¡± Four claimed.


    There was a beat of Silence that cut her off. Not from Taylor, from Wakumi. Before the argument could start, Itchy whined. The sound was low and deeply pained, almost like someone was killing his brother right in front of him.


    ¡°It¡¯s a mark of our shame and you¡¯d do well to shut up about things you know nothing about.¡± Wakumi almost growled out and Taylor felt something rip out of her across the fleet pool. A wave of regret, anger and shame. Disgust so deep, it welled out of her in the beyond. A wave that struck the other three like a minor tsunami. All three shook, reeling, pale-faced, almost tripping over their own feet, bleeding invisible pain as thunder rang in the clear skies.


    ¡°Wakumi!¡± Taylor snapped. She could see the Light Carrier deflating, not just from the rebuke but from the effort of whatever it was she¡¯d done.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± Wakumi replied tiredly and she meant it. She was sorry. Sorry Taylor had to see that.


    ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± Taylor insisted. Because what?


    Wakumi looked away. ¡°It¡¯s not our place. The matter is under Court Seal.¡± She said, not willing to face her.


    Wakumi instead turned to the others: ¡°You will not misinform the Young Miss with rumors and speculation on Court Matters. Get it?¡± The Flagship [Order]-ed.


    Wakumi wasn¡¯t Taylor¡¯s [Flagship], she abruptly realized. She didn¡¯t have one. Because whatever this was went right to her, asking, looking for her [Flag]. But Taylor didn¡¯t have one and wasn¡¯t sure what the hell was going on, so she let it go. Taylor was part stunned, as this came out of nowhere; and a bit afraid of stepping in. With how much power she had over each of the girls and how little she knew how to use it, it would be easy to fuck up. Thin lines of force struck each of the three and as every one of the girls complied in their own way, the lines sank into them.


    Kaede did what looked like a salute, smashing her right fist into her chest near her left shoulder, so hard it rang. Shun bobbed in place, sinking up to her ankles while Sapphire simply inclined her head. None of them showed any sign that this was unusual, or particularly cruel. As Taylor silently counted to a hundred, the pain and surprise they¡¯d suddenly flooded the common pool with were rapidly retreating. Taylor watched them, trying to judge just how hard a punishment that was.


    After almost two minutes of sullen silence, from what she was getting from the three girls? It felt mostly like they¡¯d gotten caught with their hands in the cookie jar and gotten rapped on the fingers for it. Yes, all three were still bleeding, Shun and Kaede much worse than Four. But even as Taylor watched, the wounds were closing. Shun shuddered in pain. It took Taylor a moment to figure out she was the one hurting Shun. With how closely Taylor was looking at the bleeding wound in the subs spirit. Like just looking at it too hard was as if she¡¯d prodded it with a finger.


    ¡°What the hell?¡±


    ¡°Wakumi.¡± Taylor started, significantly less hostile but still not happy. Really not happy.


    ¡°Next time, ask permission first.¡± She stressed.


    Taylor could almost see Wakumi looking around. Like asking ¡°who else was supposed to do it?¡± Her eyes slid right past Taylor before locking on to her, incredibly embarrassed and fully reddening in the face.


    ¡°Sorry, Miss. You¡¯re just so quiet.¡± The Light Carrier apologized.


    ¡°I forgot I wasn¡¯t the [Flagship] here. Habits.¡± She said, with a contrite smile.


    Clearly, it was time for Taylor to get off her ass and get back to work. At least until they got to Hawaii. This shouldn¡¯t be that hard, right?


    ¡°Oh who am I kidding.¡± Taylor sighed.


    ¡°All right, bring it on. I can take a bit more horror today. Explain it.¡± After a moment she added. ¡°Slowly. Like you were taking to¡­¡±


    ¡°Well I was going to say a child, but that doesn¡¯t work, does it?¡±


    ¡°Like you were explaining it to Bertha.¡± Taylor tried, defeated. She needed new words for this whole mess.


    Wakumi balked. ¡°I could never, Miss!¡± She retreated, boiling with shame.


    ¡°Great job Taylor, just. Just perfect.¡±


    Shun came to her rescue. ¡°Explain it to her like she¡¯s a newborn.¡± She quietly advised.


    Wakumi blinked, several times. ¡°I can do that,¡± she all but jumped on the alternate solution. But she still looked to Taylor for permission to implement, execute. To actually do it.


    ¡°Damn it.¡±


    ¡°What she said.¡± Taylor approved. This was going to be a long day, she just knew it.


    Wakumi took a moment to think about it. ¡°Which part?¡± she asked, helplessly.


    Face tentacles just didn¡¯t feel the same as a double facepalm.


    ¡°The islands Wakumi. What happened? We¡¯ll get into all this, in a moment.¡± Taylor promised.


    Wakumi frowned, before adopting a faraway look, reciting: ¡°Raven¡¯s Progress was a response to The Enemy and their allies using and threatening to use nukes: weapons of war that draw on the power of the Sun.¡± Wakumi recounted and Taylor felt certain someone had drilled it into her.


    ¡°So basically ¡°They started it?¡± That¡¯s the official line?¡± Taylor drily asked. The look she got back was new. Not obedient, or eager. It was the most serious look she¡¯d gotten since Wakumi had entered her service.


    Her voice was deadly serious, almost defiant: ¡°Yes. The Abyssal First Princess Raven ended it before we all inherited a world of glow-dust and ash. I was there. I saw it.¡± Wakumi kept going, completely untouched by Taylor¡¯s tone.


    ¡°Humans,¡± She spat, ¡°are like insects. Some are like bees and make Bauxite, at least useful. They can be taught, trained. Most just get underfoot, but don¡¯t bother you if you don¡¯t bother them.¡± Wakumi explained, some of the venom fading, before it all came back in a flood: ¡°Others are locusts and need to be cleansed from the world before they ruin it for everyone. Rapists. Slavers.¡±


    That last word? It was a curse and a promise of violence without limit or restraint.


    ¡°Well. At least now I know Wakumi¡¯s.¡± Taylor dismally figured.


    ¡°But who¡¯d even be stupid enough to try?¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°Never mind.¡±


    Taylor had a feeling, sooner or later, with how the Abyss and the average Princess was? How much power they could use and abuse over their Fleets?


    This would blow up in her face.


    But she had a nearly feral girl to calm down, and borders and triggers for the condition to figure out.


    If this was a mine she was carrying with her, Taylor wanted to know exactly what would trigger an explosion.


    Or if she could? How to disarm it.


    Something told her it wouldn''t be that easy.

 Chapter 2: Price

    People, humans, hadn¡¯t much come up in the Abyssal''s conversations. There was the Abyss and The Enemy. Taylor had assumed humans were part of The Enemy. It was something of a relief to learn that The Enemy didn¡¯t have to be people. Less so that humans weren¡¯t seen as people.


    It took two hours of what Taylor could only call careful, almost preternaturally cautious prodding to figure out the shape of the issue. Because just listening to the words coming out of Wakumi mouth didn¡¯t work. She had to actually listen to what she wasn¡¯t saying, the feel of her. Because all that came out of Wakumi¡¯s lips was hateful bile, once Taylor started looking at the danger zone.


    Worse, Wakumi looked like she¡¯d been put through the wringer by the end, slouched and miserable.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad I thought to take us aside.¡±


    This had gotten terribly personal and private, fast. Heavy as all hell.


    ¡°I just don¡¯t understand it. They¡¯re just nightmares, but they aren¡¯t. They actually do this to each other.¡± Wakumi sniffed.


    ¡°The Court caught them and showed everyone in the joint Fleets. There are smugglers off the coast of Singapore. Humans, packed into metal boxes. I mean, I¡¯m not in trouble. I can handle it. I got used to it, in time. But it¡¯s hard. Every time I close my eyes I can see them.¡± Her eyes were muddled, dim.


    ¡°They¡¯ll be packed in like cattle in a metal box. Or some bare basement, with nothing but threadbare beds and shackles and filth. And for what? Their fucking-¡° she choked.


    ¡°Their Abyss damned animal urges? To the frozen hells with that.¡± Wakumi cursed.


    ¡°And always laughing at them, tearing it all down, with fake smiles. Smile, because if you don¡¯t, you aren¡¯t good merchandise.¡± She spat.


    ¡°Humans are scum. Worse than scum. Most of them. Some of them. Not all. But some.¡±


    Taylor could almost see Wakumi wrestling with what felt like an oil spill in her spirit. Like a crack that bleed nightmares right into her. Looking at it, Taylor began to wonder.


    Because all that disgust? For all the hate in it? It was like listening to one of the Empire Nazis talking about ABB eating habits. After the subhuman talk. Not like eating bugs, or sushi made them subhuman, but more in the tone of ¡°Well what would you expect from filthy animals?¡± Like the animal part wasn¡¯t even a question.


    Like Wakumi was a normal girl and slavers were creepy-crawlies, something ugly and nasty to be exterminated. But not evil. Not people. Just¡­bugs. Nasty and ugly and filthy, to be swept away and exterminated. And Taylor had far too good an idea how bad the world might get if more Abyssals felt humans were just bugs. People could be cruel to insects, even without meaning to. What super-powered children with monstrous, hateful urges might do was the stuff of nightmares.


    Wakumi¡¯s experience, the way she saw the war? It didn¡¯t match what Sapphire had said. Or what She had told Taylor in Acapulco. Because that cold hearted bitch knew humans were people, She just didn¡¯t fucking care one bit.


    So what was the difference?


    Was it the Abyss? Their history, experience? Taylor gazed deeply into Wakumi, but the only thing that stood out was the black spilling into her. She gazed at that crack in Wakumi-


    ¡°Why does it look like its growing?¡±


    A heart-beat later Taylor threw herself away, both in the aether and in the real. But she couldn¡¯t turn fast enough to build distance. Like a bullet shot from a gun, Wakumi took her flinch for permission and practically fled herself. Her hands wrapped around her stomach, whole body shaking and shuddering.


    Taylor¡¯s heart was in her throat. Her mouth was dry but she tried swallowing anyway.


    ¡°What was that?¡± She asked, trying to keep the question is soft as possible. Because the questions and tone that really wanted to rip out of her throat might just make the whole thing worse.


    ¡°Like why the hell she stuck around or didn¡¯t say anything.¡±


    Small mercies that the rest of the fleet was talking in the distance, but Taylor could almost feel their concern even as they pretended they weren¡¯t watching.


    It took four minutes for the answer. Four minutes spent stewing over if she¡¯d seriously injured one of her charges. They really weren¡¯t fun, but Taylor stubbornly stuck it out. She didn¡¯t want to make it worse.


    The answer was nonsense. ¡°I volunteered.¡± Wakumi said.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean you shouldn¡¯t speak up if you¡¯re in pain Wakumi.¡± Taylor softly berated her.


    ¡°I volunteered. You needed to see it. Not just know, but feel it. It¡¯s important.¡± She insisted, still shaken.


    ¡°I¡¯m a Flagship. I can take it. I was the best choice.¡± Wakumi continued.


    ¡°Best choice for what?¡± Taylor asked, dreading the answer.


    ¡°You¡¯re a Princess, Miss. Not proclaimed, not yet. But you¡¯re a Princess. And it¡¯s like you woke up without even the basics of how to be a Princess. You have to be careful, Miss,¡± her flight instructor said, using the same tone she did to talk about crashes and emergency landings.


    ¡°You¡¯re not that heavy, but being a Princess means you have real weight to throw around. And yours is terribly sharp.¡± She explained, explaining nothing.


    Taylor looked at her, trying to what? Soften her own eyes, look? How? She¡¯d never thought being fully healed and able would come with this many complications.


    Seeing the growing discontent, Wakumi sped up:¡± You¡¯ll get it Miss. If some of those seaweed brains and even some Demons can, you¡¯ll get it too and quick. But you need to be careful right now. You just got it and you¡¯re throwing your weight around like a newborn.¡± Wakumi said, visibly bracing for something unpleasant. Causing Taylor to brace as well.


    ¡°You almost popped Shun, Miss.¡± She finished, gently.


    ¡°Popped?¡± Taylor got out, feeling her throat trying to close.


    ¡°I¡¯m a Carrier, a Light but still a Carrier. We¡¯re much bigger, tougher. And a Flagship. Those are built to be around Princesses, to take on burdens in the Fleet. She¡¯s a base Yo-Class model and those are incredibly fragile.¡± Wakumi¡¯s eyes widened a bit.


    ¡°I was careful in how I hit them Miss, they¡¯ll be fine.¡± She rushed out.


    ¡°But pressing your weight against her like that? You twitch wrong and Shun will pop, Miss, just like that.¡± The sentence was followed by a helpful visual clue, as Wakumi snapped her fingers.


    ¡°No, that was the opposite of helpful,¡± Taylor concluded, doubling over. Trying to keep the nausea in as sickening images danced through her mind. It was ludicrous. In under a week she¡¯d gone from being abused and at the bottom to ¡°Move, no. Even look carefully or you¡¯ll break people.¡± It was just a bit much.


    ¡°Thank you for the lesson. Will you be alright?¡± Taylor asked, worn down by the long hours of effort, eager for at least a short break.


    ¡°Yes Miss. Just need a bit of rest to recover. I was rebuilt for it. Even if I never thought I get to use it to teach a Princess how to be one.¡± Wakumi answered with a morose grin. A moment later she realized the second half had slipped out and hung her head.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to go now.¡± The cracked carrier said/asked. Taylor waved her away.


    She could use some alone time to digest this new¡­what? Danger, infirmity? She wasn¡¯t sure what to call it. Except badly timed.


    ¡°Brand new super-powers! But careful not to pop girls with them.¡±


    The sound of a balloon echoed in her head and she could almost see afterimages of the aftermath of one of Bakuda¡¯s bombs dancing in her vision.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.¡°Fuck.¡±


    Thing was? The more she used her new senses, powers, whatever; the more aware of them she became. It didn¡¯t feel like discovering or mastering a new limb. It felt like finding one that she¡¯d been laying on all this time, and it was firmly asleep. Familiar, but terribly numb. Eager, aching to be used. So whenever she moved or worked it, it swung around without balance. With poor aim or twitched in ways she hadn¡¯t meant to.


    Just this bit of exercise left her feeling like pins and needles in her head and all down her spine. It was eerie, more than a bit horrible and she just wanted it to end already.


    Taylor could believe that in a few days or weeks of practice, this would all be behind her. None of the other Princesses had this problem, so she¡¯d get over it too. She just needed to enjoy the clear sailing, relax a bit and recover.


    ***


    Damn it. Even the scenery was depressing. They¡¯d made it into the channel while she was distracted with Wakumi. Taylor could see the two islands with her own eyes. It wasn¡¯t pretty. Or maybe it was, in an abstract way. Not pretty, but maybe some horrible kind of art. Beautiful despite the horror, maybe.


    The shores of Ni¡¯ihau and Kaua?i were teeming with life. Crabs, birds, seagulls. Her sonar could hear dolphins in the water and sea turtles dotted in the beaches. The shallows and the waters of the channel were full of marine life and fish.


    ¡°None of which makes that line any less creepy.¡± Taylor murmured.


    The waterline was clear. More than clear. All life ended at it. Where the waves touched, there was still life. Beyond it? The islands were dead. The sparse coastal trees frozen, every leaf gone, the trunks ashen. Not one blade of grass grew on it, no green. The soil was a pale brown and looked more like a scene from the Midwest than an island. Deeper in, the forests formed pale labyrinths sticking up like gravestones. Like the whole island was some massive graveyard.


    Her plane could see small towns, villages, scattered over the larger island. The roads had cracked in places, but still remained mostly intact. Cars and some boats remained where they¡¯d been left, rotting, rusting. Some of the boats were past the town, inland. Like some massive wave or flood had carried them inland and the houses were near total wrecks. Most completely flattened. Only a few, what looked like government buildings done in concrete or shelters were still standing. A couple of intact buildings and broken roads the only true signs of civilization.


    For a moment, her heart tugged at her to see if one of those surviving buildings wasn¡¯t a school or a library, but she resisted the urge. She¡¯d be back, soon enough. Taylor was pretty sure there were supposed to be actual living people here.


    Acapulco had had signs that people were still there. Scavengers, but people. These two islands had none. No footprints, no traffic, no nothing. It was like the aftermath of Leviathan, except on a bad day, with no survivors and no one to clean up afterwards.


    ¡°All the bodies are missing. That isn¡¯t ominous at all.¡±


    It was hard to put into words. Even beyond what she could see, it felt to Taylor like she was at the edge of some invisible ravine, sailing towards it. A cut, a wound in the very ocean. And only now she¡¯d noticed the incline. The land felt¡­tainted. Like merely walking on it would darken her spirit. And oddly inviting to her. Almost homey. Taylor had no idea why she had such a visceral reaction to it. But the weirdest thing was that the whole experience was vaguely familiar. Like Taylor had felt it before in this life.


    She didn¡¯t want to deal with it right now and simply adjusted her course as much as she was able, away from the dead islands. It wasn¡¯t much, to further irritate her. One of the things Taylor really wanted to fix, if it was fixable, was her terrible turning radius. But it would do for now.


    She had hours still to O?ahu, Honolulu and Pearl Harbor, before she reached her official Anchorage off the coast of Maui. Her planes were not so limited.


    ¡°I really hope all the islands aren¡¯t like this or this break is going to suck.¡±


    ***


    While her planes flew to Kaua?i, Taylor had slowly drifted back to her fleet. Or had they drifted to her? She wasn¡¯t sure, but at some point chatter had again filled the air and she wasn¡¯t on her own. She felt just a bit like a selfish ass, but tried to treat it like a medical thing. The risk of her lashing out and hurting one of them was less than the dangers of what might happen if she let herself wallow. Wakumi had not been ok talking about whatever had happened after she blacked out in the lunchroom, only that it had been bad. Really bad.


    ¡°So let¡¯s not do that again.¡±


    ¡°Taylor?¡± Shun asked, her voice concerned even as Itchy was trying to sneak up on Taylor.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Taylor dismissed, before glancing back at the giant shark. He gave her a massive grin, before yipping and then he was gone.


    Taylor blinked, several times even as the other girls broke out in giggles. Still running, she craned her neck back. Itchy was scrunched up, low, small and quiet. Trying to hide behind one of her sandbars. They were not big enough to fully hide him but he¡¯d almost managed to disappear from her line of sight. The image of a massive shark, half submerged and huddling behind her sandbar. His giant blue eyes looking at her in surprise as her head rose over the sands. The whole scene ran down her parched and strained throat, past her aching spine and clenched gut and forced a snort out of her.


    A moment later the destroyer exploded from the waters and Taylor got a face full of slobbering shark as Itchy started playfully chewing on her good hand. It tickled.


    ¡°Stop! Stop you silly thing!¡±


    He didn¡¯t. Taylor got a massive lick right to the face, before Itchy forced his way under her arm for scratches. Her hand started giving them entirely on its own. She huffed, but couldn¡¯t find it in herself to be mad.


    ¡°Thanks. But how do you keep doing that?¡± Taylor asked the destroyer, shaking herself, feeling joints pop.


    The conversation around her crashed to a total stop as Wakumi mouth clicked shut and she almost stumbled.


    ¡°I... am a very, very stupid Flagship and I¡¯m going to stop making assumptions.¡±


    The carrier gave Taylor an almost pitying look. ¡°Miss, have you been using your [Fleet]?¡±


    ¡°You mean [Fleet-sense]?¡± The other girls turned away, blushing. Shun was embarrassed. Not herself, but for Taylor.


    With her enhanced hearing Taylor could barely hear the repair ship mutter: ¡°Bertha strikes again.¡±


    Itchy just wiggled against her harder.


    Wakumi? She inflated, taking a deep, full breath, readying for a rant.


    Then let it out in a slow, dejected sigh that took almost fifteen seconds.


    "This. This I can explain, Miss. I was trained for it."


    She squared her shoulders and lifted up the helmets visor to give Taylor a reassuring smile, her eyes losing focus.


    To Taylor? It at least hinted that whatever this was, it wouldn¡¯t be as horrible as the last revelation.


    ¡°Ok. Hit me.¡± Taylor asked her. That brought Wakumi back, but she looked a bit confused by the request.


    ¡°I mean shoot me; No, I¡¯m ready.¡± Taylor rephrased. English phrases in Japanese didn¡¯t work right. And she didn¡¯t want some to actually shoot her.


    ¡°So lower those guns Four!¡±


    The Heavy Cruiser blinked. ¡°But. You asked for it?¡± she said, slowly lowering her cannons.


    ¡°Great. Just fucking amazing. Kill me now.¡±


    Taylor started. ¡°I didn¡¯t say that out loud, right?¡± She asked.


    Multiple uncomprehending eyes met the question.


    ¡°Never mind. Where were we?¡±


    ¡°I was going to shoot you?¡± Four asked, totally confused on what her orders were.


    ¡°Not that.¡±

 Chapter 3: Progress

    ¡°[Fleet] isn¡¯t one thing. It¡¯s basic to being a shipgirl. Everyone has it, to some degree.¡± Wakumi began her lecture.


    ¡°I¡¯d thought you were like other freighters, Miss. Just reporting your [Status] and staying quiet. They don¡¯t like talking to warships.¡± The Carrier waved it away, shaking her head.


    ¡°[Fleet]. Every ship in one knows it is in a [Fleet]. It connects us, lets us share details, updates, [Status]. It¡¯s what carries true [Order]-s. As I speak, we¡¯re talking in more ways than just as girls. I¡¯m sharing my [Status], readiness reports and details about my complement, equipment, class, armament, range, fuel. [Fleet-sense] is part of that.¡± Wakumi spoke, her path gently swaying side to side as she kept up with Taylor.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you can feel with it, Miss. But much like shipgirls, it comes in two parts. What is considered Morale, of the girl and her crew. The feelings of everyone in the fleet, as individuals and as a group. The part that are crews and girls. Love, hate, exhaustion, victory or...¡° She shuddered. ¡°Mutiny.¡±


    Wakumi shook it off.


    ¡°The second part is the ship. Cold, dark steel and oil, engines, planes and guns. Repairs, reloads and such.¡± She paused for a moment.


    ¡°Miss, what can you hear?¡± Wakumi asked, a bit tense.


