"But, Admiral…!"

Musashi and I reflexively took a step back as the Admiral slammed the palms of his hands down onto his desk. "My decision is final! I simply cannot spare the both of you for a trip to San Diego."

I steeled myself. "Nagato said that with luck, she and Mutsu expect to be back by tomorrow afternoon. You will only be down by two battleships, as before."

"Two of our most powerful battleships, you mean. Yamato, you know the Diet – among others – will go ballistic if I allow you to leave the country."

Musashi stepped forward before I could form a reply. "Okay, new plan. Yamato stays here, and I go by myself."

"Musashi!"

"…or not," she decided, withdrawing again as the Admiral shot her a mild glare.

"You're still on probation for the bar, and that stunt with the APC, Musashi," he reminded her. "And what are these reports I've been receiving about you sending questionable email using your sister's account?"

"It's… It's nothing, sir," she lied, peripherally leering at me as if she thought I'd been the one to file all those reports.

"You are not to leave the base without a minder. And no, Yamato cannot serve as your minder." After a moment's consideration, he added, "Correction – Yamato or Misa."

Musashi's expression fell; I'm guessing the thought occurred to her at the same time it did the Admiral. "You let Sendai and Naka go to New York."

"There's a difference. Naka has experience working as an envoy and can speak English. Can either of you do that?" he asked, with a pointed glance at me.

I suspected he had more faith in Naka's ability to keep Sendai in check than my ability to do the same with Musashi.

The Admiral's voice softened. "I know you're both worried about your sister. I've been in contact with Naval Base San Diego, and I'm told Vestal and Prometheus have given her a once-over." He paused to check his notes. "Shinano hasn't regained consciousness, and they're not sure why… they think it may have something to do with the fair amount of work she needs to get her properly sea-worthy, much less combat-ready. Other than that, however, she appears to be fine."

A small surge of anger at the thought of my little sister being refitted in an American shipyard rose, and I squashed it. As a returned Imperial Japanese Navy warship, no matter how aware I was that it was 2016, the war was long over and the U.S. and Japan were allies and friends, my old wartime mentality could still slip in under cover of strong emotion if I wasn't careful.

"Are they going to repair and refit her?" I asked, trying to keep my voice flat.

"Yes. Were she here, we would have to negotiate with the Diet to cover her repair costs. I'm not even sure they would allow it." He exhaled. "Admiral Treston's crews are perfectly willing to do whatever it takes to get Shinano to one hundred percent operational capacity, so you both can rest easy."

"I still don't like it," grumbled Musashi.

I had to agree. "Neither do I."

The Admiral chuckled. "I can always count on a shipgirl's devotion to her sisters. Everything will turn out fine, I promise." He stood, and carefully guided us to the door. "I assure you, any information we receive, you will be second in line to hear it. Now, relax. Go back to your barracks, and leave the worrying to me. That's an order, by the way."

Then the door to the Admiral's office shut behind us, and we were alone in the main office.

"What are you gonna do?" The somewhat sour expression Musashi wore told me she wasn't ready to let this drop.

I shook my head. "I do not know. I was planning to go to the baths before dinner."

Musashi merely grunted in response.

"Musashi," I insisted, in all seriousness. "Before you do what you are intending, tell Misa what has happened. She needs to know."

Her eyes widened. "Yeah, she does." Sometimes, it seems as if Musashi really does think of Misa as a twin… someone who should know her thoughts without being told. An actual sister, not just another version of herself, the person she supposedly was going to become.

The Admiral had been correct. As shipgirls, we're always close to our sister-ships. We may bicker or fight, like sisters tend to do, or have to deal with the crazy things they've done – but we know that when we truly need them, they will be there.

We should be there for our little sister. Even if we have to wait by her side for a week or more until she regains consciousness.

Yes, I'm aware we're being impulsive, but if there is some way we can help her…

"I need time to think," I told Musashi, heading for the door that led outside. "If you are going to do something, try to avoid making anyone want to call me, okay?"

"Y-yeah."

We know extremely little about Kobayashi-san, other than the fact that she's an old friend of Iowa's. And now, she's become our little sister, Shinano.

I hesitated, my hand resting on the doorknob to my room.

