Chapter 5: First Contact

Marne looked at the girl and then back at the admiral. "I don't understand."

Slotin spoke before Mitscher could. "It's what the Mental Cubes are for, Captain. They take the, um, soul of warships and turn them into-" he indicated Enterprise "-people." He coughed. "Well, women so far in our experience. Very youthful women, as a rule."

"Why- no, that can wait. How is this possible?"

"We're not sure, but you know the Sirens do it- the humanoid ones are easily equivalent to our most powerful warships. Or even stronger." Slotin shrugged. "These Mental Cubes seem to be how they are created."

"But- how- what makes you think she is the Enterprise?"

"Because I remember."

Her voice was low, but as clear as a ship's bell. Marne turned to look at her, surprised. "Remember- remember what?"

She looked at him. For the first time he realized her eyes were lavender, a peculiar shade that reminded him of- something he couldn't quite remember. "I was hit once on the port side-" her hand unconsciously went to her left waist "-and twice on the starboard. One of the shells exploded in my funnel and I lost way." Enterprise closed her eyes. "The fourth shell struck me on the port waterline and started catastrophic flooding."

All three of the men were staring at her now, hardly daring to breathe.

"I started listing to port. At 1941 hours, the list was about 18 degrees and increasing. My captain gave the order to abandon ship, but asked for volunteers to try and keep me afloat." She opened her eyes and looked into his with a steady gaze. "You wouldn't abandon me."

"I thought you could be saved," he said, his fists clenching. It wasn't until after she began speaking again that he realized he already knew she was telling the truth.

"The list kept increasing. My captain wouldn't leave. Even when he realized I was going to capsize, he kept fighting to keep me alive." She smiled slightly. "Fortunately, he hit his head on the A-306-M hatch door when I suddenly lurched to one side, causing him to knock himself unconscious so his executive officer could drag him off the ship."

"No," said Marne. Any doubt was now extinguished from his mind. "No one knows that. Tom died when he went back to find more survivors. I'm the only one who knows where I hit my head."

"You believe me." It was not a question.

Slowly, he nodded. "Enterprise."

She held out a hand. "Captain."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"This is weird," observed Marne. He and Slotin were watching Enterprise as she devoured a stack of K-rations with every appearance of enjoyment.

Slotin nodded. "Hard to take in, isn't it? That any technology, no matter how advanced, could possibly bring warships to life."

Marne glanced at him. "Oh, yeah, that too. Actually, though, I meant that she actually seems to like K-rations."

"High iron content," said Mitscher, who seemed to materialize behind them.

Marne looked at him. "Was that a joke, sir? Because with all due respect, it was terrible."

"When you become an admiral, you're allowed to make terrible jokes. Rank hath its privileges."

Marne conceded the point. "So, have we had any luck making more of them?" He nodded toward Enterprise.

"Actually," said Slotin, "We have almost a dozen now, including her sister ships Hornet and Yorktown."

"Hornet?" Marne looked at Mitscher. "Wasn't that your old ship? Did she remember you?"

Slotin grinned. "You could say that. She gave him a big kiss as soon as she saw him. And if you think Enterprise's clothing is risque, just wait until you see her."

"Moving along," said Mitscher.

The scientist ignored him. "Turned beet red. I thought he was going to have a coronary. I called for a corpsman and everything."

"Yes," muttered Mitscher, glaring at Slotin. "I believe the entire floor heard you."

Marne tried to imagine a young woman kissing the crusty old admiral but stopped when he felt his brain was about to throw a rod. "So, Hornet and Yorktown. Who else?"

"Cleveland," said Mitscher. "Houston, Long Island, Arizona."

"Langley, Laffey, Downes, and Cassin," supplied Slotin. "Oh, and don't forget San Diego."

"I spend most of my waking hours trying to forget San Diego," growled the admiral. "Fortunately she's your problem now."

Not the best words to hear when you were starting a new command. "Are they all young women? I mean, Langley at least must be-"

"Must be what?"

He turned to see a short, green-haired girl with a skirt that was so short it was a misstep from being entirely unfit for purpose, glaring at him and tapping her foot. "Old. I mean, the Langley was almost thirty years old when she was sunk, which is really old in ship terms, and oh my God you're Langley, aren't you?"