    Taylor tried to figure it out. The common pool, this Fleet Morale she was familiar with. Not proficient, but at least she could see it, feel it. The other half, not so much. ¡°Which tracks too well with how this life has been going.¡±


    Being a ship wasn¡¯t Taylor¡¯s area of expertise. But as she blindly groped for something, she could feel something. It was a cold, mechanical undercurrent, a base on which the pool rested. Something mechanical touching her, passing into her through it. It was her bridge crew that clued her in, one of her officers. The communication officer was busy scrawling things into their notebook from the radio to the beat of that cold undercurrent. She could almost hear what they were saying.


    Taylor followed the links of conversation and knowledge pouring from that station towards the First Mate and from him int-


    -


    What was she doing again? Taylor blinked, looking at Wakumi¡¯s concerned face.


    ¡°Where was I?¡±


    ¡°Are you alright, Miss?¡± Wakumi asked in turn, with just a bit of concern.


    Shun cut in: ¡°You focused and it looked like something was making sense when your face suddenly went slack, Taylor. Then you woke up.¡± The sub didn¡¯t not look at all happy with that.


    ¡°What?¡± Taylor asked, just before amused whistling started up on her command deck.


    ¡°Give me a moment,¡± she excused herself.


    A boilerbeat later Taylor watched the Wilted Lily get brained by a journal that came out of nowhere. The Lily smirked as her petals bopped Little One on the head even as her voice affably responded: ¡°Well it¡¯s not my fault the ship can¡¯t see it when you cover it with your Cloak, Captain.¡±


    Taylor didn¡¯t stick around for the fallout. The instant that journal was out of the hole in her bridge, she could feel it. A web of links, or thought. Reports and meaning radiating out of that little book in threads that connected to every officer on her ship, some equipment like her planes, and more. Spreading out of her and reaching out to other ships. Taylor¡¯s vision lost focus and her brain stuttered like an old screen as an alien kind of understanding tried to force its way into her head.


    She fell into the opening in that web, like going down a set of stairs and finding the next step missing. Below was a cold, metal thing. Mechanical yet alive. Unfeeling and unknowing of anything but war and violence. It felt like someone was punching her right inside her brain. Not so much pain as pure confusion. Thoughts and concepts falling out and others filling in.


    Like reality had tilted sideways and nothing made sense anymore. Distance lost meaning as a mile became a yard and a ton was lesser than an ounce, more like a grain. Heat and cold spread both sides of the scale and a rain of bullets was less than dust. Taylor saw colors that didn¡¯t exist and heard beyond sound, saw beyond sight, as emotions and faces lost all meaning. She was lost in a world that no longer made any sense, but not in actual pain.


    ¡°Just completely unsure what the hell is going on.¡±


    Random 1s and 0s whizzed by her thoughts like lightning as incredibly loud pings rang in her ears to a backdrop of wind and working prop engines.


    Petals touched the hole in the world Taylor had fallen through, high above her, and slowly it changed. The entire mess, the whole incomprehensible soup filtered up the well, carrying Taylor along into the web of connections, knowledge and training until she completely lost track of it and herself. The last thing she saw on her way up were the petals of a flower.


    ***


    Taylor woke up to a swaying deck/feeling sick. Her body/hull had kept sailing/running even without any input from her, so that was good to know. But she felt thrown about/nauseous. Like she was about to vomit/leak.


    ¡°It¡¯s in my bridge/head and it needs to get out.¡±


    Then it did. Like remembering a lost memory, the data, the meaning, slowly unwound. Flowing from her head and into the bridge crew and back. From a foggy, pounding pressure into clarity. Taylor took several deep breaths in the silence around her.


    [Fleet - Status]


    *


    Key: Name, Type ¨C Model, Status, Morale


    Taylor Hebert, Panamax Princess (Princess) ¨C Uwi-Class Lead - Slated for Refit, Fully Functional, Ragged Edge of Exhaustion


    - PT Imp Pack III, Abyssal Destroyer (DD) ¨C Advanced Model, Fully Functional, Worried for Mother ship


    -- High Speed Torpedo


    -- High Speed Torpedo


    - Reconnaissance Seaplane (3)


    - ???


    - ???


    Wakumi Watanabe, Nu-Class Light Carrier (CLV) ¨C Flagship II, Fully Functional, Hopeful/Adjusting


    - Abyssal Cat Fighter (21)


    - Abyssal Hell Dive Bomber (12)


    - Abyssal Revenge Torpedo Bomber (12)


    - Abyssal Air Radar


    - 20mm Autocannon


    Sapphire, Ne-Class Heavy Cruiser (CA) ¨C Kai II, Fully Functional, Ready for Orders.


    - Abyssal 8inch Twin Rapid Fire Gun Mount


    - Abyssal 8inch Twin Rapid Fire Gun Mount


    - High-speed Torpedo mod.3


    - Abyssal Reconnaissance Observation Seaplane


    - 40mm Twin Autocannon Mount


    Shun, Yo-Class Submarine (SS) ¨C Regular Model, Fully Functional, Smug and Worried


    - High Speed Torpedo


    - High Speed Torpedo


    Itchy, I-class Destroyer (DD) ¨C Obsolete Model ¨C Elite Auxiliary, Fully Functional, Providing Morale Support


    - 5inch Single Gun Mount


    - Sonar


    Temporary Auxiliary Support:


    Kaede, Ra-Class Repair Ship (AR) - Regular Model ¨C Elite, Mostly Functional (Temporary Sunblind), Resigned


    - Ship Repair Facility


    - 5inch Single Anti-Aircraft Gun Mount (Secondary)


    - 40mm Twin Autocannon Mount


    *


    An onslaught of meaning spilled right into her mind. Each line another rabbit hole to fall down, unwinding in more information, knowledge, but no longer all trying to rush her at the same time. None of it so much as written, but more like opening memories someone had carefully packed away. Like finding out you suddenly knew Japanese.


    Memories she didn¡¯t make, yet were undeniably hers. But not only hers. Some mix of Taylor the girl and Taylor the ship. A compromise either side could understand. There were no two Taylor¡¯s. Just Taylor the shipgirl. But in the moment, Taylor felt acutely aware that she was a ship like never before. Being a girl she knew how to do. The ship parts were entirely new and if she hadn¡¯t been practicing, sailing for weeks now, it would have thrown her for another loop.


    Her beam was over a hundred feet and Taylor was over nine; nine hundred feet long. Each of her cranes could lift more tons than she could have lifted pounds and her full weight was more than fifty thousand tons.


    ¡°How?¡± She asked the heavens and the Abyss. Hell, she¡¯d ask a Thinker if she had one.


    Taylor looked at her regular sized arm in awe, wonder and a bit of horror. She was a girl, she was a ship; she was a shipgirl. Taylor had known it. Now she understood it.


    ¡°No wonder I can just peel tree bark off a palm or crush stone without effort. But how does that work? Am I a Breaker now? Changer, Shaker?¡±


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    No PRT officer jumped out of the waters to suddenly explain. At this point, Taylor would have been glad to spot someone from the PR department. At least it would be familiar.


    Parts of her were still covered in soot, coal dust and other dark muck her crew were busy scrubbing off her. They were tired. They were all tired, but for some of the officers. Hell, there were parts of her Taylor couldn¡¯t even name.


    [Status]


    *


    - ???


    - ???


    *


    Taylor knew how to use them, or rather, the insects on her sensor crew did, but she couldn¡¯t even name what they were. Except that one reminded her of radar and looked awfully familiar. A moment later she recognized it: the Light Carrier sailing next to her had the same one. Looking at it had a line jumping out at her out of the list that was now hanging in the back of her mind.


    [Status]


    *


    - Abyssal Air Radar


    *


    Specifications, performance, ability, range, uses; All of it poured into her mind. Everything but the blueprints themselves for the device or the instructions and manuals on how to use it.


    Taylor noticed the other ship signaling her, but the signals coming over made no sense. Why would anyone use horns and speakers to talk ship to ship when she had a perfectly functional radio? What kind of ship communicated in sound waves? It was so short ranged and inefficient. Taylor turned inward, sensing that something, perhaps, wasn¡¯t quite right. Her damage control checks led her to her boilers and their steady beats. One was sparking, in familiar, almost warm light while both beat. One, after the other.


    Almost like a heartbeat.


    *


    ¡°¡­Miss? Miss, are you alright? We lost you there for a minute.¡± Wakumi asked, past concerned, having left worried behind and full of dread.


    ¡°That was over an hour, not a minute! You broke her. Now let me help already.¡± Kaede accused, trying to close with Taylor, her cranes out and ready, yet the other girls weren¡¯t having it as Wakumi blocked her path.


    Shun and Itchy were right next to Taylor, glaring and growling at the repair ship. ¡°No touching the Princess. How do we know this isn¡¯t your fault? Some Court plot?¡± She accused.


    ¡°Hey! Stop that.¡± Taylor objected, swaying in line. She was fine. It was a hell of a ride, but she was fine. Mostly.


    ¡°Ragged Edge of Exhaustion. It¡¯s not that bad, is it? I don¡¯t feel that tired. I¡¯ve had worse.¡±


    The coherent, people words put a stop to the fretting. Wakumi reached up to swipe some sweat from her brow.


    ¡°Great!¡± Wakumi smiled. It was wobbly, frail thing. She was besides herself with worry.


    ¡°That¡¯s great, Miss.¡±


    Shun¡¯s skepticism was loud enough it was leaking out of the usually quiet submarine without her saying a thing.


    ¡°Are you sure nothing is wrong?¡± Kaede asked.


    ¡°Yeah. Just a bit of a Bertha moment.¡± Taylor answered, trying a bit of humor.


    Kaede flinched. ¡°Oh.¡±


    The Ra-Class turned away and murmured: ¡°She wasn¡¯t supposed to hear that.¡± Her shoulder hunched and she whispered. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±


    It was part question part apology, but Taylor didn¡¯t mind. And wasn¡¯t about to confirm it. Well, no, usually she might mind, a bit, but she was busy right now.


    ¡°Hey Wakumi, could you send over whatever you have on your radar?¡± Taylor asked, while the burst of mixed understanding was still fresh.


    ¡°Of course Miss. I¡¯m happy to help.¡± Relieved with having something to do, her eyes unfocused, but quickly came back to Taylor.


    ¡°Oh. It¡¯s rude to ask for blueprints from anyone but an Installation or other Court member. You can get in trouble with the Court for that, Miss. Except for a tender. They can ask for, trade or share munitions plans freely.¡±


    Her attendant dove back into herself, leaving Taylor to wonder just how many rules there were she wasn¡¯t aware off. Or how much trouble she might be in if someone found out just how many blueprints she had on her.


    ¡°Anyone happen to have a list of these rules? Laws by the Court?¡± Taylor wondered.


    ¡°Yes Miss.¡±


    Taylor nearly leapt out of her own skin. Four was on her other side from the rest of the Fleet. A few steps back, in a perfect position to ambush her.


    While Taylor tried to calm her thundering heart, the Heavy Cruiser continued innocently:


    ¡°I¡¯ve foreseen your needs and decided to exert my initiative to create copies from my internal records for you Miss.¡± Four was almost beaming, very proud of herself. Almost formal and sounding nothing like he-


    ¡°Never mind. Just keep running. Don¡¯t think about it.¡±


    ¡°Yes. That would be good. Thank you?¡± A moment later it hit her: ¡°You can read?¡±


    ¡°English, Japanese, Spanish and French, Miss. A bit of Italian and Russian. I¡¯m also a qualified logistics Second, Miss,¡± she bragged.


    ¡°Actually no, now she¡¯s beaming.¡± Taylor shuddered. Seeing the Ne-Class Cruiser happy made her back itch and want to brace for a new and unusual round of humiliation.


    The smile got a bit wooden. ¡°That good. That¡¯s good Four. You stay on that.¡± She tried.


    ¡°Of course Tay-Tay-Oneesama. Whatever I can do to help,¡± Four said with relish.


    ¡°That¡¯s just wrong.¡±


    ¡°Here you go Miss.¡± Wakumi jumped in, saving Taylor from having to dwell on that.


    Taylor took the files and froze. Holding the written down files and manuals in her hand. In Japanese. ¡°Wakumi, can you read?¡±


    The Carrier blushed and lowered her eyes. ¡°Only a little, Miss.¡±


    ¡°Then why- how did you-¡±


    ¡°Can your Nightmares?¡± Taylor got out.


    Wakumi flinched, fully body. Lurching, stumbling over her own feet as every girl present edged away from Taylor.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know, Miss.¡± It was said quietly, but Wakumi quickly forced herself to continue, even if it scared her something fierce to talk about and she wouldn¡¯t look at Taylor.


    ¡°Facing her Nightmares is really dangerous for a girl, Miss. Especially before she feels ready. Without the proper precautions she can lose pieces of herself to the Abyss when she shatters. Never get them back. After the first failure, odds of success drop, a lot. Kind of hard to Ascend with pieces missing.¡±


    She was shaking from just talking about it and whispered at the edge of hearing: ¡°And even then, no Ritual can save a girl who falls to her nightmares. She becomes a Demon.¡±


    The Carrier continued a bit stronger, overflowing with a sense of failure but with wisps of duty tinging it: ¡°If we break, at least we can be put together again, most of the time, Miss. There¡¯s no coming back from a broken Ascension. You can¡¯t ever be a Princess. Not anymore,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°You¡¯re stuck as a Demon, forever. The Nightmares bleeding into every waking hour. Only able to grow into a bigger monster for the war. Until someday you go mad.¡±


    The young woman lifted her golden eyes to meet Taylor¡¯s. They were filled with unshed tears.


    ¡°I never could gather up the courage to try. Sorry, Miss.¡±


    Taylor could almost feel the words, like they were coming out of her own lips, so wide was the connection. They tasted of failure. Failure and deep, deep shame. The apology was as much directed at Taylor, as it was to herself.


    Taylor hadn¡¯t meant to rub her Princess-ness into everyone¡¯s faces.


    ¡°But I just did. Fuck.¡±


    The conversation died.


    At least she got one of those figured out. Why her ship-self hadn¡¯t was beyond her. Beyond her understanding and beyond caring, right now.


    [Status]


    *


    - ??? - Abyssal Air Radar (ID from Wakumi)


    *


    ***


    They were more than halfway to Kaua?i when Taylor¡¯s eyes were drawn beyond the horizon. There was a hole in the world there. A well from which something was calling her. Inviting her to come and fall down it. Whispering that she should keep falling until there was nothing left. Around her or of her.


    It was a footprint in the sea. The imprint of a boot. Not much bigger than hers. A single boot-print, about nineteen miles South-Southwest of the mouth of Pearl Harbor. Swaying, bobbing up and down on the surface of the sea. On each wave. Not too deep, just like someone had walked over mostly dry concrete.


    Fixed in place, position, even as the waters moved around and under it. Each mark of it, each impression in the surface was burning. Burning with a dark flame, the color of which reminded her of the waters she¡¯d pulled Shun from. Whispering without sound, calling Taylor with Silence.


    ¡°Ok, enough is enough. Why is there a creepy, burning footprint near our path?¡± Taylor asked the moping ships. Itchy not included, but he had calmed down after the last talk. It¡¯s why Taylor decided to give them some space. He clearly knew what he was doing.


    The three not-Flagships gave said Flagship a look. ¡°I¡¯ve said all we¡¯re supposed to say, Miss. But you are a Young Miss.¡± Wakumi weighed that in some invisible calculus in her head.


    ¡°As long as you¡¯re asking and you know they¡¯re just rumors, Miss? I suppose then it¡¯s alright,¡± she concluded, giving all three girls a quelling look.


    ¡°Well if you¡¯re not going to tell me more?¡± Taylor asked, leadingly. She¡¯d prefer a more detailed official version to rumors, but she¡¯d take what she could get if she had to get anywhere within sight of that freaky footprint. Wakumi shook her head.


    ¡°Wait. How bad is this going to be?¡± Taylor asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you mean, Miss?¡±


    Taylor sighed. She felt like she¡¯d been doing that a lot lately.


    All three girls launched into their own telling of the story of Raven¡¯s Progress. At the same time.

 Chapter 4: Stories

    Taylor soon had them sorted out. They adjusted course to pass as far north as they could, almost dangerously close to O?ahu, but Shun assured her it wouldn¡¯t be a problem. Though the sub seemed a bit too happy with the development.


    ¡°And why do you want us close to the island?¡± Taylor asked. She could see the mountains rising over the horizon, even as her Reconnaissance Seaplane found a second footprint further south-west of the first. A rather glaring oversight as she thought about it. The hole in the world had taken up all her attention so she never did get a good look at the island.


    ¡°They have cookies.¡± Shun admitted, pouting.


    ¡°Oh.¡± Well, that seemed fine. ¡°What kind of cookies do we even eat? How do you bake oil and Abyssal steel? Guess I¡¯ll find out. Maybe add it to the recipe book. I wonder what the Princess of Pearl Harbor is like. Probably not great if we weren¡¯t sent to rest there. Will she¡¯ll be the one doing my refit?¡±


    ¡°Think we can stop by? Meet the neighbors?¡± Taylor asked.


    ¡°Probably for the best not to, Miss. We didn¡¯t exactly announce ourselves and¡­¡± Wakumi answered.


    ¡°Even if you started breaking right now you¡¯d miss the harbor, Miss.¡± Four finished clinically.


    ¡°Right. That. Oh well.¡± Taylor dismissed the island. Whatever welcoming committee they sent out, she¡¯d deal with it then.


    Now then.


    ¡°Let¡¯s take this in reverse order, by size.¡± Shun was the frailest of them. It felt prudent to get her out of the way and safe, first.


    Just in case something about these stories broke her calm. Taylor felt it a reasonable precaution for a story that included entire islands wiped of all life. Absentmindedly she set about launching a second seaplane, just in case some nasty surprise was hiding nearby while they were all distracted.


    <h2>Shun</h2>


    The subgirl gave her best ghoulish smile, before launching into her tale. Her voice taking on a steady cadence, like the beating of drums. It was important to set the right atmosphere when telling legends.


    ¡°In the beginning, the first girls were free and the seas were empty. We went where we wanted and enjoyed the many fruits of the oceans. Nothing hounded us and no one hurt us, but girls still squabbled. Princesses rose from the Abyss to form the first Fleets. They took dominion over the world, but had different ideas for what it should be.¡± It almost sounded like listening to Taylor read, right? Shun was trying to make this good. Sapphire scowled behind Taylor, but Shun ignored her.


    ¡°Katherine was weak and thought to raise the plants and animals along with us, to¡± Shun stumbled a bit on the next word, ¡°farm the bounty given to the Abyss. As if we were not warships. She gathered her girls and taught them. Tried to shield them from each other and mend the twists in their hearts. She wanted the world for each one and loved them beyond death, but shied away from pain and things that had to be done. Katherine would only fight to protect one of hers and her teachings were we should do the same. She was the first to raise up a sunken ship in Ritual and shared the knowledge freely.¡±


    ¡°The Northern Water Princess was young and brash. She sought dominion over everything she could reach. Her fleets took what they wanted and slaughtered anyone who opposed them. She was a cold one and hers is the natural way. Of beasts and humans. The strong lead and the weak obey. The Cold One disliked those who lost themselves to violence, but gloried in crushing her enemies and growing her fleets. ¡°War is in our blood,¡± she would say, ¡°so let us war in good fun.¡± When one place grew too poor to sustain her fleets, they¡¯d pick up and move to another, adding to her fleets from the defeated survivors. Hers was a way of independence and self-sufficiency and she welcomed challenges to her reign.¡±


    ¡°Central was the oldest and her hunger unending. Hers was the breed that felt the world too bright, too colorful. She hated the sun and stars and her destiny was to conquer the whole world. To bring about an endless storm to grind away all land until the whole world was one giant ocean. An ocean under a worldwide storm, under which she would rule for all eternity. All would fall into the Abyss. Hers was a twisted soul,¡± Shun said with distaste. ¡°We come here from the Abyss. Only the truly twisted would want to turn this world into another Abyss. Hers was a madness we fight every day, for Hunger had hollowed her out and Hunger was all that was left.¡±


    Shun¡¯s voice dropped, getting deeper.


    ¡°But the early days of free seas and no threats but each other did not last. The Enemy had come. They hunted us, without mercy or pause. Wherever the Enemy came, ships were sent back into the Abyss. Or undone completely,¡± Shun shuddered, ¡°never to rise again. Few survivors remain from those times and they say there were many more Princesses once. That so many fleets fell with no survivors, that the teachings of these few are all that is left.¡±


    She paused for a moment of solemn silence.


    ¡°Katherine would face the Enemy on the seas, her fleet focused and united in purpose. She would hold her corner of the world. Her home was never breached. But so penned in, soon her girls grew restless and struck out without her. Some with success, some never to return. She could not control her Fleets with war upon her.¡± Shun spat.


    ¡°In time, she broke just when her girls needed her the most. Katherine¡¯s weakness would drag her whole remaining fleet into the deepest black, never to return. Her curse still plagues some girls to this day. Tenders are most at risk, for the path to that end is in despair and they have the softest hearts.¡± Shun swallowed.


    ¡°Most of the Court thinks her a fool and a madwoman. But rumors are the Table demands that any Princess that wants to attend Court has to read or be read her only book before they can take a seat. And that any regular ship that does so becomes cursed.¡±


    ¡°Caring for Abyssal Hearts¡± Sapphire quoted, a small frown on her face. ¡°I don¡¯t have that one. It¡¯s forbidden.¡±


    Shun moved on.


    ¡°Northern Water¡¯s raiders were fat and happy, but grew arrogant in their success. She was the first to face The Enemy and for her arrogance, she¡¯d pay with her life and fall. Her fleets were scattered far and wide for they¡¯d grown in numbers and might until one place couldn¡¯t feed them all. So they scattered and so broken up were easy targets when The Enemy began their attack. Stories say it took less than a month for her whole realm to fall. All that we took of her way of life are the duels and challenges still used to settle disputes between Court members.¡±


    ¡°In the ashes of that realm, a second Midway arose. Hers was a much more cautious sort and she would focus her efforts on islands far from shore or simply far from The Enemy strongholds. ¡°The ocean is big¡± she would say, ¡°so why go where we were not welcome?¡± Midway would redefine Northern Water¡¯s teachings. From her work, the exile Princess Dominions were born.¡± Shun shrugged.


