Knocknocknock-
James David undid two locks and twisted the knob, silencing the knocking. Pressed up against the doorframe, he yanked the door open with his free hand and glared out.
He glared into the darkness of night and nothing else. Confusion seized him.
"I'm not that short, am I?"
His eyes darted down, bewildered.
Whoever it was, they weren't. They were shorter than average, yes, but he hadn't had the best angle to look down after opening his door and jerking it to the end of the sturdy door chain. Their identity might have been unknowable to him, if he'd just looked at the hood of the burly brown coat and nondescript jacket and jeans, but James David recognized that voice, even after years.
"Miss Portland?" he asked, incredulous. The grip of both of his hands loosened, and she shushed him. "Please, don't say that James. I'm… um, on the run?"
He kept staring as the hood retreated a few inches. Combined with her voice, those soft features, blue eyes, and light-blue hair, it really couldn't be anyone but Portland. Even still, the worry and fear on her face was not something he thought she'd ever wear, in the short time he'd known her. She'd seemed like a radiant flame of optimism and thanks.
"Can I come in?"
Now, she was worried. More than that, there was a kernel of fear in the corners of her eyes, in her glances behind her up and down the shoddy street of low homes and wild yards, in the nervous wringing of her hands.
Even if he didn't recognize the fear in her, he recognized the fear. He'd felt it on rocking ships fighting in battle, when there was so little he could do to influence the outcome, and he'd felt it even more since the end of the war, in the hard stares and harder words meant to break him on a personal level.
Her fear dredged up his own, and he slammed the door in her face. Taking a deep breath, he ignored the curious shout of someone else in his home and began undoing the chain holding the door shut. "Fine. Fine," he muttered through the door to calm her panic, if she was panicking.
He didn't actually know her that well.
His other hand set his shotgun back down in the corner between the door and the nearest wall.
He threw open the door. "In. Now."
She rushed past him faster than he could blink, and in the moment he was left staring again at nothing, he was reminded that Portland was just not a woman, but a shipgirl.
He slammed the door shut, rehooked the chain, and bolted and twisted the locks. He grabbed a chair from the dining room and shoved it beneath the doorknob. He stole a glance at the whiskey he'd been nursing to toast the death of that kraut bastard in Germany as Portland continued to marvel at his home.
He put it out of his mind and focused back on the shipgirl, who was still looking around the place, fascinated. "It's not much," he said, running a calloused hand through his shortly shorn hair. It might not have been much, but it was a hell of a lot more than he'd had before the war or during the war. "It is mine, mine and-"
"James Oliver David," came the exasperated call of another feminine voice, "what're you bangin' that door-"
She nearly stumbled as she looked down the hall, at him looking sheepish and the white woman looking around like their home was a zoo.
"Mayola," he said, warning and pleading mingled in her name, "this is Portland."
Mayola David glanced between the two of them, brewing confusion halted. Somehow, in the seconds between letting her in and now, Portland had changed her clothes. She was no longer wearing jeans, a jacket, and a thick coat, but instead clothes that were more skimpy than the ones he was sure she was wearing the last time he'd seen her, years ago.
She skipped forward and shook his wife's hands with hers. "Hello! I'm Portland, Heavy Cruiser, first of the Portland class, hull number CA-33! I participated in a lot of battles and got sixteen battle stars! You must be James's wife, right? Did he tell you much about me?"
She kept talking. Mayola was blindsided, by the speed and rapid-fire speech and the handshake and James's apologetic look, and Portland's words about being on the run echoed in his head and keeping his fear on a low simmer-
A sharp gasp dragged his attention from his wife and Portland to the end of the hallway, where a little girl dressed in her school clothes gaped at the unfamiliar person standing in their home.
He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes as her shout echoed through the building. "Anna!" Mary shouted, "Daddy's brought a white lady home! And she's got blue hair!"
-OxOxO-
Adolf Hitler was dead.
Tanya stared down at her desk and did her best to ignore the raucous screaming and explosions outside.
This event had only served to complicate Tanya's life.
The first aspect of the complications was that Tanya knew it was not an accident. Mainz had told Viktoriya that a coup was going to occur just hours ahead of time. Viktoriya had called Tanya, who had been told much the same and provided with details regarding the whos and the hows of the coup. Tanya was not taking her words at face value; though unlikely after so long, it was possible she'd been feeding them information for months to lie to them now.
