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.
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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.