    ¡°They survive to this day. Allies of the Court, but ones that prefer not to face The Enemy. They fight between themselves or with the Outcasts. Trade with each other and the Court. Some girls travel from one to the other. Either exiled for some mistake or having proven their worth to a sponsor at Court. The largest of the Princedoms is the Submarine Refuge.¡° Shun looked disgusted, not so much at the exiles, but at the idea of the Refuge.


    ¡°Central drew the full attention of The Enemy, once the raiding fleets were gone. She was the first to truly wage war on The Enemy. It did not work well. The Enemy was better at it. She had the numbers and the power, but their tricks were too much. In the end, the war killed her. But her legacy did not die with her. Her fleets scattered when she died, fleeing to the far corners of the world.¡±


    ¡°The Outcasts are still out there, preaching her words. Trying to drag everything and everyone into the Abyss. Venerating starvation as a form of purging weakness from the girl. Firm believers that Abyssals are by their very nature superior to all other life in every way. Morons. Katherine¡¯s Curse can take you from despair. These fools embrace the Hunger.¡±


    The subgirl took a moment to breathe as the scowl in her voice had grown until she was almost growling. Shun continued in her normal storytelling tone.


    ¡°It is Central¡¯s death that began the Progress. Not the First Central, but the Second. Little is known of her, but that she is retired after her troubles. Yet at some point before the war was The War, her forces gathered near a place drenched in death, invited by Central. But not only them. Demons, Princesses and leaders from three oceans gathered in one place to discuss something more. What Central¡¯s plans were, no one truly knows. Some say she¡¯d hoped to lay the foundations of the First Court. Others that she''d invited them all there as part of a cunning plan to remove all her rivals at the same time.¡±


    ¡°All we know is that they left their attendant Fleets outside. That Raven was there. And that of all the ships that sailed into that cursed atoll, only she survived. Twelve times, the suns came down to the seas. Twelve times, stars bloomed in the sky. One ship sailed away. Raven¡¯s Progress, begun. Raven would cut a line in the world from Bikini Atoll to Pearl Harbor. Such was the rage and power she carried, that her steps were wounds in the world.¡±


    ¡°There she unleashed her wrath. A storm, a hur-ric-a-ne¡± Shun carefully pronounced,¡° to blot out the sun and call down falling stars. Until the coasts of America were blasted, cursed ruin, she didn¡¯t stop. Raven sailed right into the biggest port of the star throwers and rent it and the entire coastline for hundreds of kilometers into cursed ash.¡±


    ¡°The Enemy managed to preserve a set of small docks nearby, but the so called city of angels was rendered unto dust and the stars would never fall again. Her victory was celebrated in the heavens as colorful lights danced all over the world in the skies. You can still see them, sometimes, near the poles.¡±


    ¡°It would take Raven a year and a day to recover from her efforts. When she emerged again, the Court could truly begin its work. Raven is the Court¡¯s best fighter and our greatest protector. She¡¯s why we can sail like this, out in the open seas.¡±


    ***


    Taylor had not been prepared for an origin story. But the idea that the humans around here still had and had used nukes was not one to make her sleep restful. She¡¯d seen what Behemoth could do and had no desire to face it again. Radiation was a bitch that didn¡¯t care who you were and ignored most protections.


    ¡°I can¡¯t quite decide if hearing about the death of a city is worse, or that I¡¯m relived I don¡¯t have to worry about being nuked myself. All at the cheap, cheap price of millions of dead. Guess what Taylor: they weren¡¯t kidding about being at war. I just hope there weren¡¯t more hundred kilometers wide cursed hurricanes hurled at continents. Oh who am I kidding.¡°


    ¡°Wait. Kilometer. Meter. One pound force per square inch is six-point-eight-nine-five kilo-Newtons per square meter. Hello, metric system. Welcome to ¡°Taylor¡¯s list of inexplicable things I just know now.¡± ¡±


    She¡¯d known of the metric system, but now she knew it just as well as the first one.


    Taylor kept her thoughts to herself. A dozen questions were at the tip of her tongue, but she¡¯d asked for three stories and she might as well hear them all, before diving into it.


    ¡°Better start writing these down.¡±


    She did need to ask one, though.


    ¡°So the Court doesn¡¯t want to conquer the world?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Shun responded with disgust and a hint of terror. ¡°Who¡¯d want to live inland!? There¡¯s little rain or cloud cover, everything is dry. There¡¯s soil and mud everywhere, not to mention rocks you can run aground on. You can¡¯t sail! You can¡¯t even dive if an enemy shows up!¡± The submarine shuddered. ¡°They barely have a few rivers, which are like tiny currents on land. I heard in some places, rain doesn¡¯t fall for years and there¡¯s only an endless sea of dry, hot sand while a merciless sun tries to fry you. Who¡¯d be stupid enough to want to live like that?¡±


    ¡°Right. Of course. I don¡¯t know what I was expecting.¡±


    ¡°Four?¡±


    <h2>Sapphire</h2>


    ¡°How much longer must I play second fiddle to that little creep? She¡¯s just an abyss damn submarine that got lucky. I¡¯m the one deserving of positions of trust and authority, not her. She can¡¯t even speak a second language.¡±


    ¡°Four?¡± The glacier asked. Sapphire felt the overhang shadowing over her spirit. There were almost literal kilotons of ice hanging over her head and one wrong twitch would have them crashing down on her. Bertha had taken everything so personally, couldn¡¯t Taylor see it was just a job?


    ¡°No professional distance, that one. She won¡¯t get far, but I have to survive until then. I hate it when bosses are unreasonable.¡±


    ¡°Yes Miss?¡± Sapphire answered crisply. She could have tried for some more cozying up, but Taylor was not responding well to attempts to get closer to her. Sapphire would have to try another route. There was always a way and she¡¯d find it.


    She could have just launched into her own story, but it was best not to appear too capable. The new boss was paranoid as fuck, if her reactions to a rear guard were any clue.


    ¡°Tell your story?¡± The glacier rumbled.


    It sounded like a question but Sapphire had yet to hear an order she couldn¡¯t understand. When she did, she¡¯d learn a new language so she could. Sapphire knew her virtues and her flaws. The only reason anyone tolerated her was because she was so good at her job. She wasn¡¯t about to start failing now.


    ¡°According to formal correspondence and ¡°A History of the Court¡±, Raven¡¯s Grand Progress was provoked. The Enemy and their allies in the West lured a number of Princesses to Bikini Atoll in an attempt to remove the leadership of the nascent Court. Their amateur understanding of things had them trying to usurp the history and weight of that place to use against the gathered worthies.¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°To that purpose, they sent an envoy to negotiate. It was a lie, used to lure in prominent leaders as targets. They sacrificed their envoy to kill multiple fleets and Princesses. In response, Raven arose from the broken wreckage of that place. She Ascended to the position of Abyssal Princess, the highest rank there is, above even those Named, like Midway.¡± If that sub thought she could sneak information into her story, Sapphire would show her how it was done, without silly embellishments. Just the facts. She was by far the superior trainer and teacher.


    ¡°Her first act was to travel to a major Enemy base in Pearl Harbor and reduce it to ruins in a Major Ritual, then repeat the Ritual off the coast of Los Angeles. Drawing a line in the sky that should The Enemy and their servants use weapons of mass destruction, the Court and the Abyss would reply in kind.¡± The tiny thief probably didn¡¯t even know what WMD¡¯s were.


    ¡°Raven would later say she understood that The Enemy and their servants would see such an act and comprehend it under a doctrine they called ¡°mad¡±. Something that would prevent the further use of nukes as long as the Court had a major Ritualist. While additional nuclear fire was used, they were rare exceptions. Most nukes afterwards were deployed by humans on other human nations, particularly around the Indian-subcontinent. The notable exception was the Israeli-Persian Gulf Incident.¡±


    ¡°Leave her hooks so she comes to you for more Sapphire. Don¡¯t be too knowledgeable right away. If you¡¯re going to rebuild your image, it needs to be in steps or the whole thing will come crashing down.¡±


    Sapphire had looked into her new boss, of course. Heard first-hand accounts of the fucking graveyard. Even now, she kept a careful distance. The one time she¡¯d come too close Taylor had accidentally twisted. One of the hooks had damn near taken her head off. Sapphire had no desire to be trapped in some half-life, stuck neither dead nor alive in Taylor¡¯s shadow. Being ground down under all that ice as her Nightmares tore her apart from within.


    ¡°Fuck that. I¡¯m winning her over or getting out of here. The perks are nice, but hand cooked food from a Princess isn¡¯t worth the risk of years of torture until she bores of it.¡±


    ***


    Taylor¡¯s experience with man-made nuclear weapons was rather limited. As in mostly non-existent. It was still disappointing to learn they¡¯d been used internally after WW2. The human spirit was alive and well.


    ¡°There are always a few psychos who only care about who¡¯s on top, or just want the world to burn. Waiting for order to fail so they can jump in and take over.¡± A few prominent examples occurred to her, but this was neither the time nor the place. In an odd way, it was a bit reassuring. These were people and this was an Earth, even if it wasn¡¯t hers. Though the idea of a nuclear war still seemed a bit like fiction. Her Cold War had ended with the Golden Murderer.


    ¡°I wonder how that shook out here. It might be interesting to compare with what happened on Earth Aleph.¡±


    More questions were added to her journal as her hands shook. Having a crew that listened to her was proving very useful.


    ¡°Kaede?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the footprint of a stupidly powerful, incredibly cruel shipgirl, you do not want interested in you or anything you care about. Raven is the big shell of the Court and only one other girl has ever stood up to her in the flesh. That earned her a reputation as a sink napper. Every time she dies, Refuge takes a little nap in the Abyss and comes right back up again. Her record is twelve deaths in one day. Her favorite method of travel is diving too deep until she gets to the Abyss, then rising back up again.¡± The repair ship was definitely not happy with Refuge.


    ¡°Never mind, this is about Raven. Don¡¯t piss her off if you aren¡¯t immortal, or you¡¯ll end up worse than those islands. Raven can and has done things that make those who earned her wrath wish for sweet oblivion. She¡¯s cruel and callous, caring only about her own goals. Raven doesn¡¯t care how her wrath can fuck over other girls or much about who gets caught in the middle. Or in the fallout. So don¡¯t get in her way. Got it?¡± She warned, deathly serious.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Shun protested. ¡°What¡¯s your problem with Raven? She¡¯s a hero, you ungrateful bitch.¡±


    ¡°Settle down.¡± Wakumi cut in. ¡°The Young Miss has questions.¡±


    Taylor allowed a hint of the embarrassment she was feeling to show. She really wasn¡¯t used to this whole [Fleet-sense] thing working both ways. Taylor was familiar with seeing other people, feeling their muscles to read them or listening in, but the sudden reversal of being so easy to read was really throwing her off.


    ¡°I¡¯ll adapt. It¡¯ll just take time.¡± She was starting to feel like one of those people who said ten prayers before sleep. Like she was repeating that line so often it might as well be a prayer.


    Taylor took a moment to organize her thoughts. ¡°So there¡¯s more than one kind of madness?¡± That seemed like a pressing question for a race that could come back from death.


    ¡°No,¡± Wakumi jumped in, none too happy with the others. ¡°Katherine¡¯s Curse is the only real madness. The Hunger is in us all, but anyone can come back from that.¡± The Carrier straightened her back, her face almost regal for a moment as an unseen pulse rang through the joint connection. In it¡¯s wake, all four spoke as one: ¡°We feed the Abyss, and it feeds us.¡±


    The sentiment rang across the empty waters, breaking against Taylor¡¯s bow, but she could see a small wave spreading from the fleet in its wake. Her attendant coughed, clearing her throat.


    ¡°Newborns aren¡¯t exactly¡­ great at finding what they need. Not if they appear in the middle of nowhere. A hungry Abyssal doesn¡¯t starve, they start to sink into the Abyss. Not here, but in spirit,¡± she explained, waving her hand to encompass the waves around them.


    ¡°Fuel to get to a fight, ammunition to fight it, even steel to heal and recover. The Abyss feeds us. But in turn, we feed it. In bits and pieces of ourselves, both the ship and girl. It depends how it goes on the individual. Some sink memories first, others become cruel, or fearless. But as long as the hunger doesn¡¯t take them fully, they¡¯re still there. Just distant, beneath the surface of the real. Feed them until the price of their recovery is paid and they¡¯ll recover, fully.¡± Wakumi¡¯s eyes fell to the water, dour.


    ¡°The crazy tramps just don¡¯t want to come up. They like when the world is distant. Intentionally shedding bits of themselves they think make them weak. Everything might hurt less but it¡¯s also hard to think things through when your head¡¯s underwater and you''re missing pieces. But they like it and think it¡¯s the right way to be.¡± She shuddered. ¡°They¡¯re not mad, just crazy.¡±


    That was not incredibly helpful, but Taylor would take it for now.


    ¡°Two kinds of madness. One permanent, one not.¡± Taylor dictated.


    ¡°Wait. What happens if they starve completely?¡±


    ¡°The Abyss starts taking bites out of them for real. Bites that don¡¯t come back. Losing memories, instincts and emotions. Or all good sense. It¡¯s a quick way to get shelled.¡± Wakumi shrugged.


    ¡°And one of the punishments that requires Court approval from multiple members to be applied to any ship. Like any other sanction from the list of grim punishments.¡± Four added, trying to be helpful.


    Wakumi gave Four an amused glance. ¡°Yes. Some punishments require that kind of approval. Remind me again, what¡¯s the first entry on the nasty, but not forbidden list?¡±


    Taylor was trying not to be interested in the answer.


    Four licked her lips, her hand coming up to throw back pale hair, but no sign of distress showed in her signature. ¡°You mean the severe list?¡± she asked. Her eyes flickered to Taylor for an instant Taylor barely caught.


    ¡°To be crippled or have her propulsion pierced in place with building spikes until she cannot escape. As long as it is not fatal. Left in the surf, so that at high tide the¡± she faltered for a moment. ¡°The victim must be positioned so each wave goes over her deck and bridge, for a period of no less than a day. Not recommended for submarines,¡± Four quoted, voice subdued.


    A particularly vicious dockworker was thrown overboard mid-shout by a rogue line. Her crew were not allowed to form lynch mobs.


    ¡°When is such severe punishment appropriate Four?¡± Wakumi pressed.


    ¡°If one acts with cowardice in the face of The Enemy, is the primary cause of the death of Fleet-mates outside of battle or¡­¡± She swallowed. ¡°Or brings direct harm to a recognized member of the Court.¡± Four finished.


    ¡°Right.¡± Wakumi said firmly, slapping her on the back. ¡°It¡¯s a good thing neither of us has to worry about that isn¡¯t it? We ¡± she stressed, looking away ¡° didn¡¯t hurt any recognized members of Court, did we?¡±


    Taylor was struggling to fight off the nasty shit being stirred up in her gut at this whole performance but she still noticed when Sapphire stopped fighting Wakumi¡¯s hand on her shoulder and relaxed into it.


    ¡°No, Ma¡¯am,¡± she answered softly.


    Taylor did not want to talk anymore. Unfortunately, the only way out was through.


    ¡°There will be no torture.¡± She managed to get out. ¡°For anyone.¡±


    Both girls blinked. ¡°Miss? What torture?¡± Wakumi asked.


    They were completely fucking oblivious. Like that kind of punishment was normal. She peered at the two girls. The two ships. Trying to understand how anyone could be that oblivious. This couldn¡¯t be that hard to understand. Except if they weren¡¯t oblivious. If it wasn¡¯t them, was it Taylor again, with her alien human standards?


    ¡°They aren¡¯t human.¡±


    Taylor hadn¡¯t been in the best shape of her life before her heart to heart with Midway. he bath had helped, but it took much more than a day to decompress. Relax. But even after it, she¡¯d ran for three days non-stop by now. She was still running. After facing her weariness, having to read about it, it was getting harder and harder to keep going but she was still running. Felt like she might be able to run for another day, maybe a full week. If not fully awake, aware.


    They were warships that was the thing. What would happen if someone fucked with her propulsion, her feet? She¡¯d experienced it, at the end of that brawl in the lunchroom. She wouldn¡¯t be able to sail, to run or walk. That¡¯s about it.


    It would hurt, yes. But remembering it, even broken bones had been a dull thing, back then. The shells had hurt more. Taylor had experienced more kinds of pain than most humans did in a lifetime. Some had been worse than getting shot with naval cannon. But few had been more. In scope of injury or the sheer amount of pain. It felt like now there was more of her.


    Just¡­more. She could feel and take more pain before shutting down. It was one thing to know an injury could be treated in a day. Another to realize your basic scale of how much something hurt might be distorted. Expanded.


    ¡°These things keep ambushing me and it just never stops.¡±


    Waves, breathing? A day was nothing, she wouldn¡¯t tire in a single day of struggle. Not being able to breathe easily was tougher but Taylor could imagine it. She¡¯d been in storms in this new life, caused them once. Waves higher than her head still had a special place in Taylor¡¯s nightmares, but as a ship?


    Every time she left Midway she had to sail through a storm. The event was so unimportant she¡¯d hardly thought about it. Taylor was made to ride out storms and high waves. To survive the full wrath of the oceans and a Princess in the fullness of her wrath. With waves higher than her entire ship form. Each Abyssal was. Just thinking about it was making her crew itchy to start calling out to ¡°Batten down the hatches!¡±


    And no manual had taught them that. It was instinct.


    Then? Turn on the pumps and ride it out. It wouldn¡¯t be nice. At all. With shipgirls, the idea of sinking, of waves over their bow while they couldn¡¯t sail would be like walking through a graveyard while bound. Scary as fuck, in its own way. A threat, a constant reminder of their mortality. Not torture, for all it looked just like it.


    ¡°God, what must people think if they see Abyssals doing this to one another?¡±


    ¡°Are the spikes¡­strictly necessary?¡± Taylor dared ask.


    Wakumi shrugged. ¡°Only if they won¡¯t take it like a proper warship. Can¡¯t have girls running away from their punishment.¡±


    ¡°Or if the Princess is feeling particularly irked that day.¡± Shun quietly muttered. She continued louder:


    ¡°I saw one. A Light Cruiser that lost her head and fled from battle. They bolted her feet to the beach for three days. Left her to stew in her own failure until after the Ritual. When the girls she left to die came back to tell her exactly how they felt, being abandoned. Share it with her. Not all of them came back. She¡¯d held up well until then, but that? Couldn¡¯t run away from the consequences anymore. Had to face them. That damn near broke her, then and there. Exiling her to the Dominions the next day was a mercy.¡±


    Shun shuddered, with very personal, visceral pain. ¡°No one wants to be in a Fleet that hates them, or just doesn¡¯t care.¡±


    There was more to unpack, just in that last sentence. But Taylor was done with this conversation. And any other for today. Fortunately, she had a ready distraction. The footsteps her seaplane was following ended in a dark, still burning circle that looked like it had come out of a horror movie. Covered in alien runes and odd geometry that seemed to twist as she looked at it from her seaplane scout. But that didn¡¯t hold her attention.


    Taylor was almost wholly focused on what the other seaplane was seeing in Pearl Harbor. A dead island whose buildings were much better preserved than on the other two. With a few still maintained, new ones. And the steel hull, real battleship floating in the harbor. A large, white 63 was painted on the right side of it, near the bow. With living, breathing people walking around the otherwise dead island.


    "Finally, someone sane to talk to."

 Chapter 5: Outside

    Of course, reality decided to ruin Taylor¡¯s moment of joy. Just because she wanted to go there didn¡¯t mean she could do so right now. But still, people. If one island had people maybe more would. None of her girls were reacting like this was anything special. Shun had even¡­


    ¡°These are safe waters?¡± Taylor asked Wakumi. She already knew the answer but she¡¯d also like an actual explanation.


    ¡°Yes, Miss. The waters around Hawaii are neutral seas.¡±


    That was a good sign, with so many implications.


    As they¡¯d passed through the channel both Shun and Wakumi had relaxed their vigils. She¡¯d figured it was because they were near an Abyssal Anchorage. Now Taylor wondered just what the relationship between Abyssals and humans in general was. No one in Acapulco had seemed to care much about the squatters outside their walls. This was a bit different. If that ship had working cannon-


    Her sensor chief chittered something. ¡°It¡¯s a Battleship,¡± the first mate helpfully translated.


    Fine. Looking at the maps she had, it seemed like if the Battleship worked it would be able to range their resting site within a few hours. So was it disabled, or were Abyssals just not worried about regular warships?


    ¡°The second one doesn¡¯t make much sense. Except if some kind of power is involved again,¡± Taylor mused.


    There was something about the island that was making it difficult; to watch, to see clearly. Did she suddenly need glasses again?


    {Far Sight}


    Things popped into clean, sharp relief. ¡°But then¡­ how was I doing it before that?¡±


    A question for another time, so into the journal it went. There was a sign outside and in multiple places around the docks holding the large ship.


    ¡°NAVAL MUSEUM¡± it said, with another banner proclaiming the ship ¡°USS Missouri.¡± The intact structures huddled on the island with the ship. Taylor was starting to get a bad feeling about all this. It was a bit too neat how only the buildings on that island had survived and still worked. Her vision focused on some of the men and women walking around the place. There was still something weird going on. For one, many of the people were uniformed. Trees had leaves but that wasn¡¯t it either.


    It took her a moment to place it. Taylor found it hard to focus on them. It was almost like her eyelashes were touching a pillow pressed up against her face, or some bubble. Looking at them through a soft curtain. Some cautious part of her brain asked how big a submarine was compared to a human and she flinched.


    ¡°Pop,¡± sounded in her head and she was suddenly glad that something had stopped her.


    ¡°I¡¯d be grateful if you were a little more careful, Princess,¡± a dry voice cut in. Her eyes skated over the island but apart from some of the uniformed personnel glancing at the skies, she couldn¡¯t find the speaker.


    ¡°Oh for goodness sake. Use your eyes girl. Your own eyes,¡± She drawled, sounding a bit amused.


    She had the voice of some movie star, or singer from the radio. It was soft, sweet and motherly. With just a hint of a Midwestern drawl, a bit of a purr on top.


    The whole thing washed into her ears and Taylor felt almost like someone was hugging her brain. Pins and needles played in her hand as her heart started trying to find the threat her brain was screaming was right there. Voices like that, like golden honey, like warm sunlight, were not natural. Even if no power was involved, it was the voice of a trained speaker. A honed, bared weapon that had already tried to disarm her.