Official details were very muddled, on account of the existence of the internet. There were videos showing him getting blown to smithereens from at least five angles, including one from a helicopter and another from a drone. There were claims that he'd survived, on account of the sheships attending the event and acting as his bodyguards and/or his 'indomitable Aryan spirit.' There were conflicting messages from just about every official outlet of the German government, from the tax office to the personal accounts of the likes of Speer and Goebbels to the SS. Most not part of the government had concluded he was dead. Among other things, the drone had captured footage of a body which may or may not have been Hitler's flying up and out of the explosion. The footage had been slowed, overlaid with a catchy pop song and captions, and turned into a meme. Senator Joseph McCarthy had reposted at least ten versions of the meme and had posted dozens of older ones calling for the man's death. He was being accused of stealing the ones he posted, at least a handful of which had been made by the Soviet Union. Germans, Nazis, and Nazi Germans were responding by posting lists of the judeo-bolshevik and decadent west's supposed crimes against humanity, as well as more memes, the most popular of which was an image of FDR slumped over in his wheelchair.
The two largest social media apps had crashed due to all the traffic, which had led to a cascade of failing apps and websites as people flocked to whatever was available to continue talking about what was happening.
Europe as a whole was engulfed in chaos, which was steadily spreading around the world as everyone reacted to the news.
Besides planning on what orders to give after it happened, she'd been able to do little with the forewarning. She'd sent an aerial mage runner with a letter to catch up with the empty supply convoy that had left a day ago. When Mainz had first begun giving them sensitive information, it had been decided that it would all be sent physically until such time that secure communications could be established.
All of the Empire's scientists, including Schugel, were working to remedy that by putting satellites into orbit, but their skills were in constant demand.
The second aspect of the complications were the effects of his death. Most Iron Blood sheships and German nationals were all either in mourning or chomping at the bit to head home, of course, but Tanya was not headquartered in the Crimson Axis base; Basel was acting at the head of the Nemonian contingent on Saipan. According to her, there was infighting taking place between the diehard Nazi sheships and those who claimed to be waiting for orders, who just-so-happened to be loyal to Bismarck and Prinz Eugen or 'Germany' over the party in control of the state.
All of the information on the dispositions of the sheships involved was, of course, provided by Mainz and then confirmed by Nemonian sheships that interacted with them.
No, Tanya was not having to deal with the Iron Blood. Tanya was having to deal with the partying.
Tanya certainly didn't hold any love for the megalomaniacal despot on a personal level. Her position as the leader of Nemonia came with a certain amount of public scrutiny, however, which meant she couldn't join or spurn invitations, to her or to Nemonia as a whole, to celebrate the Nazi's death until such time that the Empire sided with Azur Lane or the Crimson Axis.
So, she had to sit in her office, able to get only the barest amount of work done with the constant bombardment of the American's fireworks and celebratory salvos from Azur Lane's sheships and cheering of the massive, sprawling party that had engulfed the base.
She lowered her head and laced her fingers together behind her head, suppressing the urge to groan out loud. Another explosion rocked the base, followed by a hearty cheer.
"Ehm, sir?"
Her gaze snapped up. Rudolf only flinched a little. "Sir, a group of Iron Blood ships have deviated from their patrol route and are headed towards this base. A meeting has been called."
A sigh escaped her, but she rose to her feet all the same to follow him to the dedicated meeting room. Modern electronics were scarce and entirely provided by their allies, which meant they were as much a way to monitor their activity as they were a useful communication device. She'd isolated them to a single room at present, though she was under no illusions that they would keep things that way if they wished to access the efficiency such devices granted.
All of the Empire's scientists, including Schugel, were working to remedy the Empire's inability to produce such devices, but their skills were in constant demand.
Tanya surveyed the screen and found herself surprised. She'd expected to see only the leaders of each faction's sheships stationed on base, but it seemed that Enterprise, Prince of Wales, Lyon, Kronshtadt, Yat Sen, and An Shan were being joined by Tirpitz of Iron Blood fame. She looked uncomfortable with the situation, but she was there all the same.
"You have my thanks for joining us, von Degurechaff," Tirpitz said in German. Tanya told her she was welcome, and then the meeting continued in earnest.
