Hello again! Back with another chapter!
Also, if you haven't by now, you should check out Azur Lane: Alternate by AntoRaid98. It's the main inspiration for this fic, so go check it out!
Although I guess if you're here then you've probably already read his story, but oh well.
Anyways, enjoy!
All eyes were locked on the man. Shipgirls sized him up, waiting to see what he would do. Dozens of cannons were pointed at him from the more cautious and aggressive shipgirls, ready to blow him to smithereens if he turned out to be a threat.
It took a bit for Brest to snap out of her trance, but she finally managed to aim her 330mm guns at him too. She stared long and hard at him, taking in every detail. From his blank expression and appearance to the strange architecture, Brest made sure to commit him to memory.
He was tall, and imposing, towering over most of the shipgirls. He had a well-built physique, despite how the jacket and equipment covered it up. His riggings were equally ominous, constantly humming and buzzing a low tone. They were as geometric as when Brest first saw them in the hallway. Her breathing hitched as she braced for whatever attack or trick he was planning, and the destruction it could cause.
Yet, he continued to stand there. Not choosing to attack or run or even move at all. He turned his gaze upwards, towards Richelieu. And that's when a familiar voice spoke through the radio.
"Stand down, all of you. We mean no harm," Brest perked up, as did Richelieu, Clemenceau, and Jean Bart. It was the same voice on the phone earlier.
"Look behind you," the voice said. And when the shipgirls did, they saw someone floating down onto Richelieu's bridge. He was another man, with the same style of clothing. He wore more of an officer's uniform with a peaked cap and rounded glasses. Murmurs and whispers broke out amongst them.
Richelieu whirled around, "Who are you? What do you people want?" she demanded.
The man landed gracefully, his boots barely making a sound as they touched the deck. No equipment was visible to anyone that would allow him to fly like that. He adjusted his glasses, the lenses catching the sun's glow, and regarded Richelieu with a calm, measured gaze.
"Oh, I'm sure you already know the answer to that…" he stepped forward, and a beam of light emitted from his wrist. Brest's eyes focused on the image, and they went wide when she saw a very familiar logo.
A lowercase gamma symbol, glowing sky-blue. A familiar name. GammaCorp. Others around her recognized the logo too. Any shipgirl who managed to catch a glimpse of the facilities saw it while exploring. Quiet gasps of shock swept through the crowd: some shipgirls flinched as though struck, and others took a step back as though the logo were a snake poised to strike.
Richelieu's eyes widened in recognition, and she responded with a slight tremble in her voice, "Y-you, you're the ones behind the facilities, aren't you,"
The man responded, "Once, yes. But we have since lost contact with them,"
Clemenceau stepped in, "And you're here to reclaim them, aren't you,"
"You're partly correct," the man said with a smile, "…but it's not our only, nor our most important mission here,"
Jean Bart's brow furrowed, "And what would that be?"
…He stayed silent, and then,
"I can't tell you," he said, and frustration swept over the shipgirls. Brest furrowed her brow, it was like dealing with the Sirens all over again.
"At least, not while we haven't any negotiation in order," he finished, and the Richelieu sisters locked their eyes on him, awaiting with impatience.
"A negotiation, hmm? And what would we gain if we agreed?" Clemenceau interrogated.
"Information, an eye into our machinations and what we've been up to. Maybe even our resources. You'll be the sighted amongst a kingdom of the blind. In exchange, you would offer your token support towards an operation," he finished and let Richelieu and her sisters process his terms.
Richelieu looked back at her comrades down behind her. Fear, suspicion, and curiosity all melded together to create a sea of uncertain faces among her trusted followers. She looked to Clemenceau, whose face was deep in contemplation hidden by a veneer of wariness. She looked to Jean Bart, her expression frozen in doubt, as she turned back to her with her eyes full of trust.
She looked back at the man, who continued standing there. Suddenly, he took a step forward, "Before you make a decision, I have to inform you of a demand we have, one which we will not leave here without settling,"
Richelieu's shoulders tensed, and she said nothing as he began pacing again.
"Whether you decide to work with us or leave us be, we demand that you do not speak about any of this to the other factions or Azur Lane. Be it of our existence, what you have seen today, or our conversation, you will not share any of this and instead act as though you never saw us," he finished with a loud and commanding voice.
Richelieu was taken aback, "W-what? Why would we… ever need to hide information from our allies…?"
"It's for their safety," he very bluntly stated, "As little people should know of this as possible, otherwise they'll draw too much unwanted attention to ourselves,"
"B-but-"
"Some things," the man interrupted, "-are better left unknown."
…
"I can't negotiate on this, Cardinal," he finished.
Richelieu went silent, and she decided to concede on the matter. She stewed over the other points further, weighing the benefits and the drawbacks of each decision. She could take their word for it, and gain access to this new faction's machinations, knowledge of their tactics and technology, and foresight into their actions. Or she could turn her back on them, leaving these opportunities behind and potentially sparing the new Orthodoxy from the consequences of involving themselves while on an uneven playing field.
Richelieu's mind wandered to the past. She knew all too well the vulnerability of nations. A country split in half, a legion of sisters at war with each other, all under a larger game being played. How could she, in good conscience, reject the chance to right the wrongs of the past, to seize the opportunity instead of letting history trample over them again? If GammaCorp's promises were held, then Richelieu wouldn't ever have to worry about fighting their comrades ever again.
But… then what? Would she still be the same Cardinal that inspired hope? Or would she grow mad with power, like Algérie with the black wisdom cube, or Marco Polo with whatever she was spouting at the World Expo? And what if GammaCorp didn't hold to their promises? What would happen to the newly reunified Orthodoxy, when faced with such a titan?
Her choice in this moment would decide the fate of everyone around her. It would be the difference between taking their hand and risking destroying themselves, or walking away, and risking being destroyed.
Richelieu closed her eyes, as she decided amongst herself. She took a deep breath. She steeled her thoughts to prepare for his response. She hardened her mind for the consequences. She emboldened her heart to fight for the Iris, the Orthodoxy, and all her comrades.
A million eyes watched her. A million ears listened. She opened her eyes and made her decision.
She lowered her flag and faced the fleet behind her. Richelieu made her choice.
"We accept."
The man gave a slight smile and bowed to the Cardinal as a flurry of discussion broke out among the shipgirls. Clemenceau slightly unclenched her jaw, though her eyes retained their calculating gaze. Jean Bart breathed a sigh of relief, despite the sliver of doubt flashing across her face. Gascogne furrowed her brow but lowered her weapon nonetheless.
"Thank you, Cardinal. You will not regret this decision," he said as he stood back upright with a newly confident posture.
He walked to the ledge, and yelled to the other man, still standing there with his riggings.
"Conquest! Rally the others, we've struck a deal!"
—
Conquest… So that is his name…
Brest's reaction to Richelieu's decision was acceptance. Though her lingering fear of this new faction despaired that the decision had jumped too far into the unknown, her trust in the Cardinal and curiosity calmed her down and excited her as a new opportunity sprang forth.
Other shipgirls had differing opinions. Most mirrored Brest's take, with their trust in their leader triumphing over their personal opinions. Some like Foch and Painlevé were relieved at the massive boon they would gain. Others like Algérie and Strasbourg seemed quite interested in the new intel they would be provided. Some like Bayard and Saint Louis quietly resolved on a few contingencies in case the deal went bad. Clemenceau was, without a doubt, calculating a way to subvert the deal to ensure the Iris Orthodoxy's superiority.
'Conquest', as he was apparently called, went to work. He jumped off the bow and onto the water's surface. The way he hovered above the water, and his riggings propelled him forward, and the ease at which he performed these maneuvers removed all doubt about his nature.
Brest was looking forward to asking him about it.
Suddenly, flashes emitted from the other vessels still sat in the water. They disappeared, and human figures took their place. They began speeding towards the hull, and Brest focused her eyes to see that they were other male kansen like Conquest.
"Oh! I almost forgot," the man suddenly whirled around, "my name is Statesman. I'm the commander of this squadron and the one who authorized our deployment here."
Before anyone could react, one of them made it to their destination, but not without propelling himself high into the sky and instantly shooting downwards onto the deck.
"That's Whitefeather, sentinel of the fleet and the one who kept tabs on you ever since the morning you left your port."
'Whitefeather' wore a simpler version of Statesman's officer uniform, with sunglasses obscuring his eyes and a peaked cap. He walked forward, with a confident stride, brushing his jacket as he did so. He looked up, and his gaze mirrored the shipgirls' suspicion.
Another one arrived soon after that. He arced through the sky and slammed into the deck.
"This is Visionary, heavy-hitter and a mobile repair ship for us. He's the one that destroyed your defence systems and walls."
'Visionary' stood upright, and stretched his arms as they popped and cracked. His comparatively more outgrown beard, the sharp and mechanical tattoos on his arms, and simple rugged vest gave him an intimidating aura, one that caused some of the destroyers to cower behind the bigger ships.
One followed up shortly after, landing to Visionary's right.
"Introducing Watchdog, our tip-of-the-spear and the cause behind all the sudden intrusions through the past few days."
'Watchdog' attempted a friendly smile, as his visor and helmet retracted into his suit. His hair was swept up, complementing his tuxedo-styled combat suit. He took both the rifles that he was dual-wielding, set them upon his back, and withdrew his riggings.
Two of them landed at the same time, on opposite sides of each other. The first skidded to a halt on the left side of the bow.
"Here's Westward, the strike carrier of our fleet and the one behind the massive 'Siren fleet' you witnessed."
'Westward' strutted forward, with a sniper rifle clad in white and blue, toting his weapon around carelessly. His hair was a faded cut, and he had a small moustache and beard. He had a more tanned complexion compared to the lighter skin of the others, and his eyes looked apathetic.
The second one used his engines to come to a stop on the right side of the bow.
"And this is Codetalker. Intelligence unit and the one who collected intel on you from the shadows."
'Codetalker' hopped onto the deck, with a spring in his step. A striking feature was his right eye, which looked to be replaced with a rounded, upside-down and blue triangle. He had headphones in and his head was seemingly off in the clouds as he ignored the curious expressions from those who saw him.
"And lastly, Conquest, if you hadn't caught his name. Our giant attack ship, whom you have all gotten to know quite well," Statesman joked.
"And for some of you, even more than that." Statesman suddenly stared at Brest, who felt herself freeze.
"But regardless, you are all free to acquaint yourselves," He turned back to Richelieu and her sisters, "We have some catching up to do…"
"W-wait-" Slam.
…and the three were quickly herded into the bridge, leaving the rest of the Orthodoxy fleet to accompany the male kansen.
Despite Statesman's orders, the tension remained firmly in the air. The shipgirls only moved within a certain space, setting a mental line between them and the male kansen they dared not cross. There wasn't any outright malice or hostility in their actions; they just seemed to be keeping their distance.
Brest herself kept staring at Conquest, watching him jump back onto the bow and simply stand around as the other male kansen began to approach the shipgirls.
Watchdog went first, "Well… now that you know our names, perhaps we could learn yours?" he said, with a voice as smooth as butter.
No one responded. Murmurs and whispers could be heard, but the shipgirls did not attempt to respond directly. Everyone still seemed either suspicious or unsure of what to do.
That was when Alsace decided to step up, "This one is battleship Alsace, Sacrament of the Unified Or-"
L'Indomptable cut her off, "Quiet! We still can't trust them, not after they attacked us!"
"Oh, er- well, if you really feel that way, I apologize, but it was truly the only way to get you all bunched up like this," he parroted Statesman's words.
L'Indomptable responded viciously, "If you dare try and trick us again, you will be judged in Iris' name!"
Brennus joined in, stepping forward, "Your deeds will set the foundation for tomorrow, and you lot have written an ominous opening,"
Watchdog sighed while others began speaking their thoughts aloud. He watched and listened to words of doubt and outright hostility be thrown at him. He looked around the crowd, only to have his eyes stop on Alsace, who was looking down while gripping her weapon tightly, eyes full of focus and concentration.
Watchdog leaned in, and she noticed his sudden gaze. She jolted at his attention and straightened up in a rehearsed manner.
"O-one judges your apology to be sincere, but… uhm,"
"...Yes?"
"Er, Uhm, O-one cannot t-think of a response…"
L'Indomptable stared at the battleship in bewilderment, "Alsace! Now's not the time to…"
"H-hold on! Ugh, why does this have to be so hard…" Her posture began to fall, and she held her weapon with increasing anxiety as she fidgeted nervously while thinking.
Watchdog decided to step in, with a slight look of pity in his eyes, "Umm, One judges your apology to be sincere, but… sincerity alone does not mend what you've done…?"
Alsace perked up at the suggestion, and she whispered it under her breath. Her eyes went wide and sparkled, and she assumed a pose, adopting a confident stance and pointing her weapon at Watchdog.
"One judges your apology to be sincere, but sincerity alone does not mend what you've done!"
She finished with a swing of her lance toward the sky, and moments later her expression broke into a captivated grin.
"Ohh, that was perfect!"
"Uhh, you're… welcome, I guess," Watchdog could only stutter out.
L'Indomptable looked disbelieving, Flandre rolled her eyebrows, and Surcouf covered her mouth in an attempt not to laugh. Watchdog shifted a bit, wondering how to respond. Alsace's shoulders relaxed as the stress was lifted off her, before she straightened up again, suddenly aware of how she looked to those around her.
Watchdog relaxed in tandem, as the exchange appeared to lighten the mood within everyone. Then, one shipgirl stepped forward with a question.
"Sooo… How are shipboys like you even possible in the first place?" Fleuret asked.
"Ah, I've been wondering that as well," Brennus joined in, "Is it anything like with wisdom cubes?"
"Sort of. It's a very complicated process, actually." Watchdog's voice became a tad quieter. And I'll be honest, I don't think I'm supposed to share this with you guys right now."
Fleuret pouted, "Boo, that's no fun! Could you at least give us a hint?"
"...Well, I suppose a hint wouldn't hurt…"
Brennus, Fleuret, Alsace, and others around them listened in closely for his response.
"We're… more reverse-engineered if anything. Think scraps of riggings, mangled but salvageable husks of Sirens, and a touch of GammaCorp's own technology to make us into this," he waved an arm over him to illustrate his point.
Brennus raised an eyebrow, "And what sort of technology would that be?"
Watchdog threw up his hands, "Now hold on, I understand you're excited or willing to learn more about us, but there's only so much I can divulge!"
"What for? Your 'Statesman' already made a deal with the Cardinal, and you promised us information with it,"
He put his hand to his chin, "That may be true, but what good would it do you? You already exist, and it's not like a better body makes our jobs easier…"
"Besides…" he stepped forward and summoned his rigging that shone over the shipgirls like a second sun, "steel and fire might win battles, but it's the will behind them that wins wars,"
He finished with a reassuring smile and a wink and resisted the urge to flash a smirk at Alsace for accidentally one-upping her introduction. He'd have to apologize to her later. But for now, he could enjoy Alsace's look of pure inspiration, her sparkling eyes contrasting the looks of amusement around her.
A distance away, Visionary watched the whole conversation take place. He rolled his eyes, grunted in annoyance, and turned back to the shipgirls. Their attention shifted to him, regarding the male kansen with wariness and curiosity.
He looked back at them. His eyes narrowed, and he said, "What're you starin' at, huh?"
Kersaint let out a yelp, Lyon awkwardly tried to turn her gaze away, and only Guichen could respond.
"So… about your hull…"
"Yeah? What of it?"
Guichen paused, putting a finger to her mouth, before continuing.
"Well… it's certainly, different. Unlike anything we've ever seen…"
"Different, eh? And how d'ya mean?" Visionary let out a grunt and crossed his arms over his chest.
Guichen, undeterred by his gruff demeanour, raised her hand casually, "What I meant to say was… it's unique. You're not really a battleship or a cruiser, are you? You're something else entirely,"
"You're no ordinary hull, why not tell us about yourself or your faction," she finished, and he simply let out another grunt.
He pointed toward the bridge, "The boss'll prolly' give you all the information your grubby little hearts desire," he turned back toward Guichen, "So quit tryin' to get answers outta me, for fuck's sake,"
The shipgirl didn't seem fazed. Her eyes gained a glint in them as she continued, "Really, I'm just curious, we all are."
A smirk developed on her face, "Why not tell us a little more about yourselves? It would certainly break the tension here,"
Visionary glared at her, before finally letting up as he drilled his thumb into his temple.
"Fine. Ask away."
Kersaint and Lyon both shot up, and Guichen's smirk only grew.
"Well… how about what you are?"
Her smirk fell and was replaced with a contemplative stare, "Everything about you, what you say you are, it's a lot to take in… Are you truly a type of male kansen?"
Visionary let out a huff, and responded, "O' course we are! We're all ships here, even if we ain't look the part."
"And what sort of vessel are you?" Guichen inquired.
"Not the kind that floats on water, I'll tell ya. We're more built for… in the sky and within space kinda ship,"
Several shipgirls nearby perked up, their eyes glinted with amazement and curiosity and they started to bombard him with questions.
"A spaceship!? You've been to space!?" blurted Kersaint.
"Amazing… What do you see up there?" asked Lyon.
"What sort of weapons do you have?"
"Is your rigging anything like ours?"
"How does a wisdom cube manifest into this form…?"
Visionary started to groan under the endless questioning and began tuning out their pestering questions into background noise like the waves splashing against the hull. Then he looked at Guichen and found her deep in thought, her eyes lasered in on him. He furrowed his brow and waited for her response,
Finally, she said, "Hmm sounds interesting…"
He raised an eyebrow, wondering what she would say next, "...but I bet it's still no match for my magic." She finished with a smirk and her finger pointed up toward the blue sky.
"...your what now?" Visionary blinked once, twice, then thrice before his mind fully registered what she had said. His face then shifted into an unimpressed expression.
"Yes, really! I am but a humble witch of the Orthodoxy after all!" Guichen affirmed, her hands fluttering to add further emphasis.
Visionary grunted, "A witch. In an Orthodoxy. You take me for some fuck-wit who's gonna buy that?"
"What, you don't believe me? I assure you my powers are most definitely real, perhaps you'd like a demonstration?" Guichen replied as she wiggled her fingers playfully, as though attempting to cast a spell.
Visionary looked to Kersaint, Lyon, and the other shipgirls around her to find their faces in an expression of either veiled or nervous amusement. He sighed, beginning to lose patience with her antics.
"You're jus' tryna mess with me, aren'tcha? Either that or you've lost your senses,"
"Ah, but you see, magic is all about belief. And right now, I believe I've thoroughly confused you, heehee~"
"I- what? For fucks sake, forget it. If you can turn me into a frog, or whatever the fuck you 'witches' are s'posed to do, maybe then I'll take ya for your word…"
Guichen's smirk gained a mischievous tinge, "Hehe, challenge accepted,"
Lyon looked over, "H-huh?"
Whitefeather's gaze was obscured behind his sunglasses, which made it easy for him to turn his gaze and focus on each individual shipgirl near him. He saw their unsure and meek stances, and then their sudden movements, shifting, and startled expressions which were broadcasted in his mind.
He looked at the one closest to him, a shipgirl with blonde hair tied in a bun behind her, her brilliant white armour complimenting her knightly appearance. Then, like clockwork, his eyes focused and showed her taking steps toward him, with her hand on her sword's hilt—clearly, the source of the commotion.
Then, seconds later, it all began to happen.
The shipgirl stepped forward, her hand on her sword's hilt, and she said, "I must warn that if you or your faction ever make us stray from the righteous path, we will not hesitate to turn our blades against you!"
And soon the shipgirls around her were startled by her declaration.
Whitefeather couldn't give anything more than a slight smirk. She was principled. But foolish.
"Well, before you go and start throwing out threats everywhere, perhaps you could also give me your name. It's common courtesy, really," he said, with a small, almost mocking, bow.
His right eye looked. Though annoyed, she would step forward and give her name as 'Jeanne D'Arc', while prattling on about its significance and her noble calling and whatnot. Whitefeather sighed—just another wide-eyed knight in paper armour, and quite the zealot to boot.
And a second later, she stepped forward and gave her name, "Jeanne D'Arc of the Iris Orthodoxy. If you are familiar with the name I have been entrusted with, then you should also understand my noble calling."
"Very well, Jeanne D'Arc. Now what was this about raising your sword at me?" Whitefeather questioned as he leaned on the railing on the deck.
"I trust the Cardinal's judgement, but you have yet to prove yourselves trustworthy," she started.
Whitefeather's smirk faded as he studied her, his posture still relaxed but his eyes sharp. "Funny. I don't think that first part is exactly true,"
Jeanne's gaze hardened. She stopped herself from responding.
"Really," he started pacing, "you're just in denial."
"Denial? Really?" she scoffed.
"Yes, you seem to think otherwise of your Cardinal's decision. No matter how many times you tell yourself, you can't seem to agree with her choice, can you?"
Jeanne's eyes narrowed.
"And now you're taking it all out on me, just because I look to be an easy target,"
Finally, the light cruiser felt she had to respond, "You are mistaken. My trust and loyalty in the Cardinal is absolute."
She added, with a sharper edge to her voice, "No matter what any cynic has to say."
Whitefeather laughed, "Is it really loyalty? Or is it just out of obligation that you feel this way? Your body language seems to say as much."
"Oh, so now mocking trust wasn't enough, you dare to mock the concept of loyalty too?"
"Of course not, loyalty is an underappreciated virtue, I feel. But if you're going to be loyal, you had better do it right,"
"And what makes you think you know more about loyalty than I do?"
He paused, letting his now judgemental stare shift into a colder expression.
"When you serve a nation filled with snake-talk like profit margins, bottom line, actualization and other such doublespeak, one truly does understand the value of genuine loyalty. You, on the other hand…"
Jeanne's temper flared, "Why, you-!"
Before the tension could grow any further, two shipgirls stepped in to mediate. One was blonde like Jeanne and wore a white dress mixed with armour with angel wings on her head and body. The other had light blue hair, paler doll-like skin, a large black crown atop her head and eyes that were continuously shut.
His gaze shifted over to them, and his left eye showed Whitefeather that the two shipgirls were watching the conversation with increasing concern. He also managed to get their names amid their whispering: Bayard, and Champagne.
"Jeanne, please, I urge discretion. Making enemies will not serve us any purpose now," Bayard stepped in between them and tried to calm her friend down.
Champagne agreed, "Patience is the better part of valour. Those unjust will be given their due punishment."
Jeanne D'Arc seemed to be tempered by their words, but her gaze remained fixated on Whitefeather.
"Very well. But remember this—when the time comes, and it will come, you will find yourselves at wit's end. And by then, only God will be able to save you,"
With her warning concluded, she turned around and went back into the crowd. Whitefeather elicited a slight scowl. Though he knew what she would say next, the irritation he felt still boiled underneath all the same. He sighed, what was it that Statesman saw in them?
If there was one feeling Westward hated, it was boredom. And he was feeling quite the bucketful as he saw this little get-together drag out.
Even though they were simply collecting allies for their next mission, and they were probably going to deploy regardless, his fingers still twitched impatiently.
He looked around and saw that the shipgirls had mostly relaxed from their sudden appearance and began to wander around the hull. They still kept a distance from them, but at least some sort of communication was happening. Westward himself was looking to start up a conversation of his own with a few of them, it was a rare chance to be in the presence of such beautiful ladies.
But at the moment, his sniper rifle had gone unfired for quite a while, and staying sharp was paramount to being part of GammaCorp's fleet. In times like these, he decided to improvise a little.
Westward summoned a light drone from his complement. And with his rifle locked and loaded, he aimed.
Small, fast, and hard to hit. The perfect target practice. With a wave of his hand, the drone began to fly about, whizzing through the air like a fly, twisting and turning as its engines emitted a quiet buzzing sound.
His breathing slowed, his eyes focused, and with a steady hand his finger pulled the trigger and-
BANG
Direct hit. As usual. The drone's thruster began to sputter out with smoke as its movement became erratic and out of control. Westward cracked a prideful smirk. Right on the engine. He aimed again.
BANG
This time, he directly hit its armaments, the little cannon breaking off and splashing into the water below. He aimed again.
BANG
And with one last strike, the drone was put out of its misery as it split into two and careened downwards. Before Westward could summon another, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around and saw one of the shipgirls standing behind him.
She had long silver hair twisted into drills that draped over her shoulders, a black and red cape that went over her arms, and a slightly amused expression on her face.
"Nice shooting," she said.
"No shit," Westward responded.
"But you know," she began, and soon he noticed the crowd gathered around them. Seems like he started quite a stir, "We got the message after the first shot, you didn't have to waste your equipment like that."
"Wasn't trying to impress, hermana. But standing around like this ain't really my thing, y'know, I like to get shit done, feel me?"
His slightly accented speaking caught her attention, and the attention of the crowd watching them. He decided to shrug their murmurs and whispers off.
He walked forward to the shipgirl, "So who do we have here, eh?"
She placed a hand to her chest, with pride seeping into her voice as she said, "Algérie of the Templar Knights,"
He looked to the other shipgirls surrounding him, and they followed suit.
"I'm La Galissonnière!"
"I am aircraft carrier Painlevé…"
"I'm the third ship of the Suffren class, Foch."
"So, how are you ladies enjoying the show?" He said as they eyed his rifle, still in his hands as the yellow lights on its frame flashed.
Painlevé touched her chin as she tilted her head, "Forgive me but… I don't understand why you're destroying your equipment,"
Westward shrugged, "Oh, it ain't that big a deal. I can stick it on the repair bill, or make somebody else pay, whichever one's cheaper."
Algérie's brow furrowed and a small frown grew on her face, "Make somebody else pay…?"
"That's right. Consider it a perk of the job, Hermana," A glint appeared in his eyes, and he turned his head upward slightly as he looked down at the shipgirls.
Algérie's frown deepened, and she crossed her arms over her chest, "That seems… irresponsible," she said, her tone measured but critical. "It's not just about cost, but also time and effort that goes into that equipment."
Westward waved his hand dismissively, "Not with us, not here. All this shit gets made in minutes, supply chain's very robust. GammaCorp's got the tech, so as long as we're working for them, we get all our fun toys free of charge,"
La Galissonnière giggled, "That sounds like fun, getting to do whatever you want, haha!"
"It's the motherfuckin' life, eh? And all I gotta do is to follow their orders, do what I need to do and kill what I need to kill,"
Algérie shifted a bit, not knowing what to make of his… attitude.
"Well, I hope for your sake that you take responsibility for any 'collateral damage' that you might cause," she said, her eyes narrowing.
"Relax, I won't be no slacker out in the open, I got the battle awards and prestige to prove it,"
"I wasn't talking about your effectiveness, Westward," Algérie retorted.
"Then what are you so worried about?"
Algérie pursed her lips. "Your callousness. Your indifference. Is this something that your superiors encourage?"
"Well, they give out a big enough cash prize, and they don't seem to give a fuck about what I do otherwise,"
"Cash prize…?"
"GammaCorp gives us a job, and a reward payment in the millions as a little treat, and we go and solve shit on our own. Can't do shit if you're broke, y'know?"
Before Algérie could respond or process, Westward added, "With a few guidelines, and things not to do when on a mission, and all that. I know, stuck-up motherfuckers, but what can you do?"
Westward wiggled his eyebrows at her with a smile.
"Well, if there's at least some form of oversight…"
Foch jumped in, "I don't think it's that strange, I mean, that's what the Commander does with commissions all the time, right?"
Foch placed a hand on her shoulder, "Besides, we'll have a plan in case things turn bad. We've seen enough of what happens when power corrupts," she joked, and Algérie's posture relaxed.
Westward turned around and went back to target practice. They seemed nice, but also the type to try and conduct war with 'honour', and try to get everybody to do the same. No matter how ugly combat would get, they would try to keep their facade of righteousness.
And they would do it over and over again, expecting shit to change. Westward chuckled under his breath. The very definition of insanity.
Dunkerque's eyes were glued to the shipboy dancing on the deck, without a care in the world. He hopped and bounced and moved like his body was weightless. He shifted his legs like they were made of jelly. He shuffled his feet as though the deck was frictionless.
It was mesmerizing. At first, the battlecruiser was worried that he would slip and fall; a lot of water had been splashed onto the deck after all. But it appeared her worries were unfounded.
Now she and Strasbourg simply stared at him as he continued to dance to the music blasting from his headphones. It was slightly awkward watching him with only the sound of the sea and wind, but Dunkerque could still make out the faint, but powerful bass ringing through her chest.
She looked around and saw her comrades already in full conversations with the shipboys. It looked nice and pleasant, free from the earlier tension. She would've loved to join in, but clearly, the closest shipboy to her was… occupied at the moment.
She turned to her sister, "Strasbourg, should we… um…" she tried to hint.
Strasbourg stuttered, "I-I'm not sure, maybe we could get his attention…?"
"But how?"
Strasbourg crossed her arms and started to walk forward to try and tip him off to their presence. She waved meekly with an awkward smile but to no avail. She shouted to him and waved her arms around with more fervour, but he continued to dance as her cheeks grew pink.
Strasbourg suddenly summoned her rigging. She took one of the instruments embedded within and threw it at him with all her might, much to Dunkerque's horror.
That seemed to work, as his respective rigging suddenly flashed blue and his other eye snapped open as he dove to the side, narrowly dodging the harp flying toward him. Dunkerque wasted no time chewing out her sister.
"Strasbourg! What on earth do you think you're doing!?" Her voice rang out in concern and shock.
"I-I'm sorry, soeur, but I couldn't think of any other way!"
As they argued, the shipboy got up and turned to face them.
"Jesus! What was that for!?" was his reply, his mechanical right eye flashing with his syllables.
Dunkerque scrambled to apologize, "Monsieur! I am so, so sorry for my sister's actions! We just wanted to get your attention!"
"Well, there's gotta be better ways of getting my attention! You could've just, I dunno, waved or something! Didn't think throwing objects was the preferred way of communicating around here."
Strasbourg's face burned a deeper shade of red, "Well, I was," she muttered, fidgeting awkwardly, "but you didn't respond when I waved, and…"
His left eye slightly widened, and he sighed, shaking his head, "Well, you got my attention, that's for sure."
Dunkerque quickly stepped between them, her hands clasped before her as she tried to smooth over the situation. "Please, monsieur, forgive her. I don't know what my sister was thinking, but her intentions were… good, I promise." She flashed him an apologetic look, while her gaze darted nervously toward Strasbourg, silently pleading with her to stay calm.
He looked between the two sisters for a moment before shrugging. "No harm done, I guess. Just next time, maybe try a less… physical approach, alright?"
Strasbourg nodded quickly, still too embarrassed to meet his eyes. "I will! I swear!"
He dusted himself off, and Dunkerque noticed the neon blue writing decorating his jacket: SFO-CO7K. And then she remembered his name. Perhaps addressing him properly would be a way to recover from their previous blunder and make amends.
"Uhm, Codetalker, was it? Are you hurt anywhere?" Dunkerque said as she leaned closer into him to check for any injuries.
"Hmm? Ah, well, doesn't seem like it. Thank goodness for these predictive warning algorithms, else I would've gotten bludgeoned in by a harp!" he said as Strasbourg looked away.
Dunkerque's eyebrow raised, "Algorithms?" she asked as Codetalker finished looking himself over.
His expression turned eager, and a hint of excitement crept into his voice, "Yep! Given my job, I'm always the first to test out GammaCorp's new gadgets," he said as he showed the battlecruiser parts of his rigging, "And I'll say, the lab guys definitely knocked it out of the park with this one!"
Dunkerque and Strasbourg pored over every detail, noticing the sleek edges, the geometric frame, and the blue holographic screens projected from some parts. As they did so, Codetalker continued rambling on.
"Fully predictive AI algorithms, enough to give me an early warning for any harm coming my way! It's like magic, or kinda like Whitefeather's schtick, although he honestly has it down pat. But I still make up for it with even more stuff!"
"A-and, what would those be?" Dunkerque asked, a little jarred from the fast-winded conversation.
"Autopilot systems, aiming algorithms, repair software, and all of that on top of my already advanced hull, heh. Not to brag, or anything…"
Suddenly, something caught his attention, and he pressed a finger to the side of his head, near his right 'eye'.
He nodded and gave a word of confirmation, and his finger left his temple as he sighed. Both Dunkerque and Strasbourg then became aware of a peculiar physical quirk he had.
"So… about your eye…" Dunkerque began, gazing at the unusual blue glow coming from the pupil.
"Yeah? What of it?"
"It certainly looks… interesting. What purpose does it serve?" Strasbourg asked.
"Well, it does a helluva lot, but I mostly use it to interact more closely with my rigging,"
Both sisters leaned in, "And with it, I can communicate with the others, control my weapon systems and all the gadgets on board, conduct surveillance and recon, basically like a little computer fitted into my skull," he finished.
"How intriguing…" Strasbourg muttered, "It's not just for show… it's fully integrated into your combat system?"
Codetalker nodded. Dunkerque was intrigued at first, the possibilities of such equipment filling her head, until she started to think about it a little more.
"Does it… hurt?" She asked as she stepped forward.
"Oh, the eye? Never bothered me once, nope,"
"But you had to get it replaced, right?"
Codetalker nodded, and Dunkerque replied, "And you've had no troubles with it ever since?"
"Whatever the cost might be. I'd still take this over anything. Gotta stay ahead of the curve in my line of work," he said as his tone became heavier.
"But… you talk about it as if it's just another tool. Hasn't it become a part of you? Does that not change things?"
"Even if it does, I'd say ignorance will always be worse. You either get on the train, or you stay in the station,"
His voice soon returned to its lightheartedness. "Besides, who else can say they can order a pizza just by thinking about it?"
Dunkerque decided to concede, before asking, "So… who were you talking to just now?"
"Oh, I was just talking with the boss, says we should be preparing to head out, is all,"
Codetalker looked around the deck with a sigh.
"Maybe you did me a favour with that harp of yours, I got a bit carried away back there. Now, I gotta round all these guys up…"
Dunkerque and Strasbourg followed his gaze and caught many conversations around them. The tension, or at least the external tension, had dissipated entirely and was replaced with a more relaxed atmosphere.
Dunkerque smiled, as Codetalker began walking away to deliver the news to the other male kansen. Nearly all of them were at the focal point of a particular conversation, and their personality traits mixed and melded with those of the Orthodoxy shipgirls, creating lively exchanges between different voices.
Before he could disappear into the crowd, Dunkerque suddenly remembered an important detail left out in their conversation.
"Wait, Codetalker!" She said as she walked forward to catch up with him, "We haven't told you our names yet!"
He turned back, and flashed a smile, "No need, I already know them. Dunkerque, wasn't it? Dunkerque and Strasbourg. The two fast battleships of the Orthodoxy,"
They both stopped, and their faces were caught in a mixture of shock and amazement.
"...Huh?! Y-you're just full of surprises, aren't you!"
"Of course I am! Consider it a perk of my job!"
It took her quite a bit to muster up the courage to talk to him.
Until then, Brest had simply watched him standing around the bow from afar. Even as the mood lightened and the rich conversations between two different nations occurred around her, she couldn't help but keep her eyes on him.
Conquest. The ghostly eminence that she encountered in those dark hallways. The man that haunted her thoughts for the past few days. The male kansen that had quite literally flown right over them. And now here he was, standing idly by.
As the tension slowly dissipated from the fleet with Richelieu's agreement, Brest felt the fear from earlier lift off her shoulders too. Now, she only had the curiosity still burning within her, aching to be resolved as she stared at him.
She slowly stepped toward him, formulating her words. She caught a glimpse of his eyes: a series of neon blue rings surrounded by darkness, devoid of any pupil. The eye contact prompted him to turn toward her, and Brest took a deep breath.
"Uhm… greetings…" Brest began, "... do you remember me?"
"Yes. I do. What is it?"
She thought about what to say to him. After contemplating in silence for a bit, she decided to be more direct with her words.
"When we were in that hallway… why did you aid me?"
He responded fairly quickly, his posture straightening and demeanour completely changing, "I helped you because you seemed lost. It looked like you needed a hand with navigating the facility."
Brest was caught off guard by his sudden talkativeness, "O-oh… I see,"
She continued, "Your expression seemed more curious when you opened the door though…"
"I was merely wondering how you ended up there. Those facilities were supposed to be abandoned,"
"How do you think I ended up there, then?" Brest asked, her head tilting in interest as she tried to pry through his empty words.
Conquest stopped, his shoulders went down slightly and his speaking became a little slower.
"There wasn't much information to conclude anything… So I wanted to go for the more efficient route,"
Brest's face fell slightly, "Efficient… I see." She took a step closer, focusing on all the small details on his face and the rhythm of his expression, which changed every time he spoke.
"Yes, that's what GammaCorp expects of us,"
"Though, it seems odd to me that deviating from your path would be considered 'efficient'," she remarked.
Conquest stiffened ever so slightly, and Brest took notice.
"It was… necessary. I don't understand why you're so adamant on questioning such a decision," he replied.
"Necessary to who? I simply wish to know more about you, given the encounter we had,"
"I was merely following protocol. GammaCorp's directives prioritize the safety of all individuals within our facilities,"
Brest's brow furrowed, "Is that all this world is to you? Directives and protocols? Don't you have any other motivation for what you do?"
"You mean, other than GammaCorp's orders?"
"Yes, any other motive. Anything that would make you more than just your superior's weapon,"
"No," then Conquest's gaze started to fall, "...not normally, at least,"
"Not normally," Brest repeated, leaning in with a newfound sense of intrigue.
"When we met in the hallway, I'm not sure why, but…"
…
"You looked familiar."
Sorry for the wait, but these midterms got me fighting for my life.
Anyways, I have a little challenge for you all:
These shipboys were based on and take their name from a fleet of submarines from a particular video game.
Whoever can figure out which video game it is and posts it in the comments gets a cookie - 🍪