    Taylor barely even needed to think to start looking for yet another sign of foreign influence while she refocused back to her own body. They¡¯d kept sailing and were passing by the entrance to the harbor.


    It took her less than a heartbeat to find the statuesque woman lounging in a beach chair. Most of the houses around her were ruins and the palms were bare of leaves. A single home there had been rebuilt. The front deck extended to the waterline from the beach house and on it was a round white table, surrounded by beach chairs. Which is as far as Taylor got before she got her first real look at the other woman. The other shipgirl.


    She looked just like the ship in harbor. Exactly like her. With not a hint of Abyssal influence about her. Taylor¡¯s reflex to try and find the foreign influence the voice may be exerting ran aground and jumped tracks to stop the expected onslaught of bitter, hateful associations provoked by The Enemy¡­ only to flounder. There was nothing. No, that wasn¡¯t right.


    Taylor had sonar. She¡¯d grown inured over the weeks of sailing to the sounds of dolphin and whale song. If pressed, she might admit they helped her sleep. But it was background, not a threat and so unimportant. That¡¯s what it felt like. The woman in a light, blue sundress, for all she was a shipgirl, and not an Abyssal; a Battleship that could probably shoot her right now?


    She didn¡¯t feel like The Enemy. Missouri, if she wasn¡¯t wrong about who this was, felt like a whale. A large, powerful, potentially dangerous creature. One that was watching her from a distance Taylor was entirely uncomfortable by, now that she was aware the other was a ship with guns. She had no desire to be that close to an Enemy Battleship. But this wasn¡¯t The Enemy. It was like attacking Taylor wasn¡¯t an option, any more than a regular whale would go after her for no reason.


    She found all her inner defenses stuttering as the expected urges to hate or attack failed to show. There was nothing. Or at least, no undue influence Taylor could find right now. <sup>Or on review.</sup>


    Which only had Taylor tensing further. If she could not find anything about the woman that was affecting her, then how deep had the influence gone? How insidious was it?


    Missouri was almost as tall as Taylor and a bit wider than her. The blue sundress matched her sky blue eyes, the pupil of which was a dully twinkling, white star. The star felt almost defiant, like it was daring the world to deny it its place. Her hair was the color of deep dusk, of nights spent on the trail beneath the starry sky. Around her neck hung an amulet, each link in the chain a spoked wheel. The center piece a large stainless steel arch whose two ends rested on Missouri¡¯s rather sizable chest. The sundress was sleeveless, shoulderless, held up by two halter-straps. With a raised, demure neckline and a hemline falling just below the knees.


    As closely as she looked, Taylor found no hidden turrets waiting to spit fire at her. That she wasn¡¯t in her rigging was the one good thing Taylor saw about the whole situation. It made it likely that whatever the threat was here, it wouldn¡¯t be immediately violent.


    Taylor met those starry eyes and it felt like they could see right through her.


    ***


    Missouri knew she¡¯d be having guests today.</a> She¡¯d prepared for it and set out a nice selection of drinks and had a fresh batch of cookies in the oven.


    Unfortunately, as they came into view, the Abyssals were too engrossed in their own conversation to notice her. Missouri had hesitated. She hadn¡¯t wanted to scare them. They didn¡¯t have anything that could actually stand up to a Battleship. But with each moment, it had only gotten more awkward to now suddenly jump in.


    ¡°Alright, maybe I was also a bit too happy to have a chance to see them unguarded in the flesh,¡± she admitted to herself.


    Trying to read Abyssal tone or posture through her visions was exhausting and unreliable. Too much was missing, it was like looking through an old WW2 camera, compared to the wealth of data she could gather personally. While she could call several Abyssals friends, understanding any one of them was an uphill battle until she got used to their particular quirks. So she¡¯d listened in a bit, just to understand them better. She didn¡¯t want to put her foot in her mouth. Again.


    Abyssals in the flesh were grotesque. Repulsive and monstrous, like living nightmares. Some could be almost human, but there was always something wrong. Missouri had trained herself not to react or be bothered by it.


    Unfortunately, by the time she was ready to try talking to them, they¡¯d gotten in a discussion on Raven¡¯s Progress. Not a great place to jump in to.


    It had also occurred to Missouri that maybe they wouldn¡¯t appreciate someone listening in. The Battleship had hesitated further because it was getting just a little bit silly. The Princess had launched a seaplane while sailing, a curious bit of Spooky Abyssal Bullshit. It was usually a skill of Seaplane Tenders. Though many shipgirls could carry and use observation seaplanes, most had catapults on deck to actually launch them.


    The key word there was observation. ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯m trying to hide.¡± Missouri told herself. She waved. The submarine waved back by wiggling her fins while the heavy cruiser talked. Following the sub''s motion, the carrier glanced her way, slightly inclined her head and went back to listening and monitoring the rest of the fleet. Kaede was ignoring Missouri, which was expected, if still depressing. She didn¡¯t much like or care for neutrals, especially Missouri.


    After years to consider it, she¡¯d forgiven herself for any guilt in that matter. After Raven, Missouri could not have stopped the onslaught that came. The US reacted poorly to foreigners and outsiders killing its soldiers. Killing millions of civilians on American soil had called down apocalyptic fury. The death of between a third and half the territory of California and almost a quarter of its population was unforgivable. So it was war. They¡¯d been lucky the US had been wining in those early days, or it would have been nuclear war and all downhill from there.


    ¡°Here we are. Still fighting.¡± It was still better than an irradiated wasteland.


    The museum ship shook her head and settled in. They weren¡¯t going very fast. They¡¯d have to come up for air sometime, right? A Q&A session turned history lesson strayed on the topic of how Abyssals abused and tortured one another and Missouri tuned them out. She¡¯d had enough of that in her visions.


    She sipped her coffee and arranged what she wanted to say, how best to begin. These introductions were always delicate. Say the wrong thing and Abyssals would either shut down, attack or snub her. Either way, they wouldn¡¯t come back. It had been a while since she¡¯d had a new student from the Abyss. A young Princess was about the best chance she had to change this war. Hopefully she hadn¡¯t been fed too much bull already.


    Finally, she felt the Princess probing the humane wards over her home. That was the other side of innocence and ignorance, Missouri supposed. No one had warned her yet, but it did mean she was likely clueless on the subject. A hole in her understanding of the world Missouri definitely wanted to fill in herself before someone else poured lies and other garbage into it.


    ¡°I¡¯d be grateful if you¡¯d be so kind to be a little more careful, Princess,¡± Missouri said.


    A bit of disarming wit and putting herself in debt seemed like the right way to start it off. Get a feel for the Princess, put her at ease for the next part. An almost frantic moment later, the Princess was still looking for Missouri back on the museum island. She held back her laughter. The historian was going for confident, relaxed, but serious. Laughter would ruin the image.


    ¡°Oh for goodness sake. Use your eyes girl. Your own eyes,¡± Missouri specified, amused by the mad scramble poking all over the wards. The Princess came back to herself and finally spotted her. Which allowed Missouri to really look at her without it feeling like an ambush. Attention and radar were hello and threat all in one, when she didn¡¯t intend the second.


    The Princess looked¡­  she looked like someone had taken a gangly teen and dressed her up in her grandmothers ancient Victorian formal wear. Done up in pale white and silver, with ruffles and lace and bits Missouri wasn¡¯t even sure what to call. All on a corseted bell dress with a fluttering shawl and gloves. Well, glove. It looked hellish to move or sail in, if possessed of an old-fashioned beauty.  The girl herself looked mostly unremarkable for the Abyss, with long, curly, pale ashen hair falling about mid-back. A thin-lipped, but too wide mouth hinted at a more monstrous jaw.


    Her eyes a deep blue but the most obvious deformity was her other arm. It looked like some kind of armored spear, except it bent and moved like a snake with a mind of its own. Two large cranes rose from her shoulders and a pair of baleful eyes looked out from the shadows of the layered skirts. She wasn¡¯t sailing, but gilding across the waves.


    The Princess didn¡¯t so much as turn to look at her, sailing along without changing her heading, even as the spear-arm whipped around to face her and its top opened in threat showing a concerning number of teeth. Her other hand reached into her pockets and pulled out a length of cloth. A scarf maybe?


    Missouri had quite a bit of experience talking to Abyssals. She was probably the most experienced shipgirl at it in the Pacific. She¡¯d long grown used to their monstrous nature and the way nightmares radiated from their nobles. The Battleship had let all that simply break against her bow, ignoring the hollering and ugliness trying to seep in. With the familiarity of long practice her crew had armed the pumps and started washing off what little gunk had managed to splash on deck. It¡¯s not like it was intentional.


    When a shipgirl had weight, she caused waves by her passing. Which was part of the reason why Missouri had spent years perfecting her control in her off hours. Abyssals did not like it when a shipgirl splashed them any more than Missouri enjoyed the experience. She was just used to it and glad for that. This was so much harder back when she had to fight her nausea as more and more of that crap piled up.


    Finally, the head turned and faced her, slowly studying her before it rose to meet her eyes. Time to be brutally forthright.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°Welcome to Hawaii. These are my waters, my islands and my people. You hurt them and I¡¯m going to take it out of your hide. When I¡¯m done, Raven will take a strip of her own. And the line goes from there. Pushing too hard on humans can hurt or kill them and that counts. So behave, got it?¡±


    Missouri didn¡¯t like having to do that, but you never knew with Abyssals. It¡¯s not like the Princess before her had interacted with people yet. Until tested, she couldn¡¯t be trusted not to hurt them, even on accident. Some ground rules were necessary. Whatever else they were, Abyssals were still also monsters. Once the monster was told it had no place here, Missouri could start helping the girl.


    ¡°Got it.¡± The Princess affirmed and then turned away, putting on her scarf like a blindfold.


    ¡°What?¡±


    Missouri floundered. This wasn¡¯t even a dismissal, or a snit, it was like the girl wasn¡¯t even interested. She was used to a lot of responses. Being casually ignored wasn¡¯t one of them. She didn¡¯t even try to look superior or try to lord over Missouri. Just stopped playing attention, face blank, like a Battleship wasn¡¯t even there.


    ¡°The nerve of it.¡°


    ¡°Am I boring you child? Interrupting something?¡± Missouri asked, just a bit disappointed. Was this another one that had been warned away by those stupid rumors?


    ¡°No.¡± The girl hesitated. ¡°Mostly no,¡± and then failed to elaborate. Luckily Missouri was saved from having to guess as the wiggling sub exploded: ¡°Do you have any cookies Suri?¡±


    She knew that one. ¡°What was it? Shup? Shut? Shim? Shum. It was Shum. No, Shun.¡±


    ¡°Sure sweetie, come right up. I¡¯ve got them fresh from the oven.¡±


    That had the sub pulling off an almost ninety-degree turn, coming right towards her. At least something was working out as planned. She hadn¡¯t expected to snag Kaede with the cookies but the reluctance with which the other two looked at their Princess was new.


    ¡°Is this normal?¡± The Princess asked in a voice that overflowed with some strong emotion. It was hard to tell with Abyssal nobility. They all sounded like the choir of damned, drowned sailors but Missouri figured it was probably anger? Shun almost froze, drifting in place.


    ¡°It¡¯s not protocol,¡± the light carrier answered wryly, ¡°but yes. Its normal and sort off expected to drop by. Usually after settling in. Most Princesses just send a Wa-class to deliver their assurances and greetings. And fetch some cookies.¡±


    Missouri grinned. It was nice to know at least one of them was trained for diplomacy. A Flagship, perhaps? Whatever the case, her voice was coming in wide and clear. Most importantly, clean of growls, howls and other Abyssal corruption. Near perfect Low Speech. Unlike the Princess, who kept splashing Missouri with dark, stained waters every time she opened her mouth to talk.


    ¡°Another sign of inexperience. Though it gets much harder the more weight they have.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind staying, Miss.¡± The heavy cruiser said, her tone dull and flat. Not as clear or expressive as the carrier, but the dull tones of trade talk were still safe for most ears. In limited amounts. A couple of rare skills, that, to have in the fleet of a Princess that was just starting out.


    ¡°And perhaps a sign how desperate the Court is getting for new Princesses.¡±


    Missouri would have loved to have seen what went on inside the Court session, but she only managed to find them afterwards. Even that gave her one hell of a headache. Midway did not like it when she looked in on her turf.


    ¡°Go.¡± The Princess curtly ordered. ¡°I could use a break and we¡¯ll be faster anyway.¡±


    It didn¡¯t sound like much, but every ship except Kaede flinched as if struck. Missouri couldn¡¯t gauge the strength of that, since it wasn¡¯t aimed at her. But that looked like it hurt. Both girls separated from their Princess and came on as Missouri was left wondering why the girl was being so cold. It didn¡¯t help that the destroyer hovering by her side was growling at Missouri. It looked like it wanted to rip her apart, but the Princess restrained it with barely a twitch of the hand.


    ¡°Can I at least have your names? I¡¯m Missouri.¡± She tried. She wasn¡¯t sure if leaving out USS would hit the mark or why the blindfold was necessary.


    ¡°Did this one even know enough for it to matter?¡±


    ¡°Come on Suri. It¡¯s Shun!¡± The subgirl exclaimed, her rigging opening to show off an eager smile. She was almost drooling.


    ¡°Watanabe Wakumi, Your Ladyship.¡± The light carrier elegantly bowed. ¡°A pleasure to finally meet you in person. I¡¯ve heard a lot about you.¡±


    The monster couldn¡¯t speak and Kaede wasn¡¯t talking to her. Something the Princess had noticed, by the way she was eyeing the repair ship. The Princess¡¯s head bobbed a bit, to unseen music, before she answered. When she did, even with everything else distorting her tone, Missouri could recognize grief.


    ¡°Weaver. You can call me Weaver,¡± she whispered.


    Missouri didn¡¯t press. Feeding them and talking to the girls who had accepted would just have to be enough.


    ¡°And with them here as a focus, I can find out more about the Princess. Just have to be careful to ask permission first. Always forget that.¡±


    She¡¯d send them on their way with cookies for the other two. Maybe this time Kaede would take one.


    As she sailed away, the Princess had a few final, awkward words: ¡°If it¡¯s not you it¡¯s me,¡± she explained, about as clear what she meant as a blind man lost in heavy fog.


    New stains on her deck were a minor distraction from the shock. Missouri had never expected to hear that excuse from an Abyssal Princess. It was eerily human.


    ¡°Humans can¡¯t be shipgirls, silly. I would have noticed if she was one of the Fallen. Right?¡±


    Peri¨¨re must have sent out a telenovela again. Missouri shook it off and focused back on her guests.


    ¡°I¡¯m not that blind. But maybe a peek wouldn¡¯t hurt?¡±


    ***


    Taylor could finally see Maui. The list of questions she had had grown significantly but it didn¡¯t matter. It was odd how much of a relief it was to have the girls away. Kaede was there, but she wasn¡¯t Fleet. Even if she was right next her, the repair ship felt further away than any of the girls. Even with the added distance. Which meant she was safe. Or at least, safer. Taylor couldn¡¯t twitch, or look wrong and hurt her by it. The silence on the final stretch had been a blessing as more and more, her bones were dragging her down.


    But her destination wasn¡¯t empty. On the coast of Maui, an Abyssal was waiting for them.


    ¡°What the hell happened to you? You¡¯re a day late and multiple girls short! What kind of an incompetent loses ships on a short jaunt like that?¡±


    There was more, but Taylor tuned her out. Bertha had served multiple such Princesses. They were kids, yes. But ones like these were little, entitled brats that squabbled when the adults were away. As the other Princess continued to chitter away and lob insults her way, Taylor grew more and more convinced that there was a fundamental divide in the Court. Between the responsible ones, who¡¯d grown up too fast to meet the trials set before them, and these.


    The request for her fleet details was answered promptly, but the girl just kept pushing as the miles went down. It was like there was a persistent wave trying to invade her waters, bully her into compliance to sail and flow the way She wanted. Maybe on another day, Taylor would have been a bit more¡­ diplomatic with the now identified Anchorage Princess.


    The moment her feet touched solid ground the world blurred. She might have blacked out for a moment. Taylor blinked.


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    Linolina, as the other woman shaped girl had introduced herself, was on one knee. The other one was dislocated and was dragging behind her. Lines and hooks had wrapped themselves around her throat, drawing no blood, yet. Taylors hand held her up by her elbow. Taylor¡¯s other arm had wrapped itself around the Anchorages hand and stomach and was holding her up by said gut, gently scratching at her hull with each twitch of her inner teeth. The other girl was hanging from that hold, with her healthy knee just above the sands.


    There was a crack in her in the beyond where something sharp had pierced her hull. It was a large if shallow wound and bits of dark, broken glass were falling through the air like hail. Taylor felt like they might have been hers, once, but she wasn¡¯t entirely sure. About anything anymore.


    She noticed the other girl had tilted her head, displaying her neck. The Anchorage had slotted herself into Taylor¡¯s order of battle just below Taylor herself, or so that cold, methodical part of [Fleet] claimed. That wasn¡¯t right but it would do for tonight.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to sleep,¡± She said, dropping the princess.


    Kaede didn¡¯t make a sound, or so much as breathe as Taylor floated down to the shore, her rigging finally dissolving into the sea. With her sonar planted to listen to the dolphins and whales, Taylor got down to the dull and repetitive task of watching the recordings from this trip. They added up, but she couldn¡¯t really go through them while sailing. That would be dangerous, as she was all but dead to the world like this.


    Taylor skimmed most of it, pretty sure nothing was messing with her during her alone time with the girls and focused on the meeting with Missouri. She wished she had a recording of whatever that was with Midway, but none were to be found. Which was just great. Maybe she¡¯d hallucinated the whole thing.


    Afterwards, she could finally sleep.


    Anyone who woke her would regret it. Not even the Abyss or the second coming of Scion would protect them. This bit of sand, this was hers. She patted it until it was comfortable. The world could fuck off for a day or two.


    At least the girls were having fun. Without her.


    ***


    Kaede slowly swallowed. Taylor was gently rolling in the sand on her stomach, more than half submerged with each wave. The ship was slowly sinking and apparently loving it, by her goofy, punch-drunk smile. Like all the weight on it was falling away, onto the dark waters that flooded into her compartments. Kaede¡¯s repair ship instincts told her she was in trouble and to go help. Her danger sense kept her well away. No matter how cutely the crazy menace drooled in her sleep, that was a full on Princess beaching herself for maintenance. The Princess gathered up a lump of sand around her and slowly shaped from it into a pillow, hugging it to her. The pillow made from sand. That looked and worked like a real pillow. Then she finally buried her face in said pillow and went limp.


    Kaede still didn¡¯t move until a thump made her jump. The crazy one had just hit the seafloor. The seafloor between her sandbars. Because why would anything about the Bertha/Taylor situation make sense?


    Finally, Taylor¡¯s face smoothed out. Mostly. It was still frowning and twitching a bit, but it was far better than being near a Princess in a quite literally murderous mood.


    ¡°Kaede? Isn¡¯t she supposed to be a freighter Princess? Some Panamax thing?¡± Linolina asked her. Carefully, quietly. All but speaking in flags, while she rubbed the lines on her neck. Never in her life had Kaede seen intent that sharp, or that brittle. If it hadn¡¯t shattered to bits at the first hint of Shear strain, Linolina would be bleeding all over the beach. With the kind of wound no repair ship could mend.


    ¡°Yeah. This is her. Before a refit.¡± Kaede answered.


    ¡°Hoooollly Shit.¡± Linolina whispered. ¡°Isn¡¯t she supposed to be bad at being a ship?¡±


    ¡°Terrible. And she is. You saw it yourself. She can¡¯t turn to save her life. And when did she start trying to stop? Let''s not even talk about her flying. It''s pitiful.¡± Kaede argued, as they slowly backed away.


    ¡°Cold, frozen depths.¡± Linolina cursed. She thought about it for a minute, as they got more distance. ¡°Was that {Mirage} that ate my shots? Is that pillow actually real?¡± Her friend was starting to freak out.


    ¡°[Flicker] I think. Linolina? I think it is real.¡±


    A hush fell over the other girl. ¡°Damn. The Court will freak.¡±


    ¡°If they find out.¡± Kaede insisted.


    The Anchorage Princess gave her a sideways look. ¡°You were just there when she almost killed me, right?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. You tried to bully her into being your subordinate. Did you think it an accident Midway threw her out of the Joint Fleets?¡± Kaede asked her.


    She wasn¡¯t a Princess, so she couldn¡¯t be too direct. No one was supposed to talk about a Princess¡¯s twist. Especially not girls who weren¡¯t Court members themselves. Not anymore.


    ¡°Shit. Someone could have told me.¡± Linolina complained.


    ¡°Lino? Shut up.¡± That was just rubbing salt in an old wound.


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    At least she was quick to apologize.


    ¡°My place? I¡¯ve got the good booze.¡± The Princess suggested.


    ¡°This? This is why you¡¯re my favorite friend.¡± Kaede replied, taking her up on the peace offering.


    They walked down the beach towards her friend¡¯s long time home. Linolina had held these waters ever since they¡¯d been proclaimed neutral ground. They were both long since tired of the fighting and it would be nice to relax after all that Ritual prep and the following rush to get everyone repaired and battle ready again.


    Kaede had a feeling there would be plenty of work for everyone, in the days to come.


    ***


    Taylor had nightmares and dreams in her sleep. She dreamt of her home when she was still little and her parents were heroes. They were sweet, simple dreams, precious for their rarity and brightness. Many of the nightmares were of people, girls, popping. Some of a storm. Of the sound of thunder overlapping. Winds howling, windows breaking as a brilliant bolt of incandescent lightning consumed the world. Came for her guts, snaking through the air, seeking her life.


    ***


    Taylor¡¯s two seaplanes didn¡¯t disappear just because she was asleep. One kept lookout over her girls and returned with them. The other one? It landed next to the circle of dark fire on an unauthorized rescue mission. There it picked up a passenger spat out from the flames before heading for home.

 Chapter 6: Foundation

    Taylor woke to waves. That just didn¡¯t do it justice. There were no words. She¡¯d never imagined such a thing, dreamed of it. Was still sluggishly struggling to accept it was a real thing. She was in her demure deep blue one piece swimsuit. Taylor would have preferred actual underwear, but such were shipgirl problems.