We should not deploy without intelligence. Gather all the information we can, before making any moves. Maybe, early tomorrow morning, I can try calling Iowa to ask some questions.

Easing the door open, I peered around it into the room, flipping the master switch to turn on the lights.

No visitors. Nothing had been moved, or tampered with, that I can tell.

I don't keep anything in my quarters that I'd want to avoid falling into the wrong hands, so to speak… but with a certain submarine perfectly willing to pull pranks on me, a little paranoia never hurts. Besides, there's also always the chance Musashi may have done something to my computer or PS4.

My crew weren't detecting anything unusual, either.

Well, I'm only here to grab my bathing supplies and one of my yukata, so a thorough check can wait for later.

Shinano was intended to be the third Yamato-class battleship after Musashi, until losses sustained at the Battle of Midway convinced the Imperial Japanese Navy to convert her to an aircraft carrier. The conversion ended up being rushed – which is likely why Kobayashi-san had been wearing a carrier's muneate and rigging over a Yamato-class uniform – and she'd been forced to deploy before she was completed.

The Admiral's report had stated she needed 'a fair amount of work.'

Warily, I padded across the room to my closet, and slid the door open. When nothing leapt out at me, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Huh. Maybe I am being a little too paranoid. The Admiral's been keeping the subs on active patrols lately, anyway, and for all I know Iku's been busy getting to know her reincarnate.

I let my gaze drift along the rack.

At the left end, kept distant from everything else, was a plastic garment bag.

Well before the "let's get Yamato to have fun" scheme, Misa and Naka had teamed up to somehow get a surprisingly high-quality and accurate cosplayer's copy of Naka's full uniform in my size.

How they managed to get my measurements, I don't know. I suppose they could have talked Nagato into letting them get the information from our tailor.

I've managed never to wear the thing.

Misa had insisted, innocently enough, that she'd wanted me to see what cosplaying was like. Sure, okay, but why go through all the trouble of ordering an exact copy of Naka's uniform? Couldn't they have just special-ordered a larger costume from whatever TV series is popular, these days?

And Naka? Who knew what her reasons for being involved in that scheme were?

My yukata and kimono are at the opposite end of the rack, after the tailored gray dress suits I wear at the office. I smiled in spite of myself, letting my gaze linger on the suits. Three identical outfits, just like…

I felt my mind screech to a halt.

…just like… Nagato, Mutsu and I, when we're wearing the suits.

So Nagato is turning you into her clone, Iowa had said.

Nagato… she… she isn't doing it intentionally, for the most part, but… the end result remains the same.

I am a clone. Or incredibly close to one.

Dazed, I shut the closet door and staggered over to my bed, falling face-down into my pillows.

I've been so focused upon carrying out my duty, following everything the Admiral and Nagato say to the letter. Nagato wants me to look and act the part, both as an aide, and a representative of the Admiral's office.

Haven't I become that aide, that representative?

What should I do? I'm not going to quit working at the office – something like this isn't enough to make me want to abandon a job the Admiral assigned me.

Can I change the way I perform that job? Should I?

I turned right-side up, staring at the ceiling.

Ten minutes later – according to my alarm clock – I wasn't any closer to finding an answer. What if I… what was that term, again? 'Reaffirm my identity?'

I am the battleship Yamato, formerly of the Imperial Japanese Navy, and now serving as a shipgirl with the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force while stationed at Yokosuka Naval Base in Japan.

I have no problems with being Yamato. I want to be Yamato. But I am also Kinoshita Haruka, sixteen years old, daughter of Kinoshita Takashi and Minami.

We lived in the Shinjuku ward of Tokyo. Dad was a diplomat, and Mom worked as an Assembly aide at the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building, so I grew up around a lot of government officials and politicians.

That had rarely been fun, having to always be on your best behavior around people who said, "Aren't you just the cutest little girl?" far more than Grandma or Aunt Manaka ever did. Would you believe someone even used "She's growing like a weed!" once or twice?

Mom occasionally let me accompany Dad on work-related trips overseas, which helped me learn a small amount of English – and maybe French, if I can remember the words.

Dad was also an incurable World War Two otaku. He had two rooms dedicated to all sorts of memorabilia and models, from all the countries that participated in the war… but primarily featured warships. His pride was a large scale model of me– er, the Yamato, which he still has to the day.