"Not very quick on the uptake, is he?" said Langley, frowning up at him. She looked at the admiral. "And also has a poor survival instinct. I can see some strict instruction will be necessary for this one."

"Yes, ma'am," said the admiral deferentially, which drew an amazed look from Marne. "I am sure you will find him quite biddable."

"Now see here," began Marne.

"Quiet!" snapped Langley.

"..." replied Marne.

She strode up to him, her head barely coming to his chest. "I taught the Navy everything we know about naval aviation. Admiral Mitscher here-" she nodded to the admiral "-was a mere commander back then."

"I-"

"So you'll listen very carefully to what I say, won't you?"

There was a pause. "Aye aye, ma'am."

"Good." She turned back to Mitscher. "The others are requesting a meeting to discuss our strategy. We'll expect you at 1700 hours in conference room 172."

"Yes, ma'am," said Mitscher, his voice still respectful.

She nodded briskly and strode off.

Marne looked at Mitscher. "What just happened?"

"You just ran into the mother of American naval aviation," said Mitscher, a trifle smugly. "And she has all the force of personality you'd expect her to have."

"Ah." Especially considering her height, thought Marne. "So what is our strategy, Admiral?"

He shrugged. "Looks like we'll figure that out at 1700 hours."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

There was some time to kill before five o'clock. Marne was debating what to do when he heard a cough behind him. He turned and found Enterprise studying him with an intensity only heightened by the unusual color of her eyes. "Captain."

He nodded slowly. "Enterprise."

"Would you-" She hesitated slightly. "Would you like to see the base?"

Marne tried to decipher the look in her eyes. There was curiosity there, as well as a weighing look, as if she was evaluating him. Against the man she knew? The man he used to be?

He wondered how he was faring. "Of course, Enterprise." He forced a smile. "Please, lead on."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"The corridor through here is strictly off-limits," said Enterprise as they passed a door marked "Danger: Radiation". There was also a "Do Not Enter" sign that seemed entirely superfluous. "That's where Dr. Slotin and Dr. Daghlian conduct most of their experiments."

Marne hadn't been sure what to expect, but it wasn't the extremely business-like tour he had been given so far. He felt like a new ensign on a fleet carrier. "Is there any sort of, well, training area?"

She nodded. "Through here. It's adjacent to the experimental chamber because, well- you'll see later, I suppose."

They walked through a door and Marne's eyes went wide.

He'd realized the building overlapped the river, but he hadn't realized to what extent. The space underneath was enormous, easily some two hundred yards long and half that wide. "This is big enough for a destroyer," he said. He looked around. "Almost a cruiser."

"But not a carrier." There was a bitterness in her voice. "At least Laffey can dock here."

He looked at her curiously. "What do you mean? I mean, do you transform into the ship or something...?"

A smile flickered across her face, the first one he had seen yet. "No, but our ships do actually exist. The ship itself- the physical part- is separate from the me you see in front of you, but intrinsically linked."

Marne nodded slowly. "I think I see. The ship is your body and you- you're the soul."

She cocked her head, considering. "Something like that."

"So where is your ship? And do you have a crew?"

"My ship? Down the river near the ocean, where the water is deep enough to accommodate my draft. No crew. Or rather, I am the crew. The hope and dreams of every sailor who sailed aboard me." She looked at the water lapping gently at the concrete quay. "I carry it all with me, and it's part of me. I- I don't expect you to understand."

He thought about it. He remembered standing on the bridge, feeling the ship cutting through the water, the purposeful movement of the deck crew as they smoothly serviced and launched one plane after another, the thrum of the engine blending seamlessly with the murmurs of the crew. "I think I do, actually."

Enterprise looked at him, eyes searching his face. "You do, don't you?" she whispered. For a long moment, there was silence.

He coughed nervously and sought a change in subject. "So you have to have your ship to fight?"

Once again, that flicker of a smile. "At full strength, yes. But-"

She stepped back from him.

He watched her curiously.

She took another step back, to the very edge of the quay, the water just behind her.

"Hey, wait. You're about to-"

Another step and she disappeared from sight. Marne ran to the quayside and looked down.

There was a good ten foot drop to the water. Instead of seeing Enterprise swimming, however, she was standing.