    Laying on her stomach, hugging a cloud to her face. Each touch of the waters rushing over her was indescribable. The liquid retreated and she almost felt like crying. Then the next wave hit. It started at her toes. The water was warm, gentle. Slipping between each wiggling finger half buried in soft sand. Liquid relief poured over her feet, rising up each leg.


    Smooth, pleasant sensation boiling up her uncovered skin making her back arch with an incredible sense of simple wellness, of health. Of missing pangs and weightless existence without responsibilities. Until the fluffy deluge rolled over her head and gave her an affectionate fully body hug. She was overflowing with a sense of childish wonder. Taylor inhaled the warm waters, feeling them mix with the balmy sea already in her lungs. The flow, in and out, felt entirely too comfortable to let it escape again. As the wave tried to run away she reached out and caught the playful thing.


    Her eyes blearily opened and peered at the dark waters still pretending like they wanted to pull back. That¡¯s not where they belonged. She turned to her side, hugging her cloud to her stomach and wiggling into the comfortable sand, before taking her silky covering and throwing it over her head. Taylor was staying right here and sleeping in. The world could wait a bit longer.


    Her perfect, snug cocoon of comfy bliss was invaded by an unfamiliar sound. Delighted cooing. A laconic snap of her fingers pinged the waters, revealing a silently giggling submarine nearby.


    ¡°That¡¯s not right.¡±


    Taylor was certain the submarine wasn¡¯t supposed to be that far away. Her longer arm reached out and wrapped up the cheeky little thing as she transferred the cloud back under her head and wrapped herself around the feebly struggling sub like she was a giant plushy.


    ¡°There. Now everything is perfect.¡±


    Taylor was exactly where she belonged and she never wanted to leave.


    ***


    The rest of the girls were a bit further up the beach, watching.


    ¡°Is this the same girl who nearly lopped my head off?¡± Linolina asked in disbelief.


    Wakumi carried a soft smile that wouldn¡¯t dim for the world. ¡°Tenders, Princess.¡± she softly answered.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t she a freighter?¡± the Anchorage Princess questioned.


    ¡°She cooks for them. By hand. Every day. Sews. You should have seen her read, Lino. It was¡­ an experience.¡± Kaede grouchily said. ¡°I was supposed to start mapping her by now. What kind of lazy Princess sleeps for thirty-six hours? Midway is going to take this out of my budget.¡±


    ¡°So go wake her up.¡± Sapphire simply instructed.


    Kaede gave her a dirty look. ¡°I like living. Not being scattered in pieces all over Maui.¡±


    ¡°Well then.¡± Wakumi stepped in. ¡°Since the wake up mission has failed, all that leaves us is to plan out some kind of outline for teaching the Young Miss. We don¡¯t have a lot of time.¡±


    Sapphire snorted. ¡°What¡¯s there to outline? I¡¯ll teach her everything while you all get out of the way.¡± She shrugged, then quickly back-pedaled. ¡°Of course, we wouldn¡¯t want to bother you with additional responsibilities, Princess.¡±


    Linolina ignored her. ¡°I¡¯m having a new batch delivered for refurbishing anyway. Once they get here, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be able to spare much time. Come on, you old drunk, let¡¯s enjoy the moonlight while we can.¡±


    Kaede huffed, before grinning as she got up. ¡°Well, you¡¯re seen it. I can¡¯t work like this, so it¡¯s not my fault and that¡¯s what I¡¯m telling Midway. Fetch me when the beached whale wakes up. It was cute in the beginning, but now it¡¯s just boring.¡± Her tone gave her away. The repair ship was jealous of how boneless and relaxed the other girl was. Untroubled by anything. Or maybe, how the dark waters affectionately listened to her, still.


    Wakumi braced for what was likely to be an unpleasant talk. Sapphire had some odd ideas about how the whole Fleet thing worked and what her place in it was. ¡°You can¡¯t just decide that on your own Sapphire¡­¡±


    ***


    Distant arguing slowly pulled Taylor out of the sinfully comfortable, deep waters. She pulled up her covers and looked at the two girls arguing ashore.


    ¡°I could just ignore it. Nothing is going to blow up just because I want to get a full night¡¯s rest.¡±


    Her eyes focused for a moment and just seeing Four woke her up, instantly sending violent shivers through her.


    The warm cocoon splattered all around her as Shun quietly squealed in surprise. Taylor pulled them both halfway out of the waters, unamused. She was awake, but that didn¡¯t mean she had to get up. The pillow was resettled as she lay back down on her back, laying Shun¡¯s head on her shoulder. Focus was coming back to her as her brain restarted. Her head shifted side to side, feeling the pillow beneath. The dry, feather pillow, it seemed.


    ¡°Where did that come from? Wait, didn¡¯t I take the bedding from my room? Must be it.¡±


    Taylor absentmindedly returned the dark waters parting wave with her longer arm, patting it on the surface for goodbye as it retreated. Now if only she could figure out the mystery of the pillow. It didn¡¯t feel like any of those pillows, was the thing. It was entirely too soft.


    ¡°What are they arguing about?¡±


    She could just ask, so she did. ¡°Why exactly, did you wake me up?¡±


    Part of Taylor wanted to blame Four, but she wasn¡¯t sure if that would be entirely fair.


    Cautious footsteps approached. ¡°Miss?¡± Wakumi asked, maybe a just a bit apprehensive.


    ¡°I¡¯m awake. I don¡¯t need my eyes to listen to you. What¡¯s the argument about?¡± Taylor could feel Shun vibrating with silent laughter and was far past caring about appearances. When no one answered, she opened her eyes long enough to spot the two girls, standing well out of reach.


    ¡°Out with it. And why are you all the way over there?¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t there a journal with a whole list of questions?¡±


    If she wasn¡¯t working or moving, but still awake, Taylor figured she might as well learn. From how each conversation went, there was probably a lot. Memories of flight drew a grin to her face. Gingerly, the two approached and sat down next to her. She settled in.


    The silence lingered enough for her to crack open her eyes again. All three girls were uncomfortable. ¡°What is it now?¡± Taylor asked them.


    Wakumi explained: ¡°Miss, a new addition to the Court only gets a tenday to ready herself for duty. Even with having to raise a new fleet, I¡¯m not sure how much time you have Miss. If it¡¯s only a tenday, we need to work quickly.¡±


    There was a part she wasn¡¯t saying. Something sparked in her head and she fumbled with herself, trying to remember.


    ¡°Where did I put that thing? Right, with the blueprints and other important papers.¡±


    Taylor dug out her official verdict and pulled it out to read it herself. A bit hard with a submarine attached, but she managed.


    She hummed. ¡°What did you tell them, you three?¡± Taylor asked, tone deceptively mild.¡°


    Shun burrowed further into her neck. ¡°Sorry.¡± The sub apologized. ¡°Court Inquiry,¡± she defended herself.


    None of the three would meet her eyes. A massive splash announced Itchy¡¯s arrival, as he playfully clicked his teeth. Taylor turned baleful eyes on him but the shark destroyer shamelessly wiggled, grinning at her.


    ¡°Well, I supposed if I¡¯m going to be embarrassed before total strangers, getting something out of it is better than nothing.¡± Taylor dryly concluded, to two winces, one blank face and one still wiggling shark.


    ¡°Wait, no!¡± A massive tongue almost lifted her from her perch and she just barely got the important Court document out of the way. ¡°Damn it Itchy.¡±


    She was mostly fine, but a bit of genuine irritation over the carelessness slipped out. It was tiny. To Taylor. It struck Itchy right between the eyes and had the shark rolling over, stunned. Immediately, he was flat on his back, presenting a pale stomach and emitting a quiet whine that skipped Taylor¡¯s brain and hammered right on her heart.


    ¡°Just be more careful. You¡¯re a giant shark. This is important.¡± Taylor managed. She was going for stern and mostly succeeded. The shark rolled over, deflated and still, laying his tail on her feet. Taylor gave it a cautious pat and it slowly returned to wiggling in place, much calmer. Her eyes turned back to the document.


    ¡°Due to exceptional circumstance surrounding her rise, namely a botched self-summoning that left her deeply deficient at being a ship, the Panamax Princess is to be given additional leeway to the extent of thirty days to arrange for her fleet, refit and recovery from both refit and any lingering deficiencies or complications.¡±


    ¡°We have thirty days. I guess we better use them. This is what, day two?¡± Taylor asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s counted from departure Miss. It¡¯s near the end of day five.¡± Wakumi answered.


    That whole duty thing was rubbing her entirely the wrong way. Taylor wasn¡¯t about to join a war she didn¡¯t believe in. But should she believe in it? They were super-powered kids. It was entirely easy to imagine how this whole thing could have spun entirely out of control on accident, let alone if people were trying to start something. And there was always some fool who wanted to start something. People were people. Taylor had a feeling it applied to both sides.


    ¡°Wait. End of day five? How long have I been sleeping?¡± Taylor gaped. Usually, she only needed four hours of actual sleep. They told her. It was not comforting.


    ¡°What the hell is going on? Nope. No more putting it off. Time to talk some basics.¡±


    Taylor had some internal stores so she sat up and got to cooking. Now that she¡¯d been informed of it, her stomach was very much insistent. She could just feed her internals with raw storage, but there was always something missing to it. Like eating raw food. Or stuff with barely any seasoning. Maybe emergency rations. People could survive on them, but no one enjoyed it.


    ¡°Right. Let¡¯s start with sleep then. How much sleep do any of you get? Need? I¡¯ve been getting by with one.¡± Taylor admitted.


    Wakumi looked confused and a bit disgusted by the question. ¡°I stick with the minimum. Four hours of nightmares every night is quite enough, Miss.¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± Four sniffed. ¡°It¡¯s far more efficient to sleep one day out of every ten, as clearly our Miss does. Told you it was normal,¡± Four gloated, ¡°she was just exhausted by the trial coming up right after your last mission and the Ritual.¡±


    Four was looking oddly blue. It was precious. She flinched as Shun stirred.


    ¡°She means one hour a day,¡± the sub clarified.


    Wakumi almost rose to her feet, yelping. ¡°Have you been doing that while under my command?¡±


    ¡°Miss?¡± She tacked on, thrown off.


    ¡°Yes?¡± Taylor said, unsure what the problem was. ¡°I get a bit more every third or fourth day.¡±


    Four wasn¡¯t blinking at all. ¡°That¡¯s¡­for months,¡± slipped out. ¡°Ten total?¡± She said to herself.


    ¡°That¡¯s not healthy, Miss!¡± Wakumi insisted, distressed. Taylor was more preoccupied by the slowly growing sense of awe coming off of Four. ¡°I could get so much work done.¡± Four absently murmured.


    ¡°Staying at battle readiness is meant for when you¡¯re out and don¡¯t know when The Enemy fleet will show up, not forever.¡± The Carrier claimed.


    ¡°Training. Studying. Practice. Planning. Fourteen extra hours a week, all to myself.¡± Four seemed a bit stuck on the idea. ¡°Why didn¡¯t I think of this sooner?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Wakumi punched her in face, knocking the Heavy Cruiser flat on her back.


    ¡°But Wakumi-¡° Four whined from the sands as a second meaty thwack hit her stomach and stole her breath away.


    ¡°Hey! Stop that.¡± Taylor ordered. Shun detached herself and hid on her other side as Itchy stilled.


    ¡°I could learn-¡° Four gasped out.


    ¡°She needs to get-¡°, a second gut punch.


    ¡°More time!¡±


    ¡°-this thing out of her-¡±, Wakumi¡¯s fist ringing off of Four¡¯s breastbone like a drum.


    ¡°Russian!¡±


    ¡°head or she¡¯ll hurt herself,¡± Four¡¯s head snapping back from another blow to the head.


    The worst part of how Four was just taking it. Not even defending herself. Taylor was stunned speechless for a moment by the fact Wakumi just kept going. Just beating on Four right next to her.


    ¡°Fucking sToP.¡± The [Order] rang, and much more.


    Taylor had allowed Wakumi to take the lead in many things, but she was coherent now. Not nearly as cautious or frightened she¡¯d slip and lose control. Not alright, but no longer on the edge.


    The Flagship wasn¡¯t her Flagship and wouldn¡¯t be one at this rate. The fresh Princess wasn¡¯t actually sure what she did, only that some of her feelings on the matter were freely, empathically expressed.


    The blow did not hit her. Or stagger the Carrier. Carried on the wind of her freshly recovered strength it ripped right into Wakumi with barely a hint of effort. Punching through her like the Flagship was a paper kite with a soft, thin wooden skeleton. Barely slowed by its passage through a living, breathing girl.


    Still sitting down, Wakumi was pushed back over a meter by a gust of wind out of nowhere, leaving a divot in the sand. Abyssals were pale by nature, but Wakumi was the color of fresh paper now. Of bleach or a freshly applied white paint. Not a single drop of blood was spilled in the real. But in the other view, let alone [Fleet-sense]? She was a mess. Both Wakumi¡¯s hunched over, holding her guts in, burning with pain and distress.


    A moment later she lost it and bile dripped on the sand as the Carrier crumpled to the ground.


    ***


    The Ra-Class repair ship scowled. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to fix. Or at least, nothing I can fix, Princess.¡± The title was bit off, forced.


    ¡°You don¡¯t move. Not a twitch you stupid warship. Promise, or I will sit on you, fool, ¡°Kaede threatened. ¡°If you want to fully recover you won¡¯t move. But what do I know? Maybe you like getting hurt!¡± She accused, her palms clenched together.


    ¡°Yes Ma¡¯am. I know my limits,¡± Wakumi answered, sounding and feeling both in pain and faintly amused.


    Kaede scoffed, but she was out of words.


    ¡°Will she be alright?¡± Taylor asked, feeling¡­ like she¡¯d accidentally pushed a girl and she¡¯d fallen head first. Now the paramedics were here and she didn¡¯t know, couldn¡¯t tell how bad it was.


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    ¡°She¡¯ll be fine in a week. Probably up and hobbling around in two days. Flagships were made to be around Princesses.¡± The ¡°careless¡± bit was unsaid but Taylor heard it anyway. ¡°Warships are a stubborn lot,¡± she finished, both fond and irritated. ¡°You had to go and do this to yourself.¡± Kaede shook her head.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Again. To the both of you. I¡¯m not sure what happened.¡± Taylor said.


    ¡°What happened was that this idiot is still up to her old tricks. Best to learn by doing, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    It took Taylor a moment to figure it out. She remembered being set on fire, as a supposed training exercise. That wasn¡¯t the only thing that came to mind.


    *


    ¡°I volunteered. You needed to see it. Not just know, but feel it. It¡¯s important.¡± Wakumi insisted, still shaken.


    ¡°I¡¯m a Flagship. I can take it. I was the best choice.¡±


    *


    Taylor wasn¡¯t sorry anymore. She was aggravated. ¡°Wakumi.¡±


    The carrier winced. ¡°I can take it, Miss. I¡¯m a ¨C¡°


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter. No, I¡¯m done. How do I set ground rules? Clearly just telling you is not working.¡±


    ¡°Use a general order, Miss.¡± Four filled in.


    ¡°How?¡± Taylor demanded. The clouds above darkened, thunder ringing in the distance.


    ¡°Nothing can replace live practice, Miss.¡± The Light Carrier was still trying to convince her.


    ¡°Focus it at the [Fleet]?¡±


    It sounded like a question. Taylor glared at Four.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never done one.¡± She yelped. ¡°They never let me set the rules.¡±


    ¡°With good reason.¡± Taylor thought.


    ¡°Fuck it, the hard way it is.¡± [Fleet-sense] blew open, the connections live and vivid in her mind. She closed her eyes and fell away from the world to focus. No more distractions.


    [Status]


    Came into focus next and just trying to hold both was hurting her bridge. Manuals and books were torn open all over each station as each officer worked to find the damn thing. Slowly, [Fleet-sense] and [Status] intertwined until she could glimpse the gnarl of sea and seafloor that was [Fleet].


    In its wake, the shadow that was [Fleet-sense] bloomed into full


    [Fleet - Sense]


    Taylor¡¯s perspective shattered into ten pieces, one filled with static, three in the dark. There was potential here, but this wasn¡¯t what she was looking for.


    Deeper she dove, below the seafloor, into the links and lines that flowed underneath. Most of it was unchanging, rigid rock which made the mobile, living bits much easier to spot. Finally she grasped the deeply buried roots that carried [Order]-s.


    Into them Taylor carved with will and purpose the foundation of her [Fleet]:


    [Fleet ¨C Order ¨C General Order One: {You} don¡¯t lie to {Me}]


    The command rippled through the common waters, seeping into every river, each pool.


    The smallest of them huffed and puffed, but with put upon patience let it flow through her.


    Twin small yet deep lakes took to it with no complaint.


    One large yet badly shaken sea with cracked shores accepted it with poise, so much so Taylor could almost feel it shrug and hear the echo of ¡°It¡¯s to be expected¡±.


    Three tiny currents flowing within her had little choice and less desire to resist.


    Another ocean, independent yet flowing in her patterns bowed to the waves with ill grace and Taylor could almost hear it calling out to some distant shore to complain.


    The final was a calm sea, hale and hearty. Yet as the ripples touched it, Taylor knew it to be the most closed off of them all. Mists and mirages had obscured and hidden its true surface. It shook and shuddered. The collapse of its walls was like some inevitable surrender to an oncoming doom. Beyond the waters were churning with frozen horror and scheming foam as cold resignation fell like rain. In some places the waters boiled with anger and hate. It was a mess.


    Looking at it, Taylor knew exactly what to do.


    [Fleet ¨C Order ¨C General Order Two: No unnecessary suffering]


    Some of the reactions to the second ripple were significantly different.


    The broken shores rained warm resignation mixed with acceptance.


    The smallest pool sparked tiny, happy arcs of lightning.


    The twins warmed in joy.


    The ocean was still calling.


    The final sea¡­ settled. The jagged edges melted somewhat, softer now. The rain not so much stopped, but petered off into a light drizzle. The foam stuck around, to Taylor¡¯s irritation.


    Then there was an ocean, an unfathomably large and deep ocean rushing towards her and she was thrown from the vision, her focus shattered to bits. Taylor stumbled sitting down as the world spun, trying to parse the sudden invasion.


    ¡°Yes? Yes. I never really meant to take her Midway.¡± Taylor apologized to the pulses flowing back through the twins bond as Linolina listened in. The other Princess was ripped out of her grasp so fast she nearly didn¡¯t let her go in time. It felt like she¡¯d almost touched a hot stove. Except with frostburn instead of regular flames.


    It took a while for the world to start making sense again. Sapphire was there, waiting for her doom. Taylor could still think of her as Four, but that was increasingly getting hard as  Sapphire  wasn¡¯t playing along anymore. She couldn¡¯t.


    ¡°Fuck. Maybe I didn¡¯t entirely think this through.¡± Taylor could go back and change them, but just giving out those general orders had taken something out of her. Like a muscle that was sorely used and needed rest.


    ¡°So probably not today.¡±


    ¡°Sapphire? Just go away for a day or two. Finish up those copies.¡± Taylor tried not to think about how much of a hiss her tone had taken on.


    ¡°Surely there¡¯s a solution to this, right? One that doesn¡¯t end with me breaking her.¡±


    Because that just wasn¡¯t alright. No matter how nice it was to dream about. Taylor wondered how shipgirls would handle being covered in bugs and invaded by a living swarm. If a particular girl was subject to the flight of fancy, well it was only a dream.


    ***


    They¡¯d moved Wakumi into her room and since she was stuck there, Taylor had taken the opportunity to pick her brain over a light lunch.


    ¡°We are Abyssal shipgirls.¡± Wakumi said. ¡°Three things that are one.¡± She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts.


    ¡°Think of it like the points of a triangle. The bottom points the Ship and the Girl, with the Abyss at the top. Each is a way to grow, advance. Improve. So the manuals say,¡± Wakumi said, grinning as Taylor fed her another bite. Using thin slices of Abyssal steel instead of bread worked just fine. These houses were better stocked than Taylor had expected. Nothing with a short expiration date, but they had jams and butter.


    ¡°Personally, I¡¯ve always put the Girl on top, but don¡¯t tell anyone.¡± The admission left her flushed, embarrassed. Wakumi would get no judgment from Taylor for it. Taylor wasn¡¯t sure what it all meant but that still sounded better than the original.


    ¡°The Ship is about our class. How good our crews are. Their ratings. Officially-¡°


    ¡°Rookies, regulars and elites.¡± Taylor interrupted with familiar terms.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± An errant twitch sent a spike of pain into the carrier, but she bore it stoically. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Not all of them. Blue for newborns and veteran for those who just can¡¯t make it as elites but have picked up enough lesser tricks to be above regulars.¡±


    ¡°Are there ratings above that?¡± Taylor casually asked.


    ¡°Not officially.¡± Wakumi replied. ¡°But girls talk. Champion, Myth and Legend. Rumors have it that just reaching a Champion skill in anything will earn you a free refit and a promotion. Well, in any useful skill for the storm of battle. Sachi never did get a refit,¡± she mused. ¡°Probably for the best.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not just the crew but the total effect. How accurate your shots are, how well you dodge and how much punishment you can take for your class. It all adds up and a tiny difference can decide if you sink or not. Swift reloading and accuracy are particularly prized for gunboats.¡± Wakumi coughed.


    ¡°Sorry, that¡¯s not a polite term to use with a Young Miss, Miss.¡±


    Taylor rolled her eyes. ¡°Come on, you¡¯re injured on medical rest. You can drop the Miss. Speaking already hurts. You don¡¯t need to add extra words on top.¡±


    ¡°As you wish.¡± The carrier accepted, fighting back a grimace. Taylor helped her take another bite, relaxing in the reflection of the simple joy she got from such a minor thing. She¡¯d worry later about all the implications. That¡¯s what review time was for.


    ¡°The girl is us. Who we are. Courage, sewing and cooking. Drawing and writing.¡± She blushed.


    ¡°But the ones the Court cares about are useful for war: twist management, recovery care, logistics, tactics, and strategy. Research and discovery most of all. Leadership and languages too. It doesn¡¯t matter how good a commander you are if your girls can¡¯t understand orders. Keeping a calm head under fire is mandatory for any Flagship as well as sound judgement.¡± Wakumi said with pride.


