She was standing in a room. She hadn't walked there, she hadn't stood up. She suddenly started existing in this room, a few moments ago.
The walls were grey, but they were hard to see, what with a great tangle of piping and wiring in the way. (She didn't know how she knew these names.) Strangely, it all seemed to be shaking.
No, that wasn't it. The room was perfectly stable, but she was wobbling. Looking down, she could see she was wearing heels. Thankfully, she wasn't thrust into existence standing on her own cape.
To regain her balance, she leaned on… a cane. It came into existence with her, alongside something that floated beside her, cutting through the air with a ship's prow.
That ship was Aquila.
She was Aquila.
And this, she was fairly sure, was not Genoa.
Despite her cane, she swayed on her feet for a moment, and someone rushed up to her…
Aquila was glad to regain her consciousness, especially in a place that seemed a little more comfortable than that cold laboratory she was in earlier. She lay in a bed, her cane set in a corner nearby. Her hair– in two heavy ponytails– stretched down to the end of the bed, near her bootless feet. Someone, she presumed, had removed them. How thoughtful.
(Or perhaps they just wished to keep these immaculately white sheets spotless, not that Aquila had walked far enough to get anything on her shoes. The bed was quite soft, though.)
Slowly, she sat up. This was definitely a hospital, and thankfully, it was empty barring the staff. A woman with silver hair– like Aquila's, hah– backed away from some shelves she was organizing and came to Aquila's side. Was that a habit she was wearing?
"You're up! Everyone was worried, after that fainting spell. Are you alright?"
Aquila wasn't quite sure who was included in everyone, but it was still flattering. "I'm feeling much better. The best I've ever felt, actually, Sister…?"
The woman giggled. "I'm no sister, although I understand why you'd think so. I'm the American repair ship Vestal. If that makes you uncomfortable, I can get Japan's Akashi to do your check-up instead."
It came back to her now, piecemeal. The armistice. The Germans. The saboteurs. No real combat history to speak of. A blank slate. She smiled at Vestal. "Why would I be bothered?"
"I just think it's good form to ask." Vestal hummed. "Do you know your weight?"
"Twenty-three thousand, five hundred long tons… but who's counting?"
At the very least, it seemed that her cane was not a total oddity on the base, as accessories came. At least, she thought so, considering other girls carried around swords and longbows. Vestal led her outside, informed her that she would have a meeting with the Commander of the base tomorrow, and then handed her off to a certain Alfredo Oriani, who preferred Alfredo.
"Take care of me, Miss Alfredo."
"Miss?" She sputtered. "I'm no miss, there's no need to call me–"
"No, a kind young lady like yourself is most definitely a Miss."
"Ah, thank you…" Alfredo wouldn't look her in the eyes, and after a moment or two she grabbed a camera. "How do you feel about photos?"
"I don't mind them, I suppose?"
Alfredo lifted up her camera to take a shot, so Aquila turned and smiled at her. Unfortunately, the girl frowned! "Can you give me a candid? Just walk like normal?"
"If that's what you want," Aquila said, trying not to notice the way Alfredo circled her, searching for a good angle.
"There!" There was another snap, before Alfredo went back to walking at her side like normal. "That's gonna go to the Italian Republic–" funny, Aquila thought it was still a monarchy, "–and if you want, they can use your image."
"My image?"
"Propaganda, promos, that sorta stuff." She frowned. "They say I'm not popular enough to get a plushie... But you don't have to do that stuff, of course. Some of the girls are so shy, ya know?"
"I suppose I wouldn't mind it," Aquila said.
"Good! I think you'll do great."
"If I may ask, Miss Alfredo… propaganda for what?"
Her eyes widened. "Right! Right, right, right. There're these freaky alien robot gals called Sirens, and we fight 'em to save the planet."
"All of us? Americans, Japanese, Italian?"
"And German and British and French and Chinese and Russian."
Aquila giggled. What a group she had become a part of! An international coalition holding back certain doom… there was something romantic about that, she thought.
Alfredo tried to actually show her where things were around the base, occasionally. There were the dorms, which were slowly gaining character as other girls settled in, there was a canteen for food, and there were classrooms. It was a lot to take in.
"You, uh, probably don't want to head to the dorms quite yet."
"And why is that?"
"There's a whole heap of paperwork coming your way. Special passport, schedule, list of stuff you really shouldn't comment on, yadda yadda…"
"What shouldn't I comment on?" She asked.
"Well, that's more for the Japanese girls… for us: don't talk politics, don't flatter the fascists. Pretty easy."
She nodded, and Alfredo led her away from the dorms, into a little path of sand between some palm trees. A gentle breeze blew through, sending Aquila's cape fluttering and smelling, just vaguely, of salt.
It was a bit of a trick, navigating the loose sand with her heels. Eventually, Alfredo realized Aquila was falling behind and stopped to work off her boots.
"And what's this for?" Aquila asked, sitting down and taking off her own. That and the long stockings she was also born with. It felt a little odd, like she was discarding some part of herself… but she supposed it was no stranger than leaving her cane leaning against a tree.
With her boots under her arm, she could keep up with Alfredo as she marched through the brush, leading them to…
"It's marvelous." Aquila breathed.
The sand ended, and the sea began. Waves beat the sand, throwing up specks of white foam that caught the fading light of the setting sun. A streak of gold stretched toward the sun, complementing the orange of the sky.
"That's home," Alfredo said, and Aquila knew what she meant. That broad stretch of water might be dangerous and might play host to enemies.
But she felt it in her bones and in her keel, although no flesh and blood woman had one of those. The sea was hers, in part. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say she was the sea's. It was what she was made for.
"Come on!" Alfredo took her hand and led her to the surf. It came and it went, it rising and receding like it had when she was first built….
It was timeless. Not a thing that had changed about the ocean. Abundant source of food and vicious destroyer, highway for commerce and doom of the merchantman. The same water had been crossed by Aeneas and Garibaldi…
But she had never felt the water tickle her feet before, stealing away the sand beneath her soles. She cupped it her hands– she knew well enough not to drink– and simply marveled at it, the way it slipped down between her fingers.
She had fingers! She had feet! She could smell the salt air, she could go back to base and eat food.
Yesterday, she hadn't been here… but now she was. Alfredo was watching her with a smile– maybe she had snapped a photo or two– and Aquila marched up and hugged her. Alfredo squeaked.
"Thank you. I'm very glad you helped take care of me today."
She flushed. "I'm the only other Italian. I was the only gal for the job, is all."
The sea wouldn't be the last thing to amaze her: Alfredo swore up and down that her cooking wasn't that good, that it paled compared to the genuine article… she supposed it automatically counted as the best meal she had tasted, being the only meal she had tasted.
Still, Aquila was absolutely certain parmigiana di melanzane would remain her favorite dish for a long while. Alfredo snapped a picture of her first bite. Ever.
Then there was a discussion of the rigmarole of daily life. Her outfit would need to be cleaned, she would need to acquire more clothes…
Showers were another marvel of being alive (and she certainly got a lot of time to enjoy it, considering how much time her hair needed) paired with a comfortable bed and sleeping clothes. Alfredo had borrowed pajamas from a certain Enterprise. Another white-haired carrier, although one who was far more storied…
That was the problem that crept up on her as she tried to fall asleep, Alfredo snoring in the room's other bed. She didn't have much of a history, did she? Her dreams were not helpful in this department: they were vague and watery and above all unpleasant.
When she awoke the next morning, she hardened her resolve: if she had no history, then all she needed to do was make some. And that started with keeping her appointment.
Carefully, she pushed the office door open, looking at a figure behind an imposing mahogany desk.
"Good day to you, my Commander. I'm Aquila…"