"To reiterate, Deutschland, Z16, Z26, Brünhilde, and Z24 have all abandoned their patrol. It was presumed that their absence from the meetup at the midpoint between Saipain and Guam was a sign they'd been taken into a Mirror Sea. However, they were spotted by the Japanese outpost on Rota a little over an hour after the meetup and broke their silence to tell us that they were, quote, 'going to shut those western shit-eating degenerate apes up.'" She grimaced.
"The rest of the Crimson Axis contingent of today's joint patrol has been sent after them as fast as possible, but they will be within shelling distance of Guam well before they catch up," she said, admitting at last, "We would be grateful if you were able to intercept them and turn them back before things get violent."
Tanya's right eye twitched, once. Oh, now this was starting to sound familiar.
Enterprise and Kronshtadt were barely paying attention. The former seemed to be calling in from close to the celebration outside, if the crowd behind her was anything to go by, while the latter was openly drinking an entire bottle of vodka while Tirpitz talked. Prince of Wales was sipping a cup of tea, most probably as a part of a more refined celebration. Tanya couldn't tell what the other three were doing, but she presumed Lyon at least had been celebrating with her fellow countrymen.
Most of them looked, to varying degrees, annoyed, incredulous, or smug. Tirpitz's gaze didn't flinch at any of the looks. "Perhaps if you just delay them for a little while, we might gather enough forces to convince them to come back-"
Kronshtadt belted out a sentence in Russian that sounded mocking to Tanya's unfamiliar ears. Rudolf translated her words almost as soon as she finished, and Tanya held back a snort as the Russian woman continued. "As if we'd stop you from starting an international incident! We'll crush you under our heel you-"
"Bystanders could die-"
Kronshtadt began shouting, slurring her words. She was muted by Enterprise. "Tirpitz, how do you expect us to hold them for long enough for you to catch up without fighting?"
Rudolf tapped the table she was sitting behind. An illusion two feet in front of them made it appear neither of them were moving while she looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. He mouthed the words, 'You could. Buy goodwill.'
She mulled the proposition over. Helping them would buy goodwill, with Tirpitz specifically and perhaps with the German government, whether the coup succeeded or failed. The more important factor was how her superiors might interpret her unwillingness to take initiative when presented with an opportunity, which meant the decision was out of her hands.
The illusion snapped out of existence as she came to a conclusion. "I can do it," Tanya offered. The argument between Enterprise and Prince of Wales over whether to deploy any sheships at all or to just send a few airwings to dissuade their advance halted in a moment.
"You will?" Enterprise asked. Tirpitz just thanked her. "Vielen Dank, von Degurechaff," she said with a very faint smile. Tanya nodded. "I have one question, however."
"I recall that Deutschland and Brünhilde were both present during the Unity Celebration. Tell me, the other three are aware of the capabilities of my nametake, correct?"
-OxOxO-
He turned back down the hallway, towards his dining room and away from the landline phone.
"This is really good! Thank you again, James."
She gave him the compliment as he returned to his seat, and then she was back to talking with his kids. She'd let Mary and Anna brush her hair, and she'd shown them how she braided it on 'special occasions,' and that was all it took to make them thick as thieves.
"Remember, Mary, as the older sister, you've got a responsibility to your younger sister. Remember to keep her safe."
"Uh huh. Can you tell us about Midway again, miss?"
"Well, I suppose one more time couldn't hurt!"
They'd spent three long hours talking, while he made a big dinner and his family spoke with her. She'd talked about the battles she'd fought, from the central Pacific to off of Alaska's coast, and she'd talked about what she remembered of her time as a hull, when he'd been serving aboard her, and she'd talked about all the celebrations after the war, and she'd talked about being stationed in the caribbean.
Despite it all, he hadn't heard a single word about her sister.
With three hours gone and the night slipping away, he made his decision. "Mary, Anna," he said, "I think I need to have a talk with Miss Portland. Go help your mom clean the kitchen, then it's off to bed."
They groaned, but they were good kids who did what they were told and left the table to help Mayola. Portland's sigh was wistful as they watched the pair depart, and James did his best to keep his breathing even.
"Miss Portland-"
"James, c'mon! You served aboard my hull, you don't have to call me miss." She sounded happy.
He frowned, but if she said it was fine, then not doing what she asked wouldn't be polite. "Portland, then. What are you doing here? When we met, the first thing you did after callin' the officers a…" he shook his head, "a 'buncha meanie-heads' was talk about your sister. Is… that why you're on the run?"