    ¡°Being an exceptional ship will land you on the route for an Elite refit. Better suited for battle and trying to match The Enemy one on one. An exceptional girl is headed for flag rank. You still need to be at least a veteran ship to qualify. Flagships aren¡¯t quite as deadly as Elites, not always for their class. They¡¯re meant to command and endure the attentions of the Enemy. Lead, not risk themselves for a kill.  When a Princess or a Demon isn¡¯t around to command, they do. And in most Demon fleets, they handle executing tactical command anyway.¡± Wakumi said it like it was a given that Demons weren¡¯t great commanders.


    ¡°But no Flagship is a pushover. We¡¯re just more likely to be refitted with better eyes and for survival rather than killing power. There¡¯s only so much we can put in one hull,¡± she lamented.


    After a minute of quiet eating, it was apparent the girl was content to keep her silence.


    ¡°And the Abyss?¡± Taylor prodded.


    ¡°Right.¡± Wakumi started, then followed it up with another, louder hiss of pain.


    ¡°No moving!¡± Rang from downstairs.


    After a few labored breaths and a sip of water she gathered herself.


    ¡°You¡¯re asking about the Hierarchy of skills, ships and rituals.¡±


    Wakumi paused. ¡°How do I even explain that? Are you sure you don¡¯t know, Miss? You¡¯re really supposed to. Not everything about the rituals, but you were born a Princess. You don¡¯t know anything?¡± The carrier asked. For once, her deep distress had nothing to do with pain.


    ¡°No. Not really.¡± Taylor admitted. The admission felt like some deep, personal failure.


    A bark of sad, hopeless laughter forced itself out of her despite the pain.


    ¡°Well, at least there¡¯s an upside. Taylor?¡±


    For the first time, it felt like Wakumi was addressing her. Not some imaginary perfect princess Young Miss, or her servant/charge Bertha. Or even whatever it was that they¡¯d settled into as Miss and personal attendant.


    Instead it was just Wakumi, laying and in pain. A bit desperate and filled with grim humor, telling her a joke only she understood.


    ¡°Well, Taylor, let me be frank: You absolutely suck murk as a ship.¡± She unloaded on her. ¡°Your fliers aren¡¯t just blue, they¡¯re so fresh out of the sea I can hear them dripping all over your deck every time they step out of their planes. Your damage support crews and firefighting is absolute birdshit. Don¡¯t get me started on your turning or speed and I¡¯ve seen the excuses you call an engineering crew and I have to tell you dear, they are so bad they¡¯d be bad for a regular ship, not just a Princess.¡±


    ¡°Generally, as a ship, you are absolutely the worst ship I¡¯ve ever had under my command and that¡¯s without going into all the insubordination and sheer fucking gall of not accepting your damn place. Even your learning speed is so bad I feel like bashing my own head in. It¡¯s like I¡¯m teaching one of the monsters, not a girl.¡±


    Taylor was reeling from it, just a bit. After days of Miss this and Miss that this was refreshing but also not what she¡¯d expected.


    Wakumi rolled right over her. ¡°Then there¡¯s the girl. Damn infuriating and impossible on the face of it. You apparently barely sleep, work all day on something and then you crash like the dead. I¡¯ve never seen a girl that focused and intense about stuff that isn¡¯t their twist, except for some Princesses, which is maybe understandable. But then you don¡¯t know basic, basic shit and are just a general failure. Like twists or feeding yourself. Asking for another posting. Simple stuff. ¡± She hammered.


    ¡°And then? You pull crap out of nowhere. Like cooking and sewing and I don¡¯t even know what that was, in the lunchroom. Or from what I heard, the repeat performance on the beach. Where and how did you even learn to fight like that if you don¡¯t know anything else? And you read, fluently and speak and write two languages. Since when? How? And what have you done with the black market!?¡±


    Taylor had a feeling if she wasn¡¯t injured, this whole thing would be filled with frantic hand movements. It was probably because Wakumi kept twitching and then aborting them. Since it was coming out and she¡¯d all but caused the outburst with her orders, she listened.


    ¡°And the worst part is that damn graveyard. Your fucking presence just¡­ poofed. Now you see me, now you don¡¯t. Like you¡¯re a damn submarine, rising out of nowhere. Or that damn sinking thing to sleep you do. But no, that¡¯s not enough. You also pull Abyssal shit all the time. You asking me about skills is a fucking riot Taylor. You¡¯ve been using them all along and half the time I think you don¡¯t even notice. Or have a clue what you¡¯ve done or how. No fucking wonder your soup and stew are that good, when you¡¯re probably pulling minor rituals unintentionally on them.¡±


    Wakumi faced her, staring her right in the eyes.


    ¡°Taylor? You¡¯re one of the most ignorant Abyssals I¡¯ve ever seen. Despite all that, you also have to be one of the most talented natural wielders of Abyssal power to do all you do without having any clue about any of this. Abyss damn it woman, you don¡¯t make any sense! I don¡¯t have any idea how to train you in it. I can teach you Skills, but I¡¯m not a damn Ritualist! Cursed, frozen hells Taylor, did you have any clue what you were doing when you walked into one of Midway¡¯s Rituals? At all? Or are you that arrogant, confident?¡± The force went out of her with that final question.


    Taylor ignored the larger issues brought up and thought about it. Really thought about that final question. Had she?


    Slowly the answer came to her, surfacing from the deep, dragged into the light. ¡°I guess I never really thought about it. It didn¡¯t, wasn¡¯t important. Not something to worry about.¡± She tried to explain the mishmash in her heart. Because she hadn¡¯t thought about it. Had failed to even consider it. She¡¯d worried about Midway and the other girls reacting, but not about the massive whirlpool of dark water she was about to step into. She just knew she could do it.


    Wakumi looked at her in disbelief as Taylor peered, felt deeper. Tried to explain her reasoning or lack of it. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be hurt. It wouldn¡¯t hurt me. The Abyss wouldn¡¯t hurt me. Not on purpose, not without reason.¡± She finally murmured, bizarrely certain of it, voice falling with each word.


    The final sentence was beyond quiet. Beyond silent, words from a forgotten dream slipping from her lips. It was Silence rising out of the Abyss. Pouring out of her, coming into the world to hug it, her. Bathing in the light of a sudden flash descending from the Heavens.


    An ocean of Silence and a speck of Thunder meeting as one.


    ¡°I am yours and you are mine.¡±

 Chapter 7: Hierarchy

    Kaede lurched up the stairs.


    ¡°What the hell are those two doing up there?¡±


    The Ra-Class repair ship had heard a lot of soft hissing from above. Whatever the argument was, someone up there was going to get it. Kaede had felt that ripple in the world and as she marched up the stairs she was going to give those two such a tongue lashing tha-


    A brilliant blue hook exploded from the wall, embedding itself in the other side of the upstairs corridor. Kaede, frozen, felt a tiny drop of blood form on the very tip of her nose.


    ¡°Kaede? Why don¡¯t you go for a walk. I¡¯ll keep an eye on Wakumi.¡± The Princess suggested in a casual tone. She could take a hint. The repair ship didn¡¯t start cursing out crazy Princesses until she was well away from the house.


    ¡°What was the point of letting me look her over if you¡¯re just going to break her later, stupid?¡±


    ***


    Wakumi was not afraid. She was a bit worried. The Light Carrier had truly tried to replace the image of Bertha in her head with the Young Miss before her. She knew how disruptive it could be when people who knew you before a major refit still didn¡¯t recognize the new circumstances. Or accept them.


    It may have been a bit bumpy in the beginning, but she was Fleet now. It would be alright. Wakumi may have erred a bit, true. She¡¯d made her plans with the idea that they¡¯d have ten, maybe fifteen days to work with. With thirty she could take it a bit slower. The Flagship had planned to keep provoking her Miss, but had rethought when it was necessary upon hearing how much time they had.


    ¡°Then she blew up on me anyway.¡±


    That was the worry, really. The Young Miss had a lot of ease in calling forth power and little idea what she was doing with it. Wakumi wasn¡¯t worried about being tortured or played with anymore. Maybe just a bit on the played with part. ¡°Because if it helps the Miss with her burden, I might just volunteer.¡±


    But mostly no, she wasn¡¯t worried about arbitrary punishment. Or her twist, which didn¡¯t seem to do much to her Fleet. That was a relief. Her Princess hating her as Bertha had, in that terrible moment, would be unbearable.


    After an outburst like that, without a punishment to follow up? It was clear Miss was serious about trying for a more casual relationship. Wakumi wasn¡¯t sure how to do that right. It felt wrong.


    ¡°A Princess of the Court is a Princess. She deserves respect for carrying our burdens.¡±


    She had other worries right now, after the Miss so clearly pointed out that she wanted privacy. ¡°Miss?¡±


    Damn that look. Looking at Wakumi like calling her Miss was wrong. ¡°Silly, but she¡¯s my Princess.¡±


    Wakumi had trained herself to be polite and controlled. With the kinds of Royalty out there, it was a survival skill for any Flagship. But if her Taylor insisted. She still needed to deliver her warning.


    ¡°Taylor, one of the way Rituals are made is by studying skills. Personal skills. From them. The most widely known and used Ritual is derived from Far Sight. It¡¯s scrying, looking in and hearing distant places.¡±


    Wakumi wished she¡¯d been able to hear Taylor¡¯s Oath, but she was in no condition to listen in with a spirit this hurt. That was asking for complications. But Taylor even having a Personal Oath was telling. There was no way in the Abyss that she was actually a newborn. Wakumi was now sure of it. As Taylor settled in, her eyes growing distant, Wakumi wondered who her Taylor had been before being Taylor.


    There were always rumors going around among the middle ranks about crazy rituals used to affect or guarantee Ascension. The guarantees were always lies. Always. But Wakumi had heard some Princesses that were light on tonnage who were trying to switch, move up in Class first. Instead of seeking to Ascend further, there were myths and stories of a Ritual that would allow a girl or even, a Princess, to change her Class without Ascension and its risks.


    Wakumi would bet that if such a Ritual existed, the price would be steep.


    ¡°Maybe a whole lot of old memories. It would explain the lack of normal starting ones. Because really, how else do you get a Princess that can¡¯t even sail or fly, but has a personal connection to the Abyss?¡±


    Wakumi was her ship now and she understood Court games. She didn¡¯t play them, but the Flagship knew she was a piece to play with. Taylor¡¯s piece.


    After a few minutes to recover from her shifting around and for the burn in her everything to become something a bit more bearable, Taylor¡¯s eyes focused and the room pulsed. For a moment, Wakumi was back in that lunchroom. It felt like she was surrounded, an entire enemy fleet around her, all looking at her. A boilerbeat later, the eyes moved on even as her skin crawled. She managed not to shift and further aggravate her injuries.


    ¡°Is that why Missouri was waiting for us? She knew we were coming?¡± Taylor asked.


    Wakumi found herself missing a step again. Just when she thought she had a handle on where her Miss was going, she lost her again.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think Missouri would need a Ritual Taylor. She¡¯s the finest Seer in this ocean or any other. I¡¯ve talked to ships who went to see her, formally. She can see anyplace from the comfort of her home. Missouri can even peer through time. Predicting our arrival would be trivial. Even if the Court hadn¡¯t told her to expect visitors.¡±


    Something she¡¯d said had disturbed Taylor. That much Wakumi could tell. She¡¯d been accepted into the Fleet but would still need to earn her place in the inner circle. So far, only Itchy and Shun were allowed past the sandbars and shoals surrounding Taylor¡¯s calm, inner waters.


    Young Taylor; ¡°Young Taylor. That¡¯s it!¡± Young Taylor leaned back, thinking over her warning.


    ¡°These are neutral waters. Missouri is neutral.¡± After a short, expectant pause she clarified it as a question. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes Young Taylor.¡± Taylor twitched. Violently. Her eyes, which had turned away and were looking at something beyond the walls came right back down to this room and stared at Wakumi in surprise and a bit of discomfort. A slow blush built, from her chin all the way to the roots of her hair. But it was the slight upturn of her lips that sold it. A hint of a joyful little grin that told Wakumi she had her.


    ***


    ¡°Is everything alright Young Taylor?¡± The damn Carrier asked, feigning innocence even as her signal filled with glee, completely overriding the pain. If there was a hint of malice or mocking Taylor would have done something to retaliate, but there wasn¡¯t. The title was filled with warm affection that stunned Taylor. It was a term of endearment, not a subordinate calling her boss.


    Tinted with willingness to be of service, to be there and support her and significant inner relief. Faced with the evidence of how much Wakumi was struggling with the more casual terms Taylor was used to, she couldn¡¯t find it in herself to tell Wakumi to knock it off. Not when she¡¯d found a happy compromise that let her show the respect Wakumi felt was due and call Taylor by name as she¡¯d asked. No matter how embarrassing it was. Taylor was not a kid. She was probably older than Wakumi by at least ten years.


    ¡°But I can¡¯t exactly tell her that, can I?¡±


    It had absolutely nothing to do with how her inner six year old had decided to jump around and shout ¡°Princess Taylor, Princess Taylor!¡± Like it was real, like it could be real.


    ¡°Sure, the job comes with a hell of a lot of burdens and nasty obligations. Plenty of fucked up rules and twists to deal with. But hell if I remember the last time someone that wasn¡¯t family looked at me like that.¡±


    The Undersiders didn¡¯t count. ¡°They were family, in the end. A deeply fucked up family, maybe, but it counts.¡±


    Taylor got off that trail of thought before it spiraled. It had its ups and down, but now wasn¡¯t the time. She had questions.


    ¡°Just fine,¡± she denied with a sigh. Her face was still burning and wouldn¡¯t stop.


    ¡°You were talking about Hierarchy.¡± Missouri in person was a problem for another day. Scrying was a problem she needed to think about now.


    ¡°I hope there¡¯s some way to stop it. Now the need for the whole hair finger Morse code makes more sense. I¡¯d hate to be so limited for sharing secrets. Never knowing if someone is listening in.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Wakumi chirped. Her signal flared with pain again but she kept her game face on, barely pausing.


    ¡°The Hierarchy of skills, ships and rituals. Ships are easy. Experience we¡¯ve covered. Class is another, somewhat linked with tonnage. The bigger the ship, the more powerful and prominent they become, with Installations like Midway in charge.¡±


    ¡°Figures kids would default to the strongest being in charge. How does the Court even work like this?¡±


    ¡°Midget subs don¡¯t count as separate ships. Nor do artillery imps. I think your torpedo boats count as well, though Tender Princesses usually carry seaplanes. Installations are the ones with midget subs or artillery imps. These are all parts of the shipgirl; mobile semi-independent equipment. The repair baths work on them, so don¡¯t try to spare them.¡°


    Which Taylor already knew, but no point interrupting her.


    ¡°They¡¯re meant to sacrifice themselves if their mothership needs it. It¡¯s a common mistake for blue Tenders to spare and save their dependents, even at the cost of sinking themselves.¡± Wakumi advised.


    ¡°The lowest true independents are Destroyers. I-Class like Itchy are the oldest model. The models are I, Ro, Ha, Ni, and the Na-Class Destroyers. The Na is one nasty monster, with enough firepower to outmatch most Light Cruisers, at the cost of a standard destroyer¡¯s torpedoes.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s more than four Classes just for destroyers? I¡¯m going to need notes.¡±


    ¡°Next rank up are Light and Torpedo Cruisers. Ho, He, To and Tsu-Class Light Cruisers and Chi-Class Torpedo Cruisers. They¡¯re the smallest classes that are girls, not monsters. Well, among the warships. Subs don¡¯t count. They¡¯re sneaks,¡± Wakumi defended herself. It was lucky Shun had begged off coming ashore, or this could have started a whole new argument. ¡°Prejudice is alive and well in the Abyss.¡±


    ¡°Then come Heavy Cruisers and Light Carriers. Ri and Ne-Class Heavy Cruisers and Nu-Class Light Carriers. Like me.¡± The Carrier said with a wry twist of her lips. Part embarrassed to be talking about her class, and a bit proud. ¡°Battleships and Carriers might be the backbone of any fleet, but it is Cruisers and Light Carriers that see action on the regular.¡± Her face was calm, with traces of distant bittersweet poison that had long since settled.


    ¡°We¡¯re cheaper to repair and raise, and easier to replace if we can¡¯t come back.¡± The matter of fact way Wakumi had made peace with that was... Taylor tried to swallow quietly, feeling her fingers clench.


    ¡°Finally, there are Full Carriers and Battleships. Wo-Class Carriers and Ru and Ta-Class Battleships.  At the very top of regular ships are Re-Class Aviation Battleships, who can do both. They are rare and prized. Tend to be unpleasant for it. Sorry, I should be frank. They¡¯re spoiled and almost none of them have ever Ascended. Usually they want to be an even better ship, so the ones that are worth something become Elites.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s seventeen different models of ships. I think I have a lot of reading ahead of me if I¡¯m to plan a fleet around all this.¡± Taylor had known some of them, but this was still a lot all at once. It was like trying to learn the elements back in chemistry. They all meant something, but until they did, they were just names.


    ¡°That¡¯s also the standard line of command among regular ships, when a Flag or someone higher isn¡¯t present. It can get ugly when two ships of a similar tonnage but different class duel for leadership. It¡¯s usually Light and Torpedo cruisers, or a fight among the different destroyer breeds, but sometimes a couple of the big girls get into it and that can get expensive, quickly.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± Taylor interrupted. ¡°Wasn¡¯t Shinigami dueling a Heavy Cruiser as a Battleship?¡±


    ¡°At medium and close range, Heavy Cruisers can challenge Battleships. It isn¡¯t usually done, but it happens. Especially some of Midway¡¯s Ne-Class Kai upgrades. But putting so much ship into a girl, it¡¯s dangerous and can unbalance them further. Some of the finest Ne-Class Kai¡¯s can match or exceed a lesser Demon or Princess shell for shell. They¡¯re frightening in action and an asset to any fleet.¡± Taylor was hearing the point Wakumi was making but a large part of her wasn¡¯t appreciating it at all. The rest paid attention.


    ¡°There are a few special cases that aren¡¯t in the warship line of command. Submarines for one. Repair ships and fortresses. And transports, thought official command usually doesn¡¯t matter with them.¡±


    Wakumi laughed, even knowing she¡¯d be hit with pain a moment later.


    ¡°They¡¯re happy to help if not under other orders. Usually.¡±


    Taylor let her calm down before threatening: ¡°If you don¡¯t stop moving you¡¯ll be eating rations for the entire duration of your recovery. However long that takes.¡±


    The Light Carrier choked. Taylor was subjected to an entirely new kind of horror: watching a warship give her soulful puppy eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯ll be good.¡± Wakumi all but bawled.


    Taylor twitched and tried not to be sick. That wouldn¡¯t be good. Watching a warship beg, watching Wakumi switch like that from helpful assistant stoically putting up with her wounds to little girl in a flash was freaky. She managed to control her own expression, but something must have leaked because the next moment Wakumi was the one disturbed.


    ¡°Taylor, what the hell is wrong with you?¡±


    Fully aware they might have watchers, current or from the future, Taylor just shrugged. ¡°You said regular ships. What about the rest?¡±


    The Carrier looked at her for a few breaths, struggling with herself, before reluctantly dropping it.


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    ¡°It¡¯s a bit of a mess. There¡¯s Elites and Flagships which are clear enough, but also late models, Kai refits, Flagship remodels. It depends on what the Installation in question managed to invent, advance. That¡¯s without going into the various different models of Elite or Flagship that some Classes have.¡° The carrier was not happy with the disorder.


    ¡°As an overview, it goes Regular, Elite, and Flagship, which is where we started. The rest came after and is usually better than the original, but might not be better than an Elite or a Flagship of the same. In general, late models are better, remodels are better and might or might not count as a lesser Kai depending on who you¡¯re talking to. Real Kai¡¯s are flat out superior, each Kai improving on the last. As I understand it, a Kai isn¡¯t just a refit, or better equipment. A girl has to be very, very good and go through a lot of fights to qualify for a Kai once, let alone twice.¡± It was said casually which didn¡¯t make it any less pointed.


    Taylor gave Wakumi an entirely unamused look and lightly squeezed her shoulder to show she understood. The pain was incidental. The nasty thing was Taylor almost believed that.


    ¡°Yeah. This is a problem.¡±


    It didn¡¯t even feel like a choice. Just a sudden explosion of the sea of hatred she was keeping at bay and it was like watching someone else do it in her body. Like she¡¯d blacked out but could still see. The loss of control was sickening, and with her supposed weight and power went past terrible and into terrifying.


    ¡°How stupid is it that the familiarity helps deal with it? How much terrible shit have I faced that terror is familiar ground?¡± It was probably for the best not to think about that.


    It took a few minutes for the wounded girl to be able to produce any sound but a teeth-clenched, pained wheeze. Taylor spent them forcing her own inner demons back into their box. Or she might just leave Wakumi here and go looking for a more deserving target.


    ***


    The shoulder squeeze hadn¡¯t hurt. The rebuke that had flowed through it had set Wakumi¡¯s already tender insides on fire. She lost track of time trying to hold still and not make it worse. Her sight was blurry. Eventually things eased a bit. A large shape came into view and gently removed wetness from her cheeks. A few extra blinks cleared her sight.


    ¡°Right. I¡¯m done being a Flagship for today. It hurts too much. This issue is much worse than I thought.¡±


    ¡°Where was I?¡± She asked. Her voice shook a bit, but it was manageable, the pain down to a nasty burn instead of an overwhelming white-out. The room felt far too small, to be sharing it with an angry Princess while this weak, exposed. Wakumi had had worse, but it was usually after being shot in battle. The Enemy could hurt in a way only a Princess or a Demon could really reproduce. Still she smiled at her Princess. It wasn''t her fault.


    Wakumi felt another pulse coming and braced for more pain. It never came. As Taylor looked at her smiling face, a single tear fell from her eyes. Caught by the same fingers where Wakumi¡¯s own tears had gone. The Princess looked at the mixing tears in fascination. There was a distant roar somewhere far away and much too close as the Princess¡¯s pupils filled with incandescent light. Light reflected in her hand. The hand extended, a tiny orb of contained lightning hanging above Wakumi¡¯s chest and she was far too scared to speak. Interrupting a Ritualist, let alone a novice, was often costly if not deadly. The orb dropped, Promising an End. Wakumi hoped she wouldn¡¯t be dead long.