…Huh. I wonder what Dad thinks when he looks at that model, now?

I haven't heard from them since I left for Japan. The group that arranged this claimed I was going to have a secure way to privately contact Mom and Dad, but perhaps they weren't able to get everything set up and locked down the way they wanted. I'll have to ask the Admiral if there's some other method I can use to get a letter out.

My email account isn't an option, when certain other people can access and read my mail, if they think it's necessary. Nagato has that authority, for example.

Where was I? Oh, yeah.

We lived in Shinjuku until 2011. I was ten – it had been early in March, and my birthday is in June – and attending classes at the private Zephyr Girls' Academy.

The sky had turned orange by the time I reached our front gate; I knew without looking at my phone's clock or watch that I was extremely late returning home after school.

Maybe Mom's tied up with a late Assembly session, I hoped.

"Haruka."

Yeah, I didn't have much confidence in that actually being the case.

She patiently watched me cross the last few feet of the walkway from her seat on the bench on our porch. "You know you're supposed to call if you plan on running late."

I lowered my head. "I'm sorry. We got caught up in trying to drag Chie away from the new kittens at the pet store, and Rika kept saying we had plenty of time to visit that new takoyaki yatai in the shopping center."

"That doesn't excuse you from paying attention to the time and calling, young lady."

"Yes, Mother."

"Good." She patted the bench next to her. "Come here, and sit with me."

I set my bookbag near the door and did as she asked.

Mom hemmed, fidgeting, her words coming haltingly. "Haruka-chan… dear, how… How would you feel about moving to the United States?"

"Moving?" I imagine I must have paled at that point.

"Yes. Your father's been appointed as the Japanese consul to Los Angeles. They're expecting us to move there."

When I didn't reply, she hugged me. "It won't be so bad. I know you and your father have some experience in speaking English – I'm the one who has to learn it from scratch. You'll make new friends, and be able to write Rika and Chie about all the new experiences you're having."

What!? Seriously? I pulled away from her, unable to believe what I'd heard. "It won't be so bad? Mother, it's moving out of the country! I-I have to change schools, get used to a… a completely new place, and…" By now, I was desperately reaching for what arguments I could find. "Can't I stay with Aunt Manaka, or Grandma? My English isn't that good." It'd still be moving, technically, and I would have to change schools either way, but at least living with my aunt or grandmother wasn't moving to a different country!

"No, dear. You may be almost eleven, but you're not old enough to take care of yourself practically full-time. Your aunt and grandmother are both busy, and don't have the time to supervise you."

I slouched in my seat. "Why do we have to go? Can't Father just go by himself, and fly back and forth like always?"

"Haruka, sit up straight. Now, I'm perfectly aware this is a major upheaval for you, and I apologize. You should know, however, that your father is very excited about this assignment, and wants us to be there with him."

Mom saying that Dad's 'very excited' about something is almost always an understatement. I grimaced. What possible reasons did Dad have for being so enthusiastic about this?

"He needs to know that he has our support."

And with that, the argument was pretty much over. Oh, I'd known from the start I was obviously doomed. How many kids can talk their parents out of moving? You have to give it your best effort, regardless.

Despite the large size of our house, we had everything boxed up and shipping in unexpectedly short time; even Dad's extensive World War Two collection was quickly and carefully crated and headed westward with us.

Time to begin a completely different life on the other side of the ocean.

I'll admit to being awed at how much bigger our new house is. My bedroom alone is larger than I expected! It's an okay-looking house at the back of a gated community, a few streets from the beach.

The next day, I took my school placement test.

In Japan, I'd attended private academies. Here, in Los Angeles, Mom and Dad were enrolling me in public school instead. The test claimed I was of the sixth-grade level, so off I went to Westfield Peak Elementary, a few days later… one of those days spent with Mom exploring stores we'd never visited for new clothes and school supplies.

"This is Haruka," my teacher introduced me, as we stood before the class. "She just moved here from Japan and is still learning English, so don't let me catch any of you giving her a hard time, okay?"

"I'm Haruka Kinoshita. Pleased to meet you," I said, suppressing the urge to bow, as I'd been instructed, and inwardly winced at my accented English. If I'm gonna live in the U.S., I need to improve the way my English sounds.