The girl he'd known for all of an hour before never seeing her again slipped away with her smiling face and relaxed shoulders and left behind a somber, sadder girl who sat in quiet melancholy.
He sighed. Truly, he hadn't been expecting to meet her at all. All the crewmen and officers had worn their dress uniforms to attend her awakening ceremony during those first months of the war, but not him and the others part of the 'Steward' branch. Oh, they got apologies 'cause they didn't 'look good in front of the cameras,' but squat else.
Then, when she'd seen they weren't there, she'd left early, ignored orders, and thanked each and every one of them. The officers had been raving and roaring, but she'd shut them up right quick. He'd gotten to speak with her himself for around ten minutes and then again as a group with the other messmen for an hour before she'd thanked them for their work again and left.
Now she was back, and now she was lonely.
Portland's response was quiet. "Indy's been gone for years now, James. I… I saw her one last time in forty-five, and she's been gone ever since." She sniffled. "I've spent so long trying to figure out where she went. I've combed through newspapers, and I listened to the radio, and I sent her hundreds of letters!"
Her gaze drew away from the table into the distance. He couldn't meet it. "They all returned to me unopened."
"If-" she sniffled again, tears beginning to slip down her cheeks, "If I'd done something to her, and- and she never wanted to talk to me again, I… I'd try to make it up to her, if I could, but-"
She was crying now, and James found tears stabbing at his own eyes like the feelings roiling in his gut. "If she didn't want to talk to me again, as long as I knew she was okay, then… then I could bear it, but-"
The sadness twisted, and she slammed a foot into the ground. "IT'S NOT FAIR!"
Silence pervaded the home. The sounds of running water and easy evening talk had stopped, but he couldn't muster the will to tell his family to stop being nosy.
"I've looked everywhere. I've been chased up and down the east coast for four months, investigating when I could and hiding when I couldn't, and I haven't been able to find anything. She went to Norfolk for reassignment, and then… she disappeared." More prominent than the rage, or the sadness, or the fear, was the bone-deep tiredness.
"Portland, I…"
She looked up at him. He wanted to give her hope, to tell her to keep looking, that if she worked hard enough, she'd find her sister. He wanted to keep her talking, and he wanted to let this odd, weird moment where the ship he spent years on perfecting how to make good food got to see his home and meet his wife and his children stretch on into the night.
The fear he'd seen in her eyes ate at him. Her sadness, her rage, and her fake-happiness ate at him. The bone-deep tiredness permeating her being that he recognized in the mirror every morning ate at him.
The guilt ate at him, nipping at his heels, gnawing on his heart, salivating over his eyes.
He spoke quickly.
"Portland, two months ago, some suits came by." He could not meet her eyes. "In the dead of night. Said they worked for the FBI. They… they gave me cash, over ten grand, and they gave me a number, and said if… if you came by, to give them a call."
He could not meet her eyes. "Said that if you did, and I didn't, they'd burn my diner down, and my house, and then make our lives hell. Portland, I- I-"
"James."
He was shaking now. Were his family watching, listening? He could not look up to find out. "I- I've worked so damn hard, Portland, and- I went to school and got my degree an' everything; we're not wealthy, but we've a good, Christian life, and I- I couldn't put them in danger, I-"
"James, please, look at me."
Shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, James finally looked up. Portland, looking just the same and years older at the same time, gave him a small, sad smile. "I don't blame you, James."
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
KRA-KOOOOM
The world shook.
-OxOxO-
The META base in the Antarctic had been nothing. A human leftover from the interwar period, abandoned with the same haste it had been constructed with. META denial of entry to any ship, Allied or Axis or even Siren, as well as their absolute refusal to communicate, meant the closest points of human habitation were in the southernmost extremes of South America and two insignificant groups of islands owned by the British.
No one had tried anything in decades, even with their shipgirls. Teleportation meant the three of them chose when and how to engage with any hostile forces and allowed them to patrol the entire continent.
The META base, embedded in a rocky hill and jutting up and over the water like a towering, crystalline spear, was one of the tallest structures in the world and had been built in just four months. It, and the rest of the coastline of Antarctica, was defended by scores of pawns, mass-produced vessels, and shore batteries that meant only the entire might of one of the major powers would allow for even a landing. All of it had been built courtesy of construction drones stolen from the Sirens years ago by Graf Spee and her cyberwarfare capabilities.
Texas hoped it would last at least a minute or two against that anomaly.