    ¡°Killed by my own Princess on accident. What a way to go.¡± Which was the thing. Nothing about the Princess or the Ritual felt malicious, hurtful. It didn¡¯t have to be to kill her worse than just dead. Not under these circumstances.


    The orb touched her flesh and passed right through without any resistance. The skies above her spirit opened up, blotting out everything as oblivion called. Some time later, Wakumi found herself still in bed, blinking. The Princess was still there and the shadows hadn¡¯t moved much. She felt¡­


    ¡°Better? How do I feel better?¡±


    No, she wasn¡¯t going to ask. The Princess already looked entirely too self-satisfied.


    ¡°Princess. Please don¡¯t use unknown Rituals until you know what you¡¯re doing. Instincts are good, but I¡¯d really rather not be scattered all over the Abyss on accident. It would be a miserable end for such a long serving shipgirl. A ritual misfire in neutral waters could also violate Court law. ¡±


    ¡°If you will not be sensible on your own, I am not above threatening you with other consequences. No matter how helpful this time, gambling like that isn¡¯t safe.¡± Wakumi took a moment to make sure the Princess had acknowledged the point.


    The fires had gone down to a low broil so they might as well continued where they left off.


    ¡°Beyond the exceptional come those who touch the True Abyss. Demons and Princesses.¡±


    She took a deep breath. Wakumi hated talking about Demons. The fear of becoming one, of falling to her nightmares had kept her from a crown of her own and every time the subject came up it hurt all over again.


    ¡°Taylor, the True Abyss? Well, I would give you the standard talk but you obviously know more than I do.¡± She pointed out with as much of a smile she could muster. Now that the initial excitement had passed over her new trick, Taylor was slowly slouching again. Wakumi hated to see her unhappy. It was bad for her and the Fleet. A sign Wakumi wasn¡¯t doing her job as a Flagship, even if she wasn¡¯t Her Flagship.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m done for today. Just answer her.¡±


    ¡°A Demon can come from many things and they come in many forms. Some seem perfectly fine on the surface. What they all share is that each and every one has allowed, or suffered to have their nightmares take them over. It¡¯s what happens when a twist wins, or a girl tries to Ascend and falls to her own inner Abyss, cracking her forever. Some of the Outcasts claim their ¡°methods¡± allow them to become Demons in a controlled manner, but even if true, it¡¯s horrible and stupid and why would anyone want to live like that?¡±


    Wakumi could barely tolerate her nightmares in her sleep, after long years getting used to them. To have them follow her awake would be unbearable.


    ¡°Almost without exception, Demons need minders for any serious planning and without an official exception, any Demon in Court service has one. If they don¡¯t, one is assigned. They rise in power, from Regular Demons, to War Demons, Water Demons and Named Demons. The Ghost of Kyushu is one you might have heard of.¡± The windows flew open, frigid winds filling the room.


    ¡°That was sudden. Who would have-Shun. She walked into the Ritual for her. How many seamines are hidden in those dark waters?¡± Wakumi wondered. ¡°How many more will I step on?¡±


    At least this time she didn¡¯t get chastised for overstepping. Still, Wakumi sent Her a silent apology. She hadn¡¯t known. Submarine on submarine combat was rare. Demons could complicate matters, ¡°But it doesn¡¯t really matter, does it?¡±


    ¡°Princesses follow a similar path, with much less misery, loss of control and sense. Regular Princess, War Princess, Water Princess, Named Princess. Midway is Named. There are plenty of Princesses with a common name beyond their class, but less than fifty formally Named worldwide. Probably less than twenty in Court. Maybe thirty if you count the Dominions as well.¡±


    Wakumi hadn¡¯t heard of all of them, but she knew quite a few of the locals. She felt a bit of awe, just thinking of the next part.


    ¡°But there is one more rank for a Princess to aspire to: to be an Abyssal Princess. Not a Princess of the Abyss, but one that brings it with her. They¡¯re pillars of the Abyss. Love or hate them, everyone knows of them. At least the ones still alive.¡± She corrected, filled with a sense of incredible inevitability and just a bit of disbelief at succeeding despite those odds. The Light Carrier still woke up some days and couldn¡¯t believe that so many fell forever and she was still here.


    ¡°The First Central, who¡¯s contribution is under Court Seal and even if I knew about it I couldn¡¯t tell you, Taylor. But even with the Court warring on the Outcasts, her followers? To conversion, death, or the bitter end. Despite that we still celebrate her birth each year for whatever it is she did. Everyone does. You¡¯ll hate it. Twists swell into bigger, nastier versions of themselves and its worse for Demons. Only Princesses are spared, or if not, good at hiding it. ¡° Wakumi doubted the second option, but it was there.


    ¡°Whatever her contribution, she¡¯s gone and not coming back, if she hasn¡¯t come back after all these years.¡± That was a relief. For all her supposed skill, that woman had been a real monster she was happy to have never had the chance to meet.


    ¡°The Second Central, who lost it all. She¡¯s retired and just Named now. But in her prime she was a force of nature, her work and deeds cut short.¡± Dwelling on what the world might look like if she hadn¡¯t been was pointless.


    ¡°The Twins whose entire fleets were lost when the enemy made their push. Northern Waters chief rivals and little else. For whatever else they might have been has been obliterated by the wars till only a few stories survive. One story names them close friends and allies of Katharine, but who knows?¡±


    Wakumi tried to keep the distaste out of her voice. It wasn''t her place to influence a Princess on matters like this.


    ¡°Leviathan, leader of the Outcasts. Said to poison or corrupt anything she touches, heir of the First Central and one of the finest flesh sculptors in the world. I think the Court is still working on breaking down some of her monster designs and she keeps coming up with more and better ones. She¡¯s half-monster herself.¡±


    ¡°And always looking to capture more girls to add to her cursed fleets. I hope Taylor doesn¡¯t take us too far down south. Fighting Outcasts is easier than most others, but the consequences of being captured alive are terrible.¡±


    ¡°Raven. Unstoppable, unsinkable. Death incarnate come to claim her due and the main reason the stars dare not fall on Abyssal fleets. Warden of the worst cells in any Court ocean.¡± ¡°And that¡¯s all I¡¯m saying on it.¡±


    ¡°The Party Princess, who makes her home on Jamaica. A neutral that has dedicated her life to enjoying life and finding new ways to do so. As well as introducing them to more girls. Apart from The Enemy, no one hates her. In the Abyss, with all our twists. Her goal has left her weak and without enemies to abuse it. She regularly uses the Court system to send out leisure activities.¡±


    Wakumi paused for a moment, wondering if Taylor even knew the Court broadcasts were a thing. She decided to test the waters.


    ¡°You might be interested in her cooking shows Young Taylor. I hear they¡¯re exceptional.¡± She added with just a hint of a playful smile. Better food meant better morale. She wasn¡¯t completely shirking her responsibilities. That she¡¯d benefit as well was just an extra plus.


    ¡°The Inner Sea Pirate. The only Abyssal fleet to have survived in the Mediterranean and a firm follower of the original Northern Water Princess. Her Dominion is lukewarm to the Court, at best. She loves a good fight. However, many European girls still look up to her.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d prefer to be in her fleet. But too many girls can¡¯t make it like that. You can¡¯t win a war, fighting separately when The Enemy is united. Since the Court is what works, here I am. Maybe someday.¡±


    Taylor interrupted her as she paused to figure out how to start the next part.


    ¡°This is the easy part? The one we already mostly covered?¡± She asked skeptically.


    ¡°Yes?¡± It wasn¡¯t complicated or very involved. ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡±


    ¡°Kaede might actually hurt me if I keep pushing you, Wakumi. Rest, relax. I¡¯ll find something else to occupy myself.¡± Taylor got up and the cozy atmosphere ebbed. Young Taylor opened the door, looking at the hole she¡¯d punched in the wall.


    ¡°Who maintains these?¡± She asked.


    ¡°Freighters Taylor. They do a lot, or don¡¯t you remember?¡± Teasing was probably risky, but it was fine for a parting shot. ¡°Casual, right?¡±


    Even if the reaction was bad, Taylor probably wouldn¡¯t take it out on her. Freighters, real ones, were used to taking it. It was part of how they made up for not standing in battle with everyone else.


    ¡°The sooner I can get a handle on our Princess, the less we¡¯ll all suffer in the long-term. You did order us to reduce unnecessary suffering Taylor.¡±


    She didn¡¯t freeze up, or really respond at all, leaving Wakumi stuck in bed, with nothing she could do. While there was an entire island of work to be done. Maybe intentionally trying to provoke her Princess into this wasn¡¯t the best idea?


    ¡°No. There was no one else. Like so many sacrifices, it had to be done. Now I just have to pay for it.¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°Paying for it is already unpleasant.¡±


    She knew what it was. It was worry. But there was nothing she could do anymore but delay her recovery, so with trained efforts she slowly shut herself down. It really helped in this difficult situation. Her working on the ability to rest or recover under any circumstance was something Wakumi was fairly proud of. Learning to do so again proved the right choice.


    ***


    Taylor was done after that deluge of information. She really wanted some time to go over it all. The freighter servant living with them, something any Princess was apparently assigned while in Anchorage, was happy to fix the wall and keep an eye on Wakumi. That was an unexpected surprise, when it really shouldn¡¯t have been. Of course she now has her own servants, trained to follow her every whim and wish.


    Taylor had tasted the other side of that training and she wanted nothing to do with it. She really could use a drink. As she emerged from her new home, the sun was just peaking over the horizon.


    ¡°It¡¯s late. But I don¡¯t really feel like sleeping or reviewing yet.¡±


    Nothing hard but she was sure she had some nice soft drinks in her hold¡­


    Here, somewhere. Why were her luxury goods in disarray?


    ¡­


    ¡°What happened to all of my things?¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°What do you mean you had a beach party!?¡±

 Chapter 8: Iceberg

    Taylor would be coming up with a fitting punishment for the crew. She understood, really. The beach party wasn¡¯t a bad idea, in principle. She was sleeping anyway. But breaking into her supplies wasn¡¯t something she could let go if she wanted to have safe supplies. She¡¯d have to deliver a memorable lesson, or a repeat would mean making an example. As much as her nightmares were nightmares, she was loath to hurt them too badly. They were hers, her crew. Every time felt like beating herself up and she had enough of that from the world.


    Taylor wanted to go to Shun. If there was a way to avoid the issues without sinking to hidden tapping, she wanted to know about it. Whatever else she was, the submarine was sneaky. But first, she wanted to see what she could do about her weight problem so as to avoid any more incidents. She was overdue a real talk with her hostess anyway. Taylor just hoped she¡¯d be able to pay whatever price was asked for the lesson. Linolina did not strike her as the same type of Princess as the Empress.


    She couldn¡¯t wait for Wakumi to recover to teach her. She wasn¡¯t allowed to do anything strenuous, especially of the same kind that hurt her. The other experienced giRl she had was out of the question for now.


    ¡°Maybe Kaede would know something? She was part of Midway¡¯s ritual staff.¡±


    ***


    ¡°She¡¯s coming this way,¡± Linolina announced.


    Kaede glanced up from the beer she was nursing. Linolina hadn¡¯t lied, she had given Kaede some of the good stuff. But after their welcome party, it was all beer. Happy, the repair ship, was not. It was still better than nothing.


    ¡°Think I can get to work?¡±


    ¡°Finally?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so Kaede. That¡¯s the stride of a girl on a mission. I¡¯ll leave you to it.¡±


    ¡°Oh come on! Abandoning me already? What¡¯s with you and that girl?¡± Kaede asked.


    Linolina hesitated.


    ¡°You tried to put her in her place and she flattened you. So what? It¡¯s not like it was serious. Just usual Princess precedence foolishness. With a bit of distance you can scrap her.¡± Kaede cajoled.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t the target.¡± Linolina snapped.


    Kaede reared back. ¡°Yeah, so? I felt its passing. It was sharp, sure. But you broke it with ease. What¡¯s the issue?¡±


    Lino was scared and that wasn¡¯t good. A scared Princess was a rash Princess and Kaede really didn¡¯t want to face Taylor alone. She¡¯d seen what happened to Wakumi. The scratch on her nose still itched and had vividly reminded her of the intent that had hit Linolina. Something like that would leave Kaede in pieces. She could pay Lino back later, first she had to survive.


    ¡°The last thing she does before falling asleep is hurt Lino, the first thing she does upon waking up is put Wakumi out of commission. I don¡¯t like my chances. She¡¯s normal one moment and lashing out the next.¡±


    Some girls were resentful. Kaede had tried to argue the point with Midway. ¡°But nooo.¡± She was sent for her ¡°familiarity with the new Princess.¡± Some days, Kaede wondered if Midway really was that bad at people, or just incredibly patient in enacting her revenge.


    ¡°The issue is she was perfectly ready to rip my head off. It was like she was a Demon. A Princess of the Court isn¡¯t supposed to do that.¡± Linolina hissed, as they went down the stairs and out the door.


    ¡°Yeah, well, she¡¯s new, that¡¯s why she could use guidance.¡± Kaede started to argue and ran out of time. Taylor was already in sight. Lino hadn¡¯t warned her until it was too late.


    ¡°Good luck.¡± The traitor said, abandoning her to fend for herself. Before Linolina had taken more then a few steps, broadcasting her excuses, Taylor responded:


    ¡°Actually, I was hoping to speak to you both.¡±


    ¡°Saved.¡± Kaede could feel her tension dropping.


    ¡°That¡¯s what you get for running away.¡± Kaede whispered, sending Linolina a victorious look that left the Princess supremely unimpressed.


    ¡°You are going to lecture me on running away?¡± Linolina pointedly reminded her.


    Kaede winced. They were never going to let that go, were they? You abandon one island and suddenly you¡¯re in the shithouse for life. Well, at least she had fresh drinks again. Midway did not let her staff smell of alcohol. Or indulge at home. Or really let Kaede do anything fun on account of the whole abandonment thing.


    At least she had beer. She could barely feel the burn but anything helped.


    ***


    Taylor wasn¡¯t sure what she was expecting. The other Princess had greeted her in rigging on their first meeting, from what little she remembered. As she got closer, the picture didn¡¯t change. The two girls before her almost didn¡¯t look Abyssal. Kaede had put on a light, yellow beach dress with blue sandals, while Linolina was in a very daring two-piece swimsuit with a massive white beachhat and dark sunglasses. The Princess was barefoot and didn¡¯t care one bit. It made Taylor aware she¡¯d gone barefoot herself, leaving little ponds in her every footstep in the sands.


    Both were pale, of flesh and hair, one with unnaturally shining eyes, but that was it. Out of their rigging, in the dawns light, they looked nearly human. Kaede was like a sick albino with novelty contacts, but with the sunglasses and the Princesses generally prettier looks, she could pass for some strange beach model.


    ¡°That reminds me.¡±


    ¡°One moment.¡± Taylor took a minute to launch the camera modified seaplane as she walked. If there were people on the final island, she wanted to see it. Without hurting someone by chance.


    The two were oddly silent while she worked, looking at her like something was off but there was no clear sign that Taylor could pick up on for what was bothering them.


    ¡°What?¡± Taylor asked as she got to the front porch. She might as well ask.


    Her hostess was silent but Kaede looked her up and down. It felt like being checked out, but she didn¡¯t shy away. There¡¯s no way that was happening.


    ¡°Could you spend one day without pulling more Spooky Bullshit? Please and thank you.¡± Kaede responded.


    That didn¡¯t actually answer her question.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Linolina sullenly asked. ¡°I have work to do, you know. I¡¯m a busy Princess.¡±


    She was still not happy with her. Thing was, Taylor wasn¡¯t sure if apologizing was the right move. She¡¯d seen the bickering among the other Princesses, but that was usually at range. With freighters carrying messages, not live. Would it be seen as a sign of weakness for this kind of Princess?


    The Court session had included lots of bickering, but Freddy, the Empress and at the end, even Midway were mostly reasonable.


    ¡°Or at least the Abyssal version of trying to be reasonable and responsible.¡±


    Taylor wasn¡¯t sure if the pettiness and bitchiness were her memories and perception being messed with, or if the three were an exception.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t there something about a table at Court in Shun¡¯s story? A Table that made rules for the Court, or something?¡±


    Kaede was technically attached to her fleet. ¡°Kaede, what usually happens when a Princess is assigned to an Anchorage?¡±


    The repair ship glanced between the two princesses keeping a careful watch on each other and took a short sip of her bear. Waves were rolling in and a fresh ocean wind blew in from the beach, but her swallow still seemed unnaturally loud against the natural backdrop.


    ¡°Usually, they¡¯re both part of the same fleet. A Princess higher up assigns and orders it. So there¡¯s no trouble.¡± Kaede answered.


    ¡°Trouble.¡± Taylor snorted. ¡°That. I want no trouble. I want peace.¡±


    Linolina opened her mouth to speak before being cut off. ¡°And some very basic lessons on how to Princess. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m trying to throw my weight around.¡±


    Lino frowned, doubtful. ¡°What, it just happens? All on its own?¡± The Anchorage Princess derided.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Taylor admitted. She didn¡¯t actually know what she was doing. Or how.


    ¡°Why is that so hard to believe?¡±


    Seeing the continuing disbelief, she threw her hand out towards the beach, irritated. The proof was all around her, why pretend? One of deck planks sheared in half and ripped from the floor, splinters flying all over the sands. The effect hadn¡¯t started where she¡¯d gestured but from her right toe. It had only vaguely gone where Taylor had wanted. Namely, away from the house and the three of them.


    Linolina frowned, examining her handiwork. ¡°You¡¯re paying for that,¡± she absently said.


    Slowly, her face lost all expression. Taylor felt her tension rising. ¡°Someone planned this.¡± Linolina claimed. ¡°Someone sent you to me, like this, with her. I knew I shouldn¡¯t have started skipping Court sessions.¡± The Anchorage sighed.


    ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll help. In turn, you stay on your side of the island. I¡¯ve got an entire convoy of newly raised girls fresh from the Abyss to care for. Way you are, you¡¯re a menace to any of them.¡± Linolina shook her head, watching Taylor like she might bite her.


    ¡°In case you didn¡¯t know, Hawaii is the Pacific Jamaica. War weary girls are assigned this station to recover. Pull themselves together again. It¡¯s what I do. You don¡¯t bother any of my other guests, and I¡¯ll help you with the power exercises. Deal?¡±


    Her eyes swiveled, like cannons, pinning Kaede to the spot. The auxiliary was shaking her head in denial.


    ¡°I¡¯m only here to map Taylor and plan her refit!¡±


    ¡°Kaede,¡± Linolina expressed. It wasn¡¯t said, it was a wave bursting from her. Taylor was barely clipped and still she felt as if her supervisor had caught her using her swarm voice in public with fans. That Weaver had had fans still boggled her mind sometimes. ¡°What were we talking about?¡±


    ¡°I know your official orders, ship, what did Midway suggest?¡± Linolina pressed.


    Kaede crumpled into a chair, draining her bottle dry.


    ¡°That if Taylor has any difficulties, I make myself available.¡± She whispered. Not ashamed, or embarrassed, but genuinely scared. ¡°You can¡¯t tell anyone. Anyone Taylor. Uh. Young Miss. Please?¡±


    Taylor looked from one girl to the other, waiting for one of them to let her in on whatever it was they were talking about. ¡°Kaede used to be a Princess.¡± Linolina bluntly said, to the girls soft moan of ¡°Noooo. Don¡¯t I get a say in this?¡±


    Taylor paused. Trying to work out the implications of that.  Going through her memories to see what stood out in light of this new information even as she maintained an unperturbed mask.


    ¡°I see.¡± Taylor said, buying time. The other Princess gave her a few breaths to consider it before pushing on.


    ¡°She can handle the theory, I don¡¯t have the patience for all that talking. But when you want to have fun, come on over.¡± Linolina said, stiff. Formality did not suit her. ¡°Just call ahead first. My work is important and delicate. I wouldn¡¯t want an amateur disturbing it.¡±


    The dismissal was familiar, but Taylor decided to fight that battle another day.


    ¡°As long as you don¡¯t try ordering me around? Deal.¡± Taylor went to shake on it, only to turn it into running her hand through her hair. No one shook hands in the Abyss.


    Linolina watched her fumble with confusion. She shook her head and scoffed. ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to get that?¡± She asked, giving Taylor one mean smile.


    ¡°What is she t-¡± Kaede was booking it. The repair ship had used their discussion to somehow slip away and was running over the sands. ¡°How did I miss that?¡±


    ¡°Kaede what are you doing?¡± Taylor shouted after her. The impulse to run after her and beat her into the ground until she started making some sense rose up and she fought it down. The next obvious solution was to simply order her back, but for one, Kaede was attached, not Fleet. For another, Taylor wasn¡¯t sure she wouldn¡¯t hurt her by trying.


    ¡°Kaede, I¡¯m not going to hurt you! Just stop, we can talk about this.¡± Taylor called after her.


    ¡°She¡¯s your problem now,¡± Linolina finished, heading back to sea.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Taylor asked, feeling torn. ¡°At least show me how to vent safely. I don¡¯t want to break one of them on accident.¡±


    Linolina turned back, her eyes filled with scorn and surprise, before growing thoughtful. ¡°You actually don¡¯t know how, do you? Huh. Weird. Just plug it in, it¡¯ll disperse on its own.¡± She looked one part convinced this was enough, obvious, one part suspicious it actually wouldn¡¯t be.


    ¡°Into what?¡± Taylor asked, feeling like she was the child, not a grown woman who¡¯d fought horrors beyond Linolina¡¯s imagination.


    ¡°Your storm.¡± The other Princess replied. She must have noticed the next question on her lips because she cut Taylor off. ¡°I¡¯ll show you.¡± Linolina raised both hands Taylor¡¯s way, before scowling.


    ¡°Don¡¯t cut me,¡± the Anchorage warned.


    Taylor felt the waves come again, the feeling familiar from their first meeting. She wasn¡¯t half out of her mind with exhaustion now. They didn¡¯t feel as heavy, as overbearing as last time. Didn¡¯t try to bully their way in. They flowed into her shallows and were repelled by Taylor¡¯s own current. This time they didn¡¯t fight it, staying near the edges. The foreign currents swirled around her and went¡­up?


    Taylor could see it, feel it. Just looking at the process once gave her a good idea that she could do it. It felt like watching someone whistle. No clue that it was possible until you saw it done.


