OC male character this chapter.

A strange universe where Constellation is a carrier and her sisters are battlecruisers.

The stars above in heaven are looking kindly down,

On the grave of Old John Brown!

…

The conflict that he heralded, he looks from heaven to view,

On the army of the Union with its flag red, white, and blue,

And heaven shall ring with anthems for the deeds they mean to do!

His soul is marching on!

He had never had much of a head for politicking. Piermont was about sick of it– he didn't even want to think about who he'd vote for– and perhaps that was what got him here, walking down an out-of-the-way hall to an even more out-of-the-way appointment.

Despite him coming a good quarter of an hour early, she already waited for him in the room. Constellation.

A plain jacket of worn brown leather and simple pants only served to highlight the sheer absurdity of her hair, colored like bluebells. A complex braid hung heavy behind her, and a pair of aviator's goggles hung around her neck.

She smiled brilliantly. "You're my new captain?"

"Yes. Timothy Piermont, at your service."

"Wouldn't it be a bit more fitting to say I'm at your service, Captain?"

"I suppose."

"If you wouldn't mind too terribly, could I have your birthday?"

"Why?"

"For your horoscope, of course." It was a strange ask, but you had to play along with their eccentricities.

"28th of November, 1901."

"An auspicious conjunction." Constellation smiled.

"What does that mean?"

"Of all the planetary conjunctions, it is the greatest. Saturn and Jupiter aligned… the Mughal Emperors were styled Lords of the Auspicious Conjunction."

"You know that off the top of your head?"

"The most recent Great Conjunctions? Of course. I couldn't bear missing the next Tamerlane."

"Respectfully, Miss, I don't think this an age for Tamerlanes."

"We'd hope so, wouldn't we?" Constellation hummed.

After some basic paperwork and quick introductions to the logistics of running a carrier, he insisted that he see the ship in person. Constellation plastered on a smile and showed him the way… slowly.

There were several points where she leaned against the wall and coughed like she was going to hack up a lung.

"Can I help you?" He held out his arm, and after a moment she took it.

"Thank you, Captain."

"I wasn't aware you could get sick. Is it the flu?"

"It's chronic, unfortunately." Constellation sighed.

"Why?"

"Tell me, captain, what do you think of carriers?"

"I think the fleet problems show they have tremendous promise."

"If only you had my cube…" she sighed, "We believe that doubts about the usefulness of carriers left me weak."

"Who's we?"

"Langley, Massachusetts, and Ranger. They're…" she coughed into her elbow, "not like me."

They eventually reached her hull, and he helped her on board. Her superstructure was filled, both with the usual stuff for operating a ship and personal objects. Star maps of every sort covered the walls, some cold and scientific while others lavishly depicted the constellations.

He helped her settle down, setting her on a couch beneath a print of a drawing of the lunar surface. "Thank you." She sighed.

"Can I take a look around?"

"I'm certainly not going to stop you."

He eventually moved all of his work to Constellation's ship. It was more efficient and comfortable for her, not having to limp over to his office every day.

"You know, we've only ever seen three-fifths of the moon's surface."

"Three-fifths?" He asked. "Not one-half?"

She grinned. "You'd think so, but the moon oscillates slightly, showing us just the tiniest bit more than half."

"Better than I thought." He admitted.

"But not enough," Constellation said, tracing the edge of the lunar map with a finger. "Beyond this line… it's something no one has ever seen. Millions of people have seen her face, but no one knows her far side."

"And you want to see it?"

"Of course I do!"

He smiled. It was good to see someone so unabashed, so enthusiastic.

"If only you weren't a carrier- perhaps you could copy Verne and send a bullet to the moon."

"I'd need a bigger gun than twelve inches, that much is certain."

"Is it even possible, then?"

"I've been reading about Doctor Goddard. Rockets."

"Wouldn't you need a big rocket, though?"

"It's still possible." Constellation shot right back. She was certainly invested in the idea…

But he could respect it, desperately yearning to reach just a bit further. Maybe it was in her character: she was a marvel with her scout planes, so why wouldn't she want to scout further than anyone had before?

It was dark, and anyone else in her position would have been asleep. In fact, she probably should have been asleep. She was certainly a night owl, but she was reliably informed that you should sleep and rest while sick.

(A few too many nights spent watching the stars on the edge of her deck, breathing in that brisk salt air.)

The door to her room creaked open and she saw a mane of hair nearly as bizarre as her own. "Massy!"

"Constellation, I brought some soup for you."

"You're too kind," Constellation said, before coughing. "Very much a Neptune in Leo."

Massachusetts was unamused. "I'm here because I care about you, not because of some rocks in space."

"Technically, Neptune is a ball of gas and the stars are balls of plasma-"

"Eat your soup."

It was a delicious soup, that was inarguable. Constellation grinned. "Love you too."

Piermont was reading a file on Wisdom Cubes and how they made shipgirls. It was high-level stuff that made his head swim: reforming perception, cognitive shifts… really, the whole thing would have seemed like ridiculous science fiction nonsense, if the living, breathing product of that same science wasn't sitting nearby, reading cheap pulp magazines.

"Is something wrong, captain?"

"Why do you read those?"

"I like the speculation. It isn't as real as the articles in The Sky or Popular Astronomy, but it's… hopeful. And they won't let me read L'Astronomie. It's syndicalist, you know?"

(The syndicalists could write some good sci-fi, though. There was this great one about a worker's revolution on Mars, starting with the longshoremen of the planet's canals…)

"You're that lacking for reading material?"

"Yes." She sighed.

"I could grab you something?"

"I would appreciate that, Captain." Constellation smiled at him, but then she froze up.

"What's wrong?"

"Radio transmission. General MacArthur… he attempted to arrest the president."

The thirty days were creeping by, and they had already heard news of shipgirls acting erratically, throwing in their lot with one party or the other. Piermont and Constellation found themselves unsure about what to do.

"Who… who do you think is right, Captain?"

"What do you think?" He asked.

She laughed without humor. "Langley always said I have my head in the clouds. I'm… not quite sure. I think most of them mean well, really, but…"

You could do some very horrible things while saying that you meant well. He had signed up for the Navy for love of his country, certainly, and he figured he was doing well for America by serving. Now, that country was split into four pieces, and choosing to help one would certainly hurt the others. Which strongman did he think was right?

"I don't know."

"Well," Constellation mused, "We should start by thinking about what we want. I want to stargaze with Massy and Ranger and Langley…"

But Langley had been hauling a shipload of carrier fighters to Hawaii, and would either fall in with them or the Pacific States. Ranger was doing carrier landing drills in Florida. Massy was in New England. No matter which state they picked, they would be divorced from some of them.

Constellation looked at him. "Do you remember what I said when I first met you?"

"What?" He thought back, remembering something about… "You asked for my birthday, said I shared it with some Mughal emperor, or something."

"I didn't say that. I said you were born under the Great Conjunction. Like Tamerlane, Lord of the Auspicious Conjunction."

"Still a strange comparison."

"Is it?" She asked. "Great men arise from disorder. Perhaps this is destiny, my Captain."

The time crept closer. None of the secessionists had conceded to MacArthur's demands. Already, it was hard to communicate across the solidifying frontlines, but Constellation managed to pull a few favors, to get a message sent to her far-flung sisters.

"Doubt that the stars are fire,

Doubt that the sun doth move,

Doubt truth to be a liar,

But never doubt I love."

I used the OTL Massy's laydown date (the pre-naval treaty one) for her horoscope calculation. I mean, Constellation is a babe, but… horoscopes, bro.

Also, Tamerlane is apparently a corruption of Timur the Lame, which kind of sucks. Horrible nickname.