She was still terrified of having to go up against something so strong, even with all of their defenses. Spee was also wary, though that was only when she was conscious and not struggling to parse the question of that ship's existence.
In keeping with her predictable and belligerent personality, Yuudachi was set on leaving and fighting her, right now.
"You'll lose," Texas tried again. It wouldn't work, but it would keep the girl focused on talking enough that she'd not spend her whole mind figuring out how to break Texas's hold on her furry scruff. "You don't know that!"
Texas didn't. That anomaly, SMS Tanya von Degurechaff, was overwhelmingly powerful, and would put most ships, even those who'd gone through METAmorphosis, to shame.
Texas was betting Yuudachi's experience might give her enough of an edge to outlast her.
"If you want to win, then we need backup," Texas tried. Yuudachi continued to twist, wriggling to escape from Texas's grip. "I have you two, and if we go in with some other faction or the Sirens, we might-"
"Yuudachi," Texas admonished. She smacked the back of the girl's head with her free hand. She fought harder.
"What? We're not getting any reinforcements, right? Stargazer's not found any way to get through the blockade that doesn't involve the total yearly energy output of the sun!"
"Yuudachi!"
The girl finally quit fighting, and Texas sighed. She tried, one last time, to impress the importance of their work on her compatriot. "That country," she ground out, "has people that can fight Sirens. Our priority is figuring out their magic and finding a way to export it across the multiverse to give all humanity a way to fight Sirens that doesn't involve shipgirls!"
"I don't careeeeeeee," Yuudachi groaned.
"Then maybe help us figure out why the Sirens blew away so many resources in a single battle they probably knew they couldn't win?" she asked. Yuudachi continued her groaning.
Finally, Texas snapped. "Fine!" she shouted, black hair whipping around her, "go test the defenses again."
"Yay!"
She skipped off, her rigging manifesting as she left, leaving Texas and Spee alone. They were in the basement of the spire they'd constructed to act as their headquarters, now that they had actual work to do. It would be nice to have something like Queen Elizabeth's train around, but they didn't have the resources to make something that esoteric, no matter its advantages.
"We can guess," Admiral Graf Spee said. Texas flinched and looked back at the girl forever encased in her metallic cocoon, which now slotted neatly into the floor instead of spilled wires and machinery over it. Texas rolled her eyes and settled back into her leather chair. "Sure, but we won't know."
"What other reason could they have, besides a desire to show what that anomaly is truly capable of?"
"Maybe they've finally been corrupted beyond logic?" Texas asked. She knew that wasn't likely, either. They wouldn't have put quite so much thought behind their attack if they were, and they certainly wouldn't have gone completely radio silent for so long afterwards.
"Doubtful, as you well know. That country and the anomaly birthed from it were the start of the blockade; investigating them and the Siren's efforts to circumvent the blockade will be important to our own attempts."
Texas sighed tiredly. She sounded present. She sounded resolved.
That meant she had missions for them, which might mean action.
Texas hated action.
"Who's going where, then?"
"You and Yuudachi will harass the Sirens and attempt to obtain some data with some programs and viruses I provide, while I will perform surveillance on the Empire."
She sighed. "Same split as usual, then."
The barest hint of emotion welled up in the girl's voice. "I cannot control her like you."
Texas settled back into her chair. Yuudachi would tire herself out testing the continent's defenses. She'd be just the smallest bit more willing to listen to them afterwards, which meant they weren't going anywhere until after she'd done so, at the earliest.
Texas was not looking forward to fighting, but if Yuudachi was battering their defenses, she wasn't likely going to be in the line of fire.
'Not likely' wasn't the same as 'not.'
Even the barest of chances of a real fight made her heart quiver.
-OxOxO-
KRA-KOOOOM!
The world shook again, his family screamed, and he shouted. A light like the sun streamed in through the windows.
Portland stood from her seat, steady and resolute.
"With how fast I was getting found, I'd suspected that the people I was staying with were selling me out," she admitted, "but none of them said anything. I'd hoped maybe they hadn't bothered with you. Considering how we met, I guess they were sure I wasn't going to overlook you."
She turned to the door. In the time between one blink and the next, her rigging appeared.
On her back, a smokestack, bridge, and other recognizable elements of her superstructure were attached to her back, out of which moving pillars of metal jutted, attached to more metal that resembled her hull's bow. Two of her batteries of guns were attached to the left piece, one to the right. Little turrets resembling the anti-aircraft guns he'd fantasized jumping on in the heat of battle bristled from the end of the latter.