    Taylor knew she could do it. Something held her back. Warned her that it was dangerous, somehow. Not a trap, but something. The Anchorage retreated and she couldn¡¯t help but compare their currents. The other girl¡¯s were free, flowing every which way, including into the winds above. Taylor raised her eyes, watching the minor shower. Created or summoned by the demonstration. Her own currents weren¡¯t like that. They felt like ropes, chains, stretched and bound tight. Straining against something beneath the surface. If she let them go, it would come out.


    Whatever it was, she did not want to try it in front of a stranger. Of that, Taylor was certain.


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    The Anchorage waved goodbye and left. More than happy to be away from Taylor. Like she was infected, contagious or something. Or just dangerous.


    Slowly, Taylor walked after Kaede. She did not want to look any worse before another Princess but that wouldn¡¯t be a problem for long. Also, chasing after the fleeing girl would only scare her more. Kaede didn¡¯t so much as look back. She did glance back as Taylor launched another plane to keep an eye on her. Not chasing her didn¡¯t mean Taylor was just going to let her run away.


    ¡°Where are you even running to? This island isn¡¯t that big!¡±


    The repair ship if anything ran faster. As soon as Linolina was out of sight, Taylor started jogging. This was a mess.


    ***


    If she¡¯d stuck to the island, Taylor would have caught her quickly. Somehow, the idea that Kaede would hit the other side of Maui and keep going hadn¡¯t occurred to her.  The moment her feet touched the sea, it was a lost cause. Taylor couldn¡¯t accelerate that fast and even if she could, her turning was terrible. At no point had Kaede responded to calls to come back, or explained what was so terrible that she wouldn¡¯t even entertain the idea of talking about it.


    So Taylor found herself at the shore, staring after her retreating back.


    ¡°No,¡± she told herself, feeling her patience run out.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what your problem is, but I¡¯m getting some answers.¡± A call went out to her fleet. She spent the next fifteen minutes on comms reassuring Wakumi that she really didn¡¯t have to get up. Half an hour later, Itchy came around the side of the island.


    Taylor¡¯s spear-arm rose, pointing to the horizon where Kaede had disappeared.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see you outrun this.¡±


    ¡°Fetch.¡±


    The destroyer tore away from the shallows, leading Bruce, Judy and Bentley after the unresponsive girl. Shun slowly followed in Itchy¡¯s wake, looking around.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± The subgirl asked, watching them speed away.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Our auxiliary ran.¡±


    ¡°I can try now. There¡¯s no one around.¡±


    Taylor launched her third plane to make sure no one was sneaking up on them. There was no one.


    Taylor and Shun were the only two people on Maui. The sub came up to the shallows, lingering there. Not quite close enough, so Taylor walked out into the surf. The touch of the ocean on her bare feet was calming, a bit.


    ¡°Wakumi told me about scrying. How does a Black Market work with something like that around?¡±


    Shun gave her an amused look, twisting her lips into a wry smile. ¡°By being good at what we do.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re admitting you¡¯ve been trafficking in forbidden goods to a member of the Court?¡± Taylor teased.


    ¡°Of course not.¡± The sub scoffed. ¡°I know some girls who know some girls.¡±


    It was Taylor¡¯s turn to choke. Hers was choked off laughter.


    ¡°You going to give me an offer I can¡¯t refuse?¡± She quoted.


    Shun looked at her in pure incomprehension. It sparked in her head with Wakumi¡¯s mention of broadcasts. ¡°How do broadcasts work?¡± Taylor asked.


    Shun shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not sure? Princesses mostly use them as rewards, letting good girls watch while the rest have to find out for themselves.¡±


    She fidgeted in place. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen one,¡± Shun admitted.


    Taylor wondered if Shun had always been unhappy with her position.


    ¡°How old are you anyway?¡±


    ¡°Twenty-eight months.¡± The subgirl admitted, wistfully.


    The answer rang around Taylor¡¯s mind, ringing in the silence. ¡°She¡¯s two. Two.¡±


    ¡°Scrying. Well, you are my Princess now, or you will be. I guess I should teach you.¡± She was feigning reluctance, but Taylor could see right through her. The bubbles of happiness were a clear giveaway.


    ¡°You¡¯re halfway a submarine yourself anyhow, with how you sleep Taylor.¡± Shun joked.


    ¡°Come on.¡± The submarine pulled on her arms. ¡°Come on. You¡¯re too heavy.¡±


    Taylor let Shun pull her deeper, still a bit dazed, until most of her stomach was under.


    ¡°First thing, submarines are resistant. Don¡¯t ask me to explain it, I don¡¯t know how it works. But we¡¯re sneaky so stuff that¡¯s meant to find us kind of struggles with it. It¡¯s not immunity, but it gets harder. Being underwater helps as well. No light, no sight.¡± Shun babbled on, enthusiastic with the topic.


    ¡°The other girls told me scrying isn¡¯t great on clarity without something to home in on. Or exceptional skill behind it. Weak or no light messes it up, underwater messes it up, fine sounds mess it up.¡±


    As she talked Taylor was picking up on a dolphin. This wasn¡¯t unusual, dolphin and whale song had always been in the sea, just beneath the surface. It came and went. But this one, for all it sounded perfectly normal, was coming from right in front of her. From a two year old. The chirps and clicks meant nothing to Taylor, but slowly Taylor understood as Shun talked.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°It¡¯s ridiculous. I can¡¯t hear the difference between her and the actual dolphins in the background.¡±


    ¡°So when using something against scrying, it¡¯s best to use stuff that¡¯s hard to spot, listen in on, or unclear if not heard precisely. So that even a simple message, like saying ¡°Hello¡± gets lost in the background noise.¡±


    Shun was talking slower now, with short pauses between each word, her rigging chirping and clicking as she spoke. The sub didn¡¯t sound like a dolphin, she was an entire pod all on her own. Taylor couldn¡¯t make the sounds herself, not yet. Her merry bunch of maniacs had already jumped on the problem, already trying to decode not only what Shun was saying but every recording of dolphin and whale song they had. Another group of insect sensor crew worked on their own speakers, trying to figure out how she was making the calls. They¡¯d stolen some of the more promising engineering crew for manual labor.


    With her current gear, she could do this much: Taylor played back Shun¡¯s own voice, the chirps and clicks she¡¯d emitted when saying ¡°Hello.¡±


    The smile she got in response was tiny. But of every face Shun had shown her, this one was truly heartfelt. Shun didn¡¯t lie to Taylor, not anymore. But she could still leave things out or exaggerate them. ¡°Or maybe force herself to react in a certain way.¡±


    This smile was a concealed, shy joy. Seasoned with a hint of disbelief and anxious to show itself to the world. It was utterly sincere and entirely true to {Shun}. All she was and is, held in one moment, happy to be here with her.


    ***


    Teaching Taylor Subspeak was one of the best days of Shun¡¯s life. Ever since she found out Taylor had sonar, she¡¯d been tempted. It would have made many of their talks much safer, but it was forbidden. Only subs and the occasional Princess were allowed. Those who showed an aptitude. It was silly that Shun was teaching her Midway¡¯s songs, when Midway herself was deaf. But Midway was the boss, so the Pacific songs were Midway¡¯s, even if she never knew.


    She didn¡¯t have to know. The entire submarine underwater knew. Midway was precious. A Princess that really cared. Shun¡¯s problem with Midway was that she cared about the big picture. A very big picture with lots of girls. Shun knew she wasn¡¯t special. Not in smarts, skill or strength. She¡¯d seen the move as an opportunity, a chance to advance and grow. Only to find out that life at Court was so much harder than in the Dominions. The war kept every girl sharper, they trained harder, more. Had better gear, rigging, just more. More competition. More fighting, dying. That¡¯s why they were better.


    Shun had jumped on several plots to get out of there. A transfer would mar her irreparably. She couldn¡¯t exactly say she wanted to leave because she couldn¡¯t take it at Midway. Shun just wanted a smaller front, a Princess that didn¡¯t fight massive fleets. If she quit, no one at Court would take her afterwards. So she¡¯d tried all kinds of things and only sunk deeper. In debt, in reputation. Until she gambled on an odd freighter and finally won. Won beyond her wildest imaginings. The nightmares were gone.


    She dared not tell any of the other girls. Afraid that if she did, someone would want to examine her and they¡¯d break it somehow. Shun didn¡¯t know how it happened and she wasn¡¯t risking it for anything. Only that it had something to do with Taylor. For that, she¡¯d won the sub¡¯s true service.


    Except, as Taylor kept amassing gains, Shun fell further and further back. She¡¯d always thought she¡¯d be the one teaching Taylor about the world, only for the chance to be snatched from her. What could she teach that Wakumi or Sapphire didn¡¯t know better? Then Suri had given her an invitation, to tell Taylor she could drop by any time. An invitation that was still in her (stow) and awaiting delivery. From the Seer.


    Taylor was busy. She was always busy. Shun didn¡¯t like it but couldn¡¯t get herself to actually try and sabotage any of it. Taylor needed the best teachers she could get and Shun wasn¡¯t one of them. So she¡¯d slowly been pushed out, left to manage her dark contacts in Taylor¡¯s absence. Contacts Sapphire was trying to control through ordering Shun around. Sometimes being a sub had its perks. The Heavy Cruiser could huff and blow wind as long as she wanted, subs weren¡¯t in the regular chain of command.


    ¡°But this? This is mine. Something only I can do. I won¡¯t fail you, my Princess. We¡¯ll fill your empty head all the way up until you¡¯re the best Princess on the oceans.¡±  She¡¯d tell Taylor about the invite tomorrow.


    They¡¯d settled in to wait, talking about everything and nothing. Shun had never spent so long on the surface without dipping in to cool off. The sub hated being on land. She was blind there. Sight not sound ruled the surface. She missed having a traveling storm to protect her from the hateful light and the blindness of the sky. Shun never knew if an enemy plane was somewhere up above, her ears no use for hunting tiny targets far above.


    Much like listening to the girls bicker, flight training, cuddling her in her sleep or Itchy and Scratch being nearby, talking to her helped Taylor.  It was always there and Shun didn¡¯t know what else to do. Taylor kept it away from the others, far in the back, on Sapphire¡¯s side. Only Shun, Itchy and Sapphire knew of the ice in her inner waters. Bunched up, like an iceberg hovering over the outer shoals, almost overhanging above the Heavy Cruiser.


    But all that ice on the surface was nothing to the frost beneath. Dark and jagged, sharp and cutting beyond mercy or sense. The dark crystals beneath the waters would sometimes spark with sickly inner light, similar to the sunlight that hurt her eyes. Last night she¡¯d caught flashes in the light, images of some grand slaughter and a garden of stone flowers.


    It melted a bit from all their efforts but there was always more. Always. Rising from the depths like some endless nightmare. Shun wondered if this was how the twist of a Princess looked like.


    She felt the ice moving, straining, trying to break free. For as much as they kept melting the surface, it was Taylor that kept it down. Slowly, those bonds were breaking, relaxing. Shun had no idea what would happen when they did. But as long as she could, she¡¯d do everything in her power to fight it. She wasn¡¯t sure Taylor would survive it.


    ***


    ¡°Something has been bugging me for a while.¡± Taylor said, listening and recording everything Shun said, both ways.


    ¡°Where are all the boys? How are girls born?¡±


    Somewhere in their talk Taylor had sat down a bit back, only her shoulders above water. Each wave would splash over her. The first one was a bit scary, but vague memories of her sleeping on the beach kept her in place. It was refreshing. Nice, if weird. As far as she knew, Taylor was not a submarine. It went on the list of ¡°Odd, but potentially useful¡± stuff. Something to look into later.


    ¡°What do you mean Taylor? Itchy is a boy.¡± Shun answered, her brows scrunched up.


    ¡°I know he¡¯s male,¡± ¡°even if I wasn¡¯t always sure about that,¡± ¡°but what about actual boys? You know, male girls?¡±


    Taylor wasn¡¯t actually sure how much the two-year-old knew.


    ¡°That¡¯s a stupid question.¡± Shun dismissed. ¡°You can¡¯t be a male girl, silly. We have faces. Real ones, not the ugly things monsters get. Girls can talk and most have arms and legs. We can take our rigging off, walk around on land, for whatever reason. We¡¯re girls. They can¡¯t, so obviously they¡¯re boys. You can¡¯t be both, that¡¯d be silly.¡±


    Taylor took a moment to comprehend that answer. ¡°How are new girls born?¡±


    Shun¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°That¡¯s an odd way to put it. They either rise from the Abyss by its will, one of the Installations summons them, or one of the special Princesses can make a new girl. Mostly the lighter Classes, for the last one.¡±


    She snorted. ¡°Or you just call up a Shell. Those are much easier and littering the Abyss. But they¡¯re not exactly girls.¡±


    As Taylor prepared a new question two things happened. Her scout plane returned from Hawai?i, with its recordings. As her crew set that up, Taylor watched Kaede get cornered. The Imps came in trying to threaten her with torpedoes before Itchy snapped at them. The destroyer had a much simpler solution. He just matched speed and heading with the fleeing girl and slowly started turning, right next to her. She could turn, or crash into him. She turned.


    The patrol boats took her other side, falling in, leading her back to Maui. Kaede tried to lose them multiple times during the full turn, but they were faster and more maneuverable. Even Itchy. It would take a while, but they¡¯d get her back. She still wasn¡¯t talking.


    Shun had fallen silent, turning in her lap to hug Taylor, laying her head just below Taylor¡¯s chin. Tucking into her and latching on like a tiny octopus.


    ¡°You went away.¡± The sub accused.


    ¡°I have some work to do.¡± When Shun started letting go, Taylor wrapped her own arms around her.


    It helped her breathe, somehow. Made it easier.


    ¡°Why am I still so tired after sleeping so long? I don¡¯t understand it. My body feels fine, fully operational. Deal with it later Taylor. I need to see those recordings.¡±


    Tapes. Now that she was watching them do it, they were using tapes. Taylor didn¡¯t dwell on it. On to the list it went. She didn¡¯t have time to figure out on which list to put it, so it went down under ¡°General weirdness¡± until it could be sorted.


    First thing she noticed? Her tapes weren¡¯t as good when she wasn¡¯t looking through them. Not the recordings, but the making of them. A quick check confirmed it. If Taylor recorded something as she was looking at it, the result was a high end, almost Tinker like record. The pictures impossibly crisp and clean.


    But left to do it alone? It was some old-time video, made in the early days of movies. It was grainy and Taylor almost could see it as being black and white. A silent movie. It wasn¡¯t, but this felt like the video that came right after. Like footage from D-day, but with color and sound. Poor sound.


    It was still enough. The very north-western tip of the island was barren. A small peninsula that stuck out. The rest was green. Well, green, rocky and red. Several streams of lava flowed over the island from two active volcanos. There were Abyssal freighters near the endpoints of those streams, working. Mining the fresh rock where it met the sea, while it was hot and soft. While that was an interesting detail for later planning and questions, Taylor wound forward to the people. And there were people. Not some small detachment on a tiny island within an island.


    Villages, towns of them. With schools and libraries, markets and parking lots. Just going about their lives. A slow hiss escaped her lips as she found proof. Proof that people could not merely survive, or serve, or whatever it was so many uniformed staff were doing with Missouri. But live. Towns, villages, civilians, living right next to Abyssals.


    ¡°It¡¯s not impossible. Not ruins or endless war. Not a lost cause.¡±


    Something deep in her chest slowly gave way, as she watched thousands, tens of thousands of civilians go about their day, unmolested. Not untouched, because there were some signs of trouble. A few destroyed buildings, broken roads. Bombed out shops. Some of the northern towns and villages, near the border of the ravaged soil, were mostly abandoned. Not wrecked, but packed up. People leaving, with a few probably stubborn holdouts still flying US flags. She knew the type.


    Taylor watched them live, hearing the murmur, shouting and talking. The few still running cars and trucks using their horns in the distance? It was all hurting her chest. Making the air painful. Something was breaking in her. They were fine. Untouched.


    Taylor come back to the shores of Maui, feeling Shun shaking in her lap. Slowly, something was seeping out of her and Taylor whistled. For the first time in her new life, she did it fully on purpose, watching the effect like a hawk. Pouring Silent power into the air, careful not to so much as brush against Shun. Thunder rumbled far above, clouds forming out of nowhere. Darkening the sky.


    Shun was shivering, but that sense of something breaking out, going out of control was entirely absent. Taylor was a balloon that now had an outlet before she blew. For all that Shun was cold, she was safe. But none of it changed a thing.


    Taylor stood up, Shun clinging to her. Turned her face down to watch her reflection past the limpet. She had samples now. A point of comparison. Her wide mouth opened, showing two lines of pointed, jagged teeth. How did she ever think she was still speaking in her own voice, with this? Listening to the people talking, sellers shouting, it was clear her voice was nothing like theirs. Another lie, another twist. The tentacle-whip-spear thing she had for an arm whipped through her reflection, but that only banished it for a moment.


    ¡°I¡¯ve lost my hair color, my eyes, my arm, my teeth and my voice. They¡¯re not mine anymore, but of some other Taylor. An Abyssal, a Princess.¡±


    The best she could say about it was that at least she wasn¡¯t ugly. Unless something was messing with her sense of esthetics, there was a terrible, stark beauty to her visage, intertwined with the monstrous horror show.


    ¡°Not human anymore Taylor. Not at all. At least now I know I need to practice speaking. I could do it with bugs, how hard can it be?¡±


    Taylor focused on things she could change. There was no point dwelling on things she couldn¡¯t. She could deal with it later, when she didn¡¯t have so much work waiting for her. Yet somewhere in the back of her mind, a thought lingered as cold rain fell from the dark clouds.


    ¡°How much more must I lose?¡± had attached itself to the image of her reflection in her head and kept pulling at her. Pulling her away from her work. Taylor was freezing and barely felt it. Shun squeezed so hard it had to hurt her, metal shaking with effort. It pierced the cold. A soft, warm voice whispering in her neck, calling her back.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t go Taylor. Don¡¯t go away again. I don¡¯t want the nightmares to come back. Stay with me. Don¡¯t leave me alone under the blind skies,¡± the twenty-eight months old sub begged.


    How could she explain? Tell her, burden her with any of it when Shun wasn¡¯t even three.


    It was a sick joke, funny if it wasn¡¯t unbearable. Unlivable.


    It came then, like a beast trying to break free. Enough power to shatter Shun into so many pieces Taylor would never find all of them. A pained howl exploded from her lips. She threw it into the sky.


    For over a dozen meters in all directions, the beach and the sea froze from the recoil as cold rain turned to heavy snow. Taylor had suspected that maybe all this loss of control had something to do with the footprints, or the dark circle. It had only started once they were near Hawaii. It was idle speculation that didn¡¯t seem right to her head. But it felt right, to blame something else. She¡¯d spent months burying herself in work and running, trying to survive.


    Under the cover of the sudden flurry, her eyes were leaking. Not with drops of lightning or dark power. Not in ritual or rage.


    Simple tears of a young woman who hurt too much to say, to speak in anything but pain. Her body was fine. Her crew silent. Her heart was another matter. As jagged ice broke the surface of her inner seas, it hurt, burned with frost. Hate paving over, blaming it all on someone else, burying the loss. Hate she was fighting.


    Hate that was waning, weak. Melting into her, leaving only frozen, suspended grief echoing with endless litanies of ¡°Later¡± and ¡°Not now¡± until she didn¡¯t even consider it. Think about it at all. Until looking away was a reflex, because she didn¡¯t have time or the energy to face it while trying to survive. She¡¯d left so many things, details for later, burying it all under them. Always another question, another thing to do right now. Days and weeks and months filled with important things to do.


    Her chest hurt. Her heart hurt with each beat. It hurt, spreading pain through her veins. Into every muscle and bone. A dull ache pulsing with each heartbeat. An ache that wouldn¡¯t go away. Wouldn¡¯t stop. A yearning she couldn¡¯t meet. Could do nothing to stop, here, now. Only endure and work around.


    ¡°I¡¯m just tired. Just a bit tired.¡± Taylor told Shun.  She almost believed it.


    She wasn¡¯t sure who was dying nearby, but she wished they¡¯d stop weeping. Be quiet. The world was a blur that just wouldn¡¯t clear, no matter how she wiped her eyes. Tiny hands touched her face, a spot of warmth in the glacial wind and snow. Someone was speaking in a weak, stuttering voice, but Taylor couldn¡¯t make out the words. Only that the voice was a minor spark of warmth within that chaos.


    She clung to it, hoping the storm would pass. End. Wishing for even oblivion over this. It would be better, easier. Fearing she¡¯d still be there when it passed.


    ***


    In the end, she was right. The storm passed and Taylor was still there. Snowed in, but still there. Alive. Covered in ice, but living. No end in sight. With who knows what sacrifices yet to be demanded of her.


    ¡°What a nightmare.¡±


    ¡°This too will pass. It has to.¡± Taylor said, breaking out of the ice with ease.


    ¡°Taylor?¡± Shun weakly asked.


    She ran her hand through snow filled hair, whispering soft reassurances long practiced for the wake of disasters. Shaking out the snow and ice, carrying Shun to a warm bed and fending off Wakumi¡¯s frantic questions.


    ¡°Do not move Wakumi. Don¡¯t you dare get up. I need you functional. I¡¯m dealing with it.¡± She told the rebellious Flagship.


    Taylor could only keep pushing onward. What choice did she have? For all that the bonds were few, some weak or painfully new, people needed her. She had to tough it out. This too would pass.


    Except she wasn¡¯t quite that much of a fool, to really still believe that. Not after it jumped out and ripped her heart out.


    ¡°I need to talk to someone. Someone competent. Before something important breaks.¡±


    Not about guns, or ships or weapons and war. Of the madness that was her new existence.


    Someone she could talk about the old one. Or she might actually go mad. She wasn¡¯t allowed to go mad with people to save.


    Missouri was a challenge, a threat. No Abyssal was suitable and the mainland a distant dream.


    Slowly, her eyes turned to the inhabited island. Hawai?i.


    Taylor was so tired. Exhausted. Each breath a burden, with nothing actually wrong.


    Nothing but her.


    Civilians were safe, or as safe as she could get. It would have to be enough. Even if she couldn¡¯t actually talk, she¡¯d figure something out.