Hey, my Dad's a diplomat. I know how important it is to make sure you're properly understood.

My school life turned out to be just as dry in the U.S. as it had been in Japan. I continued to learn English, kept quiet and tried not to stand out. I'd make friends now and then, though most of them didn't stick around.

Somehow, that seemed to be enough to get me through to my junior year of high school.

Leaving junior high behind, for me, meant I was finally done playing catch-up and could start to pick classes I liked. Art, drama, home-ec… the latter, because I'd always liked to cook. I haven't tried doing it lately, however, because I'm not entirely sure of all the adjustments I need to make in cooking for one shipgirl – me – much less a group of shipgirls.

We were on summer break from Herriot High when I found that magazine.

"Again!?" I exclaimed, staring at the cover of the magazine in disbelief.

Cheryl was at my side in an instant. "What? They out of J-14, or something?" asked the brunette, laughing.

I rolled my eyes. Suggesting I read the celebrity gossip magazines was a tired old joke of hers. "I wouldn't know."

"Then what…" She glanced at the magazine in my hands, the cover featuring an artist's rendering depicting not-yet-summoned 'Yamato' and 'Enterprise' in full rigging leading shipgirl forces in battle against each other over what had to be the Pacific – and breathed an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. "…oh. Several dozen magazines in the aisle, and she zeroes in on the one magazine that has something to do with shipgirls. You need professional help, Haruka."

That, too, had become an old joke.

Cheryl Nelson was the only long-term friend I'd made, in all the years I'd lived in Los Angeles.

Given how suddenly I'd had to leave, I really have to wonder what Mom and Dad told her to explain everything.

I ignored the jab. "Why do artists always insist on drawing Yamato as some sort of geisha?" Indeed, 'Yamato' was dressed as a full geisha, wearing her hair tied back Shimada-style, the proper makeup, and an elaborate but bulky pastel flower-patterned kimono, that implied it should be preventing her from being able to move whatsoever.

At the time, I had never been able to explain why seeing shipgirl Yamato depicted as a geisha felt wrong to me, as did the fact that this Yamato wore her third main gun turret strapped to her right forearm.

"Because she's Japanese?" Cheryl shrugged. When I threw her an unamused look, she raised her hands in a warding gesture. "Kidding!"

"None of the Japanese shipgirls that have been summoned are dressed like that," I informed her.

"Well, you told me people view Yamato as a symbol of Japan. Don't people outside of Japan tend to think of geishas when they hear the words, 'Japanese woman?'"

I refrained from snorting at her use of 'air quotes.' "I don't know…"

"Okay. Say she does show up. What're you gonna do if she shows up dressed like that? Like that picture?"

"She won't."

Cheryl raised an eyebrow. "You're sure of that."

"…Yes." And I was. Very much so, although I wasn't at all sure why. Obviously, there was nothing stopping Yamato or any other shipgirl from dressing as a geisha if and whenever she wanted. It just did not work as a regular uniform.

"I bow to the shipgirl expert," she snarked, doing precisely that. "Fair warning – if Yamato does show up, and she looks like a geisha, I'm gonna be laughing about it for at least a month."

The magazine was plucked from my hands, Cheryl giving it a quick scan. "We both know you're gonna buy this no matter what you think of the pictures, so can we go? Mom wants to set up a group call with Mark tonight, and I don't know when she plans on doing it." Mark was her older brother by nine years, serving in the U.S. Air Force. I think she said he was a Major.

"Okay."

Did I win that bet? She'd say that because I'm Yamato, it either doesn't count, or I cheated somehow.

Maybe I did, I mused, surveying what I could see of my uniform.

Has skimming through my life helped in any way, other than making me miss my family and friends? …I don't know.

"Come on, Yamato. Think!" I growled.

All of this began when I wished to be there for my little sister, to help Shinano in any way necessary. Before, or after she regains consciousness.

But I can't. I have to wait for what little news Iowa and her Admiral send our way. It's… it's so frustrating!

If Musashi or Misa, or anyone else here at Yokosuka needed help, I wouldn't hesitate to do whatever I could for them.