On the water.

He let out a low whistle. "That's a pretty good trick."

"I am a ship, you know," she said with a chuckle. She turned elegantly and shot forward across the river.

Open-mouthed, Marne watched her skim across the surface to a crane that hung over the quayside. The hook was hoisted a good thirty or forty feet above the water. Enterprise leaped easily to it, then pulled herself up onto the boom before dashing across it and over the cab. She jumped to the ground and walked back to the astonished captain.

She wasn't even out of breath. "So you see, we do have some abilities even without our ship or rigging."

"Huh." Marne looked at the crane again. Yep, thirty feet at the least. "That's pretty impressive."

She looked pleased. "Just wait until you see what I can do with my rigging." She pointed at his watch. "It's getting pretty close to 1700. Maybe we should head to the conference room?"

He glanced at his watch and saw she was right. "You bet. Lead the way, Miss Enterprise."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When they walked into the conference room, all eyes were immediately on him. He looked around the room. There were a number of young women and girls sitting around what looked like a cheap folding table. Some of them had coffee mugs in front of them. Enterprise immediately went to a small table in the corner where the coffee pot was.

"Introductions first," said Mitscher, who was sitting at the head of the table. "You all know me. This is Captain Lucas Marne, former captain of the Enterprise."

The strawberry blonde-haired girl sitting next to him gave out a low whistle. "You were the Grey Ghost's captain?"

He smiled, somewhat embarrassed at being the center of attention. "For almost ten years. They couldn't have pried me off the bridge with a crowbar."

"That was fast becoming an option," muttered Mitscher. "I don't know of any other captain that got away with commanding a ship that long in the modern Navy." He nodded at the girl that had just spoken. She was wearing a white cape with a blue shirt underneath. "This is Cleveland."

She gave a half-salute. "Pleased to meet you, Captain."

To her left, a woman wearing a cowboy hat, bikini top, and coat that did little to conceal anything lifted her hat. "Howdy. I'm Hornet, Enterprise's sister ship." She smiled at the admiral. "Admiral Mitscher here was my last captain."

Marne recalled Slotin detailing the first encounter the admiral had with the blonde carrier. "I remember," he said dryly.

"Next is Yorktown," said Mitscher hurriedly. The pale-haired woman next to Hornet nodded, her expression enigmatic. She definitely looked like Enterprise's sister, far more than Hornet did, with her pale hair and serious demeanor.

"Arizona." A cute brunette smiled and winked at him.

"Houston." Pink hair and wearing about as much as Hornet, he noticed.

"Downes." The white-haired girl gave him a thumbs up.

"Ready to blow something up, Commander."

Mitscher sighed. "The three sleeping instead of paying attention are Cassin, Laffey, and Long Island." He pointed each one out in turn.

The brunette wearing a blue coat that was far too large for her picked up her head slightly. "It's been a long day," she said. "Even for a ghost."

"A ghost?" repeated Marne, confused.

"Don't ask. Langley you've met. That leaves-" he sighed "-San Diego."

The last girl was practically trembling with excitement. As soon as her name was called, she jumped onto the table. "Pleased to meetcha, Captain! I'm San Diego, second only to Enterprise in battle stars earned!"

"Okay," said Marne, a bit nonplussed. "What were the stars for?"

Everyone looked at San Diego, who paused and scratched her head. "Not really sure," she admitted. "Actually, I'm not entirely sure what a star is. But I have a lot of them!"

"Well, that's just swell," Marne said dryly.

"Yep! I'm number one!" She did a little hop, causing the table- which wasn't particularly sturdy- to sway dangerously. Most of the ship-girls managed to save their coffee, but Cleveland- sitting to Marne's immediate left, did not. Fortunately it missed her. Less fortunately, it did not miss Marne.

He yelped and jumped up, hot coffee dripping off his pants. He quickly brushed as much off as he could, then leveled a glare at San Diego.

"Oops," she said sheepishly.

"Off the table," said Marne.

"But-"

"Off. The. Table."

She jumped down and took a seat, looking chagrined.

Enterprise, who was coming back from the coffee table, handed him a towel.

"So," said Marne, trying to dry off his pants, "I have a general idea what you can do, thanks to Enterprise." He nodded at her.