Framing her form, a bright light was glowing behind his front door, obscuring the night and any view outside of the window.
"So, thank you again, James David, for the meal. Your cooking was as excellent as I always thought it would be!"
"Portland?" asked the distant, deeper voice of a woman.
"CA-33, HEAVY CRUISER, PORTLAND-CLASS, DESIGNATION 'PORTLAND,'" shouted a second voice, loud and reverberating like the twin strikes of lightning that had just occurred. James couldn't tell if that voice was feminine or masculine.
"I'm here!" she called. He glanced between the door and her, panicking. He'd seen enough fights between shipgirls online to know his home wouldn't-
"Don't worry," she said, "They don't like collateral damage anymore than I do. We'll head out to the road and fight it out there. You all can even watch! The least I could do to pay you back for the trouble is give you a good sh-"
Her reassurance was interrupted by the obliteration of his front door, its hastily installed locks, his shotgun, and a three-foot space where the door had once been.
Not by an explosion, but by the momentary existence of a spherical, white-hot sun of light that vaporized everything it touched.
KRA-KOOOOM!
His world shook, and his family screamed, louder this time.
What stood in the hole in his home was nothing less than the silhouette of a human, made up entirely of a blinding, burning light, like looking at the sun or a bolt of lightning. It was the very incarnation of light itself.
"I'm afraid our orders have changed, Portland," the deeper voice apologized. He couldn't see its origin outside. The glowing silhouette was making it impossible to see anything beyond it. It held a submachine gun in one hand and a parade saber in the other.
"Audit, Lightning," Portland said, nervous and wary, "What gives? I thought-"
The silhouette stepped forward, movements jerky and robotic as it kept both blade and gun pointed squarely at Portland.
"ORDERS CHANGE, DESIGNATION PORTLAND. IN LIGHT OF CONTINUOUS, REPEATED ESCAPES AND THE SOCIO-ECONOMIC STATUS OF YOUR CURRENT LOCATION," the burning silhouette answered, voice furious and loud, "COLLATERAL DAMAGE HAS BEEN DEEMED ACCEPTABLE."
She didn't turn to him. "Run."
Like any good soldier, he did as he was told.
As he ran, Portland whipped out a pair of sunglasses she'd stolen months ago and eyed Agent Lightning. With them, she could look at the girl without damaging her eyes.
Agent Lightning was as fast as the namesake she'd donned during their many meetings. She bolted towards her, short hair and skirt twirling and sword swinging towards Portland's head, movements no longer robotic but fluid, efficient, and deadly.
She blocked with half her rigging and retaliated with her guns, silently apologizing to James for the collateral.
She didn't have time to take in the damage. By the time the shots reached where she'd been, Agent Lightning was already gone.
Without turning, she brought up her right-side rigging, blocking six simultaneous shots from the nimble shipgirl's rigging, an odd design where three ribs of metal, each with a twin turret at its head, reached over her shoulders and around her left arm like a great metal three-fingered claw. They darted away, sending a spray of electric bullets at her. Again, she was set on the defensive, blocking as much as she could with her own rigging and running, through the tingling jolts of electricity being sent through her body, for one of the walls.
As easy as stepping through a curtain, Portland barged through the wall of James's house, brick and wood parting like cloth. She escaped into the muggy Carolina night-
A concussive blast of metal and pressure met her, courtesy of Agent Audit's overlarge cannon. She flew through the air end-over-end.
Portland went sprawling, scrambling to get back to her feet. She refused to ward them off by firing wildly. A single shot from her guns could destroy an entire house, kill an entire family-
Her pursuers did not care.
Audit sent another concussive blast of fire and metal at her, which she dodged. It barreled through the house behind her.
"Who are you!?" she screamed, firing back at Audit. "You- you're killing innocents! You said you were working for the same government I was! How could you-"
Another six simultaneous blasts peppered her rear, only partially absorbed by her rigging, and she found herself boxed in between the two of them and two houses. Her limbs were twitching, begging to rest, but she refused to fall. She'd fought against worse odds, against-
Audit spoke in the same measured, self-assured tone she always used. "We are, Portland, but the sad fact is that your continued obstinance is costing quite a lot of time and money. The sooner this ends, the sooner-"
"I'll never stop!" she raved, sending another salvo towards them both. The training rounds were easily dodged by quick movements and only blew modest holes through the low homes around them.
Portland crouched, and Portland jumped, up and over the slower Audit. "I'll never stop!" she promised as she began to run. "I'll find Indianapolis if it's the last thing-"
Lighting had followed her, and she found herself sent to the ground by a kick to the head. Her world spun, but she rose to her knees. She had to keep fighting.
She had to know. She had to know where her sister was. She wouldn't stop at ANYTHING to find find find find FIND FIND-
Lightning's submachine gun was pressed into the back of her head. She froze, tense, ready to swing her rigging with as much force as she could and splatter the cubes of the thing trying to keep her from her sister from here to New York City.
The woman's blade slammed into the back of her head, sending another, larger jolt of electricity through her, and Portland's vision began to fade, her limbs finally giving out. Her rigging demanifested.
Still, she fought. Her lungs heaved air into her body, her aching arms pushed against the ground. A foot was pressing into her back, but still she fought. Her hands pressed cracks into the concrete below.
Soft blue light began to gather around them, and fear and fury and hate and rage filled her. Teleportation?!
"Who are you!?" James David screamed. She couldn't see him.
She fought to rise, uncaring of why he was still there. Her hands sunk deeper into the asphalt. No, no, she couldn't let her crew die. She was a shipgirl, she couldn't just let that happen, and if they weren't concerned about collateral damage, then they'd silence him-
The foot on her back, and the blinding presence she was only now consciously registering in her vision, did not move. "Just an agent of the federal government, Mr. David. You will be appropriately compensated for the damage, and for the trouble, and for your silence. Have a good evening."
The sirens of police reached Portland's ears.
The light around them, the light emanating from all around them instead of from Lightning, grew brighter.
She fought.
The weight pressed down harder.
The light-bright legs in front of her shifted.
"I am a shipgirl!" Lightning declared, no longer so loud. She was facing Portland's body. "I am a bolt of lightning! Though my home may be occupied, as long as I stand, it is not lost, FOR I AM A-"
Her sword whistled through the air, and Portland's world finally went dark.
-OxOxO-
"Who the fuck are you?"
"SMS Deutschland, only the most preeminent of the Kaiserreich-class battleships to ever exist! And I have to say, you are just the cutest thing in the-"
The string of profanity the leader of the five awol Iron Blood ships released could have melted paint and boiled water on contact. Her fury at having her path blocked was incandescent. The battlecruiser Tanya assumed was her second looked unfazed beyond a hint of mild confusion. The three destroyers accompanying KMS Deutschland and KMS Brünhilde looked suitably cowed by the force arrayed against them.
For all that this situation – having to hold off an enemy force to give time for reinforcements to arrive – stank of similarity to her first ever mission, the key and trivializing difference was that she hardly had to tackle the problem alone.
The five Iron Blood sheships were up against Tanya, her nametake, three aerial mages, and five Nemonian sheships they'd carried from the base here.
"Tirpitz does not appreciate your actions," Tanya stated, ignoring the ongoing spat between the rogue Deustchland and the Nemonian one, who appeared to be lording her superior stature over the 'pocket battleship.'
"Deutschland?" Brünhilde asked, her voice confused. "You said-"
She screamed, her hands cradling her head. The Nemonian Deutschland was also pressing a hand to her head. "LIES!" she shouted. "Like the idea that our beloved Führer is dead! We'll grind you decadent idiots into a red slurry and gorge ourselves for celebrating when it is only by his infinite mercy that you neanderthals even breathe!"
Tanya sighed. The presence of six sheships and four aerial mages was overkill, if she were honest with herself. The only person she had to send was her nametake, who was drifting through the air, doing slow backflips out of boredom.
"Nametake," Tanya snapped, "Pay attention."
She flinched, nodded, and… flew next to Tanya, crossing her arms and throwing on a scowl that looked like it might intimidate a newborn puppy. Tanya suppressed the urge to sigh.
"Tirpitz has asked that we only delay you all until Crimson Axis forces could come by and pick you up-"
Deutschland's rigging appeared, aimed for Tanya. The sheships below them manifested their own rigging, and Deutschland's compatriots, though reluctant, joined her.
"I WILL NOT BE TREATED LIKE A CHILD, YOU SCION OF DECADENCE! YOUR STATE HAS DEGENERATED INTO A MOCKERY OF GERMAN MIGHