I remember the auld lore discussions

Some say an army of horsemen,

Some of footsoldiers, some of ships,

Is the fairest thing on the black earth,

But I say it is what one loves.

It was summer. It was 1925. Langley the woman had been around for about a month. Everything was so terribly novel, every corner was hiding some new thing to learn.

Admittedly, one of the first things she learned outside of naval affairs or aircraft was the meaning of depression in an economic sense, but even that was curious. The economy was complex. Delicate. Her wheelhouse was the science of aircraft, dealing with winds and air a little less mercurial than people…

In other ways, people were very reliable, especially when it came to their reactions regarding Langley's height. A certain condescension was too be expected, although there was an occasional silver lining in people seeing her as someone who needed teaching. She did. In time she would earn the right to be offended, but for now she learned as much as she could.

Fortunately, a perfect teacher had moved into the neighborhood and was willing to meet with Langley! That meeting was delayed so that various pleasantries could be hammered into Langley's skull, but now it was finally here. Or rather, she was finally here.

(The British government in exile was working out deals to have their many fine ships hosted and maintained in American ports, so they weren't lacking for nearby Brits. Interactions with them were just carefully watched.)

Hermes, their purpose-built carrier, was off tracing the same well-worn sea routes the British had plied a century ago. A century ago was probably the right timing… considering that the Suez was off the table. Panama was still open to them, but the Ottomans had some obvious reasons to give the British trouble. Britain had to adapt to the new, but the 'old' was still perfectly good. Langley was more comparable to Argus than Hermes anyway.

Other people had taught Langley, but Argus was to be her teacher, in the grander sense. It was hard to think of a comparison, because Kansen were unlike normal men. Perhaps the myths? She had read a few, given British naming motifs. Maybe Chiron? Because he was fundamentally more than human? But his many pupils weren't centaurs…

Even among their exclusive club, Langley and Argus were exceptions. They didn't operate as normal Kansen did. Langley could learn more than how to operate her engines or how to aim her five inch guns from Argus. She could break new ground like her namesake and teach all the carriers that would follow her.

Perhaps there was some disappointment in not being a complete pioneer, but the grace to learn was part of being a good teacher. At least she had been taught as much.

She looked like a snowbell, the dress's folds seeming almost like the petals of some grand, white flower. A delicate, refined face broke out into a smile.

A delicate curtsy: "British navy carrier Argus, first of our distinguished breed. I shall elucidate those secrets I have already unearthed…" Langley and the others were giving her an odd look so her spiel tapered off. She cleared her throat, cheeks red. "And we shall cooperate, for the future of both our navies."

Langley hoped she wouldn't dip back into that sort of talk.

She didn't stop. That first lesson was interspersed with phrases like "Daedalian apparatus" and "heavenly watcher" which were thrown around with disturbing regularity. Despite that, it was more productive than anything Langley had done before. A carrier wasn't some upscaling of an aircraft catapult, and Argus knew that. She knew it well.

You could argue that the science of the typical shipgirl was ballistics. Maybe a dash of some trigonometry for the girls throwing torpedoes around, but otherwise, a shipgirl usually found her purpose in delivering shells as best as possible. Oh, they could specialize in many other fields, but using them to increase the efficiency of shells sent downrange was fairly standard doctrine, as far as shipgirl doctrine really existed. (A shipgirl was a power multiplier wherever she applied herself, but fire control was an area where they seemed to shine especially bright… even if those skills varied between ships and classes.)

In contrast, Langley and Argus were left to grapple with the science of aerodynamics. Vestigial organs like guns could be ignored in favor of honing aircraft operations. Langley certainly wasn't complaining, especially when their studies brought her a little closer to her namesake.

There was something incredible about it. About any field of study, really, but the sciences especially. It was… artistry if you could call the whole world art. The world was beautiful and strange and foreign and yet predictable. (Barring certain quantum developments...?) The dance of the stars, the lapping of the waves, and the flight of birds were all logical expressions of math. There were areas math could not conquer: turbulence, the mechanisms of the weather, Navier-Stokes, no small number of problems where the time needed for a solution left them wanting. Not useless, wanting. Wanting better means of computation, better estimates, better theories.

A teacher, she figured, should love their subject. Should love it down to the minute, exacting detail. A love as voracious and consuming as 'real' love, perhaps.

But neither real love or love of knowledge were something that were guaranteed to strike. Perhaps both could be nurtured, spring up from enough care and an open attitude?

Perhaps she was too much of a layman to make comparisons like that. She loved teaching, she loved learning, and Argus seemed more than willing to sate that second appetite.

Even if the lessons were couched in mythological phrasing, they were there. An Icarus comparison led to the importance of taking over aircraft during deck landings to cut down on accidents, or scouting for the foe gained an almost mythical character. It wasn't a teaching style that would appeal to everyone… but Langley liked it.

The lesson spilled over into dinner – bread rolls and aileron rolls – which itself spilled over into a discussion of flight in the evening. Airplanes were their bread and butter, of course, but there were other sorts, even beyond the classic balloon.

"I saw a few autogyros before…" Argus cleared her throat. "There were some in Britain, but I never got the opportunity to work with them."

"It would be interesting to try, I suppose," Langley said. "Although I can't imagine it being that much more efficient."

"Well," Argus tilted her head to the side, thinking. "Perhaps it doesn't need to be efficient?"

"Would you say that to your officers?" Langley asked.

"Ah… perhaps not…" Argus murmured, looking down at the ground. Lifting her arm, she checked her watch and yelped. "I beg your pardon, but I really must be going–"

"What?" Langley asked, moving to follow Argus as she upped the pace.

"A curfew, I'm afraid–!"

Huh. Langley didn't have a curfew.

As it turned out, the other British ships who visited for maintenance didn't have curfews either. It was apparently self-imposed. Maybe she needed her beauty sleep?

Whatever the reason might have been, she did seem to get her sleep, considering she was up bright and early the next morning for more discussion of carrier tactics.

It wasn't all learning from Argus, either. Yes, she had more lived experience – and technically this teaching was a favor from the government in Canada so she really should be exploiting it – but Langley had a particular talent for the finer mathematics of flight, enough to have a bit of an edge over Argus already. She wasn't going to spill NACA secrets or anything, but she knew the theory.

"In addition to being more efficient… wouldn't a cover also look better?" Argus asked.

Langley chuckled. "If you're not a fan of radial engines, I suppose it would."

"Ah, I remember you saying you weren't a fan–"

"There's a perfectly logical reason to dislike the exposed cylinders, as I said."

"The heroes of antiquity carried weapons that were both lovely and fatal, did they not?"

Langley gave Argus a questioning look. "Neither you nor I are heroes of antiquity. Honestly, shouldn't you fear heroes of antiquity?"

"Ah…" Argus sputtered, "My namesake was a hero, in a certain sense?" She snapped her fingers, her face lighting up. "Yes! He slew Echidna in her cave, as she slept!"

"That's… ironic," Langley said. She didn't know the myths as Argus did, but she was aware of the death of her teacher's namesake. Maybe that's why she was so worried about her sleep.

Argus cleared her throat. "Back to the subject at hand… do you think the cover could be engineered to produce forward lift?"

"Perhaps," Langley said. It would be rather efficient, wouldn't it? Cover up the draggy cylinders, counteract whatever drag the cowling causes with the lift…"

Argus giggled. "Yes, those draggy cylinders…"

"What?" Langley asked.

(Draggy apparently meant sluggish and old-fashioned in addition to the literal sense of causing drag that Langley meant. An accidental vindication of Argus' point… but a funny one, Langley could admit. Slang was something you learned.)

As productive as their discussions were, no one wanted British ships in American harbors for too long. It was some mix of cost and pride on the part of the British, while there was a general sense of uneasiness about maintaining British military hardware – and the political repercussions – on the American side.

(There were rumors that the more militant unions were considering a strike specifically against the repair of Canadian/British ships. But that assumed the unions didn't run into another kind of trouble first.)

Langley said goodbye to her first teacher – her first student, too? – a mere fortnight after their first meeting, the summer weather seemed completely unchanged. Langley knew that this first summer of her youth, if she really had one, wouldn't last forever… but Argus' parting prickled.

Other than far-flung Hermes, there was no one like her on this side of the Atlantic. There were some purpose-built carriers on the way, from what she heard, but they would be her juniors. Her students. Argus was… well, perhaps she was proof that Langley shouldn't be so worried. The teacher-student relationship didn't have to last forever, did it?

One day, she'd prove herself a contemporary of Argus. She'd take her lessons to heart and think up some new ones, she'd bring something more to the table than book learning about aerodynamics…

But for now, they parted. She looked exactly like she did when they first met, pale and lovely as a snowbell. A transplant to Canada had done nothing to harm her looks, that much was certain. Perhaps it had exacerbated some of that mythology obsession… but Langley could tolerate such idiosyncrasies in Argus' case.

"It truly was a pleasure, Langley."

"Thank you, Argus." She held out her hand, offering it to shake. Argus… didn't quite get it.

Argus caught Langley's hand in hers and laid a kiss upon its back. Vaguely, Langley thought that was something men were supposed to do, and given the way Argus' cheeks heated, she realized she had made a minor faux pas.

"Ah… be sure to write me," Argus said, before getting even redder. "About carrier tactics, that is. The Admirals wanted me to ask that…"

Dear Argus,

I'm sorry for the wait. I was press-ganged into a series of exhibitions almost as soon as you were gone. Fortunately, it seems I'm not condemned to the fate of a coastal barnstormer – there's a fleet problem I've been invited to. I'm certain that I will put your advice to good use, but I'm not sure how much I can tell you about it.

The Caribbean is terribly hot and humid, but I suppose you already know that…

I struggle to find words for this portion of the letter. You'll find my typical discussion of numbers and aerodynamics in the other papers. This personal portion of the letter seems so lacking compared to the notes. You'll have to forgive me for that – even if it might impress your admirals.

Your tricks for launching planes have helped Pennsylvania and Arizona, I'm glad to say. With their catapults and the carriers on the way, I'm almost beginning to feel obsolete, but I was always destined for a teaching role.

Sincerely,

USS Langley

My dear Langley,

I wish you and your comrades the best of luck with the Fleet Problem. I suspect we need even more practice than the ancients did – an aeroplane is more complex than a spear, by my reckoning. From what I've seen of Warspite's practice, our work with planes is a lot less effort physically.

As for your worries about filling these letters, I think your honesty is good enough! I assure you that we are not wanting for natter over here. I wouldn't mind hearing more from you, but there's no need to embellish for me. Your story about Arizona and Pennsylvania was already intriguing enough, for example. Are you allowed to tell me much more? I've seen photographs, and they seem to be lovely girls.

None of them are quite like you though, are they? Your green hair is unique among Americans, as far as I know. It might even be unique worldwide. There are more and more shipgirls now, so many that silver hair is starting to feel quite plain. I suppose I will have to make up for it with other sorts of charm…

Your friend,

Argus

P.S. I urge you to arrange some sort of flight with one of your planes. Say you need to test your abilities to fly them without a pilot – this summer is too lovely to spend cooped up at port. I almost thought I smelled the lavender fields.

Dear Argus,

The fleet problem has been a spectacular success in many ways. I cannot expound upon all of them, but I have produced a Wisdom Cube. I recall you describing the sensation to me, but your words did not do it justice. (Not for lack of trying, I assure you.)

Kimberly is sharp as a razor, and they say she takes after me. I suppose this a good place to start with introductions…

Langley spent most of her time hopping up and down the east coast. There was definitely a spot for carriers in the Pacific, but it was looking like she would be teaching Wasp and Hornet the basics together in the Atlantic. Perhaps it was some sort of saber-rattling directed at the Third Internationale. Maybe rattling was all they could pull off at the moment: with the depression going on, Langley couldn't imagine the saber went more than a couple of inches into the scabbard. But it could rattle.

Much of her time was spent near the capital. In addition to closeness with the boys in NACA's Langley, there was politics. Without heaping too much praise on herself, she was America's expert on carriers and she could deliver a good report. Perhaps it lacked some of Nevada's charisma, but she'd do her best with whatever task she was given.

This did limit her options for recreation a little, but again, she wasn't like Nevada or Oklahoma or some of the destroyers running around. She supposed her two main hobbies were letter writing and reading, and she wasn't lacking material for the latter. If the rumors were true, the Library of Congress was working its way toward a second building, and free access certainly wasn't the most absurd favor granted to a shipgirl.

(Free access to one of the world's largest research libraries was Langley's idea of a good time. That probably said something about her, not that Langley particularly cared. She knew what she liked to do, what she was built to do.)

Looking up at the roof of the Library of Congress – if you could tear your eyes away from the books – there were splendid murals, fine detail work next to allegorical figures:

Right above her head was Erotica. Despite the name, she was rather modest, wearing a simple dress and a crown of laurels. She represented that name in its purer form: love poetry. The Library of Congress hadn't commissioned a painted personification of pornography for their roof.

Some shipgirls had a name like that. Resolution or Revenge were high concept compared to a historical figure naming scheme. She wondered if it was more liberating, not having a single person to live up to. Someone like Nevada or Arizona had to satisfy or live up to a state instead of… say… a mountain, like one of the Austrian destroyers.

She read Langley but she didn't really know Langley the man. Ideally, she'd be the Langley of carrier-based aircraft. Was that too much to ask for? Well, maybe it was, considering that she had arrived a little late, but perhaps it was bad for a second reason: she'd never be that Langley, in the same way Argus wouldn't sprout ninety-eight additional eyes. She had to define herself.

Maybe she was just kicking the problem a little further down the road by referring to old books instead of her namesake for meaning, but her reading was certainly enlightening. She could see a bit of herself almost everywhere she cared to look.

The knight in chain or the arquebusier in a tercio, an iron-hulled sailing ship sailing those last few coalless sea lanes… a middle step, halfway between the old way and the new. Doomed to be overshadowed by the future, but worth something in the meantime.

Maybe she'd contribute something to this library. That was a pleasant thought, wasn't it? Oh, she was certain her name wouldn't be next to Xenophon and Homer, but she would produce something for the future to build on. She wondered if those authors of the past thought the same… perhaps the non-fiction ones did. Fiction was a different beast.

Fiction could be didactic, but it was also meant to express something. Philosophy said something about the human condition, but fiction and myth did as well.

Her reading started with the myths, so she could speak to Argus on the same level. There were no plans to pepper her speech with references, but classical education was impressive in a woman. The March Upcountry didn't mean much to a ship, so she found the Odyssey a bit more interesting…

And then there was the Tenth Muse. Not de la Cruz – if anyone was going to be reading her it was Arizona – but Sappho. It was a little grim, knowing that such a renowned poetess was now survived by one complete poem and a collection of scraps.

Despite twenty-five hundred years of separation, emotion persevered. There was ironclad truth there – a Grecian maid, warm summers, the hyacinth and the sweet apple – that screamed at her, a thousand times more real than some dry description of the importance of olives in the economy of ancient Greece or a recounting of some war.

My dear Argus,

You were right about that private flight. I didn't smell the lavender, but it's all so beautiful from above. It's all very romantic. I'm not sure if I should capitalize that.

Have you heard about Oldenburg's marriage? It seems like most of the men on base have, considering the way Arizona is getting swarmed. Was this a problem you've already faced…?

My dear Langley,

I think it could be both kinds of romantic, couldn't it? Wordsworth certainly loved his nature, and it also seems like a nice place to sneak away with someone. Speaking of, we know Oldenburg's tale well over here. You can guess why we're not all cheering, but it seems to have lit a similar fire.

The boys have flirted before (it's as constant as the sun o'erhead when you've a girl on a ship like that) but suddenly it seems a reasonable goal. Well, not reasonable for all of them… I almost have to wonder if we might be some sort of nobility in time. I know how you feel about titles, Langley, but I think we've all got a bit more prestige than you'd think. We're like those heroes of myth – would Perseus marry any sort of mortal?

Maybe I've just made your point about nobility for you. It's just hard not to think of them as different, in some sense. They don't even seem to age as we do, Langley. I hope Oldenburg is happy, but I don't think she can burn her husband's mortality away, can she?

Speaking of Demeter… I've missed you terribly. You and Hermes. I'm looking forward to the drills this spring - I promise I'll resolve this terrible weather then.

Sincerely,

Your friend, Argus

Unfortunately, Argus proved herself unlike Demeter in her control over the weather: it was miserably cold and rainy when they met next. Even the briefest moment outside would send dozens of droplets sneaking through your clothes…

That lovely, flower-like dress Argus had worn previously had been swapped for a simpler number, one which was itself hidden under a silver rain cape. They didn't speak a word before getting inside and shedding their rainwear (but Argus' grin before that was certainly reassurance).

Blue flattered her. She wore something like a naval uniform, although adjusted for a woman like Argus. Her hair had been tied up in a tidy bun behind her head, held in a place by a hairpin of silver and colored glass… it was… it suggested the rich plumage of a peacock.

"Langley?" Argus asked, volume a bit higher than usual.

She had been staring. "Sorry. It's just… been a while." Langley said, looking to the side and wiping a bit of dust off the shoulder of her suit. Her outfit was nothing special. Black suit and skirt, oxblood shoes and tie… it didn't feel as impressive. Green hair was a complication for your typical fashion plan.

Looking to the side, she caught a hint of Argus approaching and leaning in before her lips pressed against Langley's cheek. Langley's vision snapped back to Argus, who moved to the other flank so she could lay another kiss on Langley's other cheek.

"I- I- what do you think you're doing?"

Argus seemed embarrassed as well. "It's how they do it in Quebec, you see…"

"But you're not stationed in Quebec."

"And the Quebecois come down to visit!" Argus responded, a bit too quickly. "It's an expression of hospitality, and friendship, and…"

"Perhaps you'll explain it in words the next time," Langley said, staring at the wall.

"Well, you already know it now, don't you?" Argus asked.

"I suppose…"

Their conversation went in a pretty obvious direction, given the weather. The trick, they agreed, was probably guiding the men back to the carrier and landing them safely. Admittedly, Langley and Argus had an edge over the average pilot in that they had a special sensitivity to the location of the planes in relation to the ship, but that wouldn't stop a ship's deck rising and falling dozens of feet as the waves hit.

"Do you think a plane might be able to fight without vision one day?" Argus mused. "Like Perseus' shield for the modern age…"

"He could still see using the shield, it wasn't dark," Langley noted.

Argus smiled. "But you get my point, right? Perhaps, if there was some other way of seeing…"

"I'm sure the army would reward you for it," Langley remarked.

"Something with radio, perhaps?"

"I'll make sure to ask the Syndicalists to install radio on their planes at the earliest convenience," Langley remarked. Argus giggled.

If she remembered correctly, radar could bounce… or maybe some sort of sonar would give them superiority in the night skies, echolocating like the bats.

The hour grew late, and the rain showed no signs of stopping. Usually, Argus would retreat to her ship (or some place set aside for her when the ship was undergoing maintenance) around this time, but…

"Your curfew…" Langley said.

"What point is there in keeping my curfew by going through weather like this?" Argus asked.

"I'll see if I can find somewhere for us to sleep," Langley said. She slipped her jacket off her shoulders. They'd be staying in, after all. It wasn't… strange.

My dearest Langley,

I hope this weather isn't causing any problems for you. Old fogies such as ourselves have to mind these things, you know. Well, I suppose I'm not the only Canadian carrier who might have to worry about the chill in the future…

But that's a story for another time. I need to see your reaction in person. If you happen to figure it out before I can tell you – because of course, you would – then I would like you to tell me. I'll need to find some other silly story to shock you with by then.

Your advice worked, you'll be glad to know. Enough talk about mythology and he was running away from the table. I really do think the origins of Aphrodite are fascinating, but apparently, he didn't agree. He's told his friends.

(Speaking of, Sappho referred to Aphrodite as Cyprus-born. It's an interesting epithet, don't you think? Dalmuirian doesn't quite have the same ring to it as Cyprian, I will admit. But I suppose Cyprian isn't a flattering name anymore. And that bad reputation is all Aphrodite's fault too. C'est la vie. But maybe you have us all beat, Miss Vallejoan.)

I'm glad to hear Hornet and Wasp are doing well. I'm almost jealous, really. A couple of young proteges with no limit but the sky… it sounds nice. I must make do with inflicting my ancient truths on unsuspecting destroyers.

All thanks for the lavender pressings accompanying this letter are due to Foxhound. She's a very sweet girl. I think they might spruce up your room a bit – I know I can't trust you to decorate the place on your lonesome.

Thinking of you,

Argus

They wrote a lot of letters. Reams of them, really. Even when America called in the war loans and relations between the two states soured, they wrote. Meetings had become much rarer, and Langley was frequently caught up in some business of Hornet's.

( The names are fitting, aren't they? Argus wrote. They're always abuzz.)

Hornet and Wasp were doing well, even if the country wasn't. Haunting the shore near Washington wasn't nearly as pleasant when the political situation was so messy. Well, it had been a bit messy back then, too, but Langley might have gotten a bit more jaded since then. It did seem a bit rich to say she was tired of the world at the ripe old age of eleven, but she had come to appreciate Argus a lot more recently. They went at a similar pace, and their relationship was much closer than what she had started with Hermes.

It took a lot of favors to get a private meeting between the two of them, but at the very least it was just that. There was no need to pretend they were teaching each other – their governments might object, honestly – and so they met as… friends. Yes. Friends.

Argus hung her jacket up and went in for a hug with no hesitation. "Jove!"

Despite the many promises – or threats – Argus had made in their letters, Langley hadn't believed she'd actually do it. "Argus, do you plan on putting me down?"

"Perhaps… if you greet me properly." She giggled.

"Rosso…"

"That's the ticket."

Conte Rosso and Jupiter, Jove for short. They had never known themselves in those forms, receiving the spark of lifelong years after, but the names were still special to them. Jupiter wasn't Langley's name in a civilian capacity, hell, she had a Mexican service medal from back then, but it was a name she'd never be called in a military context, not anymore.

It was private.

Rosso laid her head in Jove's lap and gave her a dopey grin. "You know, Jove… I wish I had a hundred eyes right now."

"I don't think you'd look as good with ninety eight extra eyes."

"But you'd still love me, right?"

"I could tolerate it."

She stroked Rosso's hair, searching for knots that weren't there, and Rosso hummed in satisfaction. "Ah, dote on me a bit more…"

"A good teacher can't dote all the time…"Langley said, while trying her best to not look Rosso in the eyes.

Rosso squeezed her hand. "Then maybe… maybe you can punish me for breaking my curfew?" It had been a long time since she had seen Rosso living up to her name like that.

My dearest, Argus…