"I didn't show him our capabilities with rigging," Enterprise told the table.

Hornet snorted. "I imagine not. We would have heard the explosions."

Marne raised an eyebrow. "That powerful, eh?"

Everyone exchanged glances. "Commander," said Cleveland carefully. "You do realize that we are warships, right?"

"Yeah, but- I mean, you're still just one person-"

Mitscher stood up, a grin on his face. "I propose we delay this meeting to go to the practice range. It seems Captain Marne doesn't understand just how much power is concentrated in this room."

"But I wanted to talk to the Commander more," said San Diego.

The admiral glared at her. "When I say propose, San Diego, it's worth noting that I'm the admiral in the room. Therefore, what I propose, goes."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"So who wants to start?" asked Mitscher.

The group was standing on an old barge that had been towed to the mouth of the bay. San Diego, to Marne's complete lack of surprise, jumped up, waving her arm.

"Ooh! Ooh! Pick me, pick me!"

"Maybe someone a bit less likely to blow us all up," said Mitscher. He looked the group over. "Downes. You're slightly less likely to blow us up. And I do mean that literally."

"Sure thing, Admiral." She gauged the distance to the target, a half-sunken tramp merchant that looked like it had seen better centuries. "Activating rigging. Everyone stand back."

Marne covered his eyes from the flare of bluish light. It was barely more than a flash, but when he reopened his eyes he saw that Downes was- wearing?- some sort of strange device. Miniature torpedo launchers with an even smaller turreted gun on top of them, they stuck out to either side of the destroyer.

"All right!" said Downes. "I've been waiting for this!" She jumped off the barge.

Even after seeing it once, the sight of her skating across the water was breathtaking. She zig-zagged toward the target ship, clearly showing off, before suddenly swinging to one side. Marne, shading his eyes from the sun, spotted the tell-tale splashes of torpedoes.

"Torpedoes in the water," confirmed Mitscher. Marne looked over to see the admiral had brought binoculars. Mitscher noticed him looking and handed him the binoculars. "Here, Captain. You need to see this more than I do."

Marne raised the binoculars just in time. Even as he adjusted them, a column of water shot up from the starboard side of the target. Two more appeared in rapid succession.

To Marne's experienced eye, there did not appear to be any difference in effect from the full size torpedoes of a standard destroyer.

Downes, now skimming across the water backwards, raised her arms. The guns on her rigging fired, sending out a crack that echoed across the bay. The first salvo splashed short- Marne saw Downes grimace slightly- but the second and third struck the ship's superstructure, the detonations tearing it apart. Downes let out a whoop and pumped her fist.

"Finally! It had been way too long since I got to blow something up."

Mitscher turned to Marne. "So?"

"Not bad," he admitted. "But what about the carriers? Do they have to have their ships to launch planes?"

Long Island, standing next to the admiral, put her hands over her ears. "Admiral can't see me, can't see me," she whispered.

Mitscher rolled his eyes. "Long Island, show him what you got."

With a sigh, she called her rigging into existence. Compared to Downes, it looked meager- a couple of tiny runways on either side of her body. She looked at the target, which was now burning merrily, and then concentrated.

Marne instinctively ducked as aircraft- F2-A Buffaloes, he thought- shot from the runways. They were both scaled to the size of the runways when they started, but by the time they were a few hundred feet up both looked to be full-scale fighters. The captain's eyes widened. "Wow," he said. "That's something else."

Long Island had her eyes closed, humming tunelessly to herself. The fighters started heading for the target ship, but then started circling.

Mitscher frowned down at the brown-haired ship-girl. "Long Island, send your fighters at the target ship."

"Okay," she said. "I just wasn't sure if you wanted me to attack the target or the Sirens coming in from the east."

"Well, I just said- wait, what?"

The other ship-girls were already calling their rigging up. Hornet was fastest, sending out several fighters immediately. She seemed to listen to nothing for a moment, then nodded to herself. "Contact report. At least one hundred- one zero zero- Siren aircraft flying at about two thousand feet from bearing eighty-five degrees." She concentrated some more. "Mass production Siren ships behind them."

"Well," said Marne. "I guess we get to see what you're really capable of."