And yet… that wasn't entirely true, was it? There's something I could have done to potentially help Musashi and Misa, that I've been avoiding.

"The upgrade," I breathed, sitting up.

One of our training exercises had given me reason to worry about my sisters. Musashi was reckless, Misa needed work on her reaction time and scanning for threats like incoming torpedoes. Both would surely benefit from radar, I'd thought, if only the Diet allowed and funded it. Plus, it would ease a fair amount of my worries.

I had approached the Admiral with the idea, only to learn that the Diet was already dangling those possible upgrades for my sisters before me, in an effort to convince me to undergo an upgrade of my own. Obviously, they want me in peak form for when they ultimately have me air-dropped onto Abyssal HQ.

I may not be able to do anything for Shinano at the moment… but if there's a chance I can get Musashi and Misa the upgrades they need, all the better!

That's it, then. Swinging my legs off the bed, I walked to my full-length mirror to make sure my hair and uniform were presentable.

The Admiral had warned me there was a risk of my behavior or appearance changing as a result of the process. That's a chance I have to take. I'll still be the same person, the same shipgirl. Surely, if any changes do occur, they won't be drastic. I think I might need some change, anyway.

Hoping to avoid giving myself a chance to reconsider the decision, I hastily grabbed my phone and pressed the speed-dial button for the Admiral's number.

…dialing… dialing… aww, voicemail. "Admiral, this is Yamato. After some consideration, I have decided to accept the offer from the Diet to be upgraded. I am heading out to speak with Akashi now."

Unsurprisingly, the Admiral was waiting for me beside Akashi, when I arrived at the workshop. Preferring to walk everywhere on-base while others – such as the Admiral, of course – use transports does have disadvantages.

"Yamato," he was quick to acknowledge me. "Are you certain you want to go through with this? You aren't just doing this for Musashi and Misa's sake, when the Diet never guaranteed they would back those upgrades?"

I guess I don't have to tell Akashi why I'm here. "Yes, I am doing this for Musashi and Misa's sake." The Admiral had to be wondering whether or not my decision was a knee-jerk reaction to being unable to visit or help our newly-Awakened sister, but was avoiding any mention of it to be safe. "However, I also feel as though this is something I need to do for myself."

Akashi stepped forward. "Last chance, Yamato. If you've got any doubts, back out. The upgrade's permanent, and can't be reversed."

"No," I declared, shaking my head once. "I have no doubts. I, Yamato, shall follow through with it."

"That's the battleship spirit," Akashi grinned, the smaller repair ship raising an arm to slap me on the back, then using that hand to guide me into the workshop.

The Admiral sighed. "Keep me informed, Akashi."

Shipgirls could always be counted upon to make even a normal day end in completely unexpected ways.

Admiral Treston wearily set the daily report down, taking a moment to study the honey-haired shipgirl standing on the opposite side of his desk in depth.

A few days ago, an old friend of Iowa's had arranged to be reassigned to the base… and during a video conference call with Yamato and Musashi, of all shipgirls, had promptly Awakened as a Japanese carrier.

Not that he was complaining; it was as good an excuse as any to set up regular communications with Goto and Yokosuka.

Shinano was in dry-dock, the Yamato-class carrier being properly completed and retrofitted. In the meantime, Yamato had submitted herself for an upgrade, according to Goto. The Diet had offered her the procedure, claiming that if she accepted it, they'd consider upgrades for the Musashi twins Yamato believed were necessary.

Typical bullshit attempt by government officials to talk Yamato into accepting improvements, and Goto and Yamato knew better than to take it at face value. Still, if there was any chance the Diet would bother to help her sisters… why not force their hand?

He wished her luck. Politicians were… well, painful on the level of pulling multiple teeth at once to deal with, in his experience.

Iowa and Bismarck had busied themselves with the former's forced move to the shipgirl barracks – a move that was bound to become quite a bit more chaotic, if his guest had anything to say about it.

"I was afraid they'd send you," he groused.

The heavy cruiser, Prinz Eugen, flashed him a winsome smile. "Now, now, Admiral, that's not a nice thing to say. When they told me my big sister Bismarck was here, how could I stay away?"

Special thanks: Pyeknu, Kevin Hammel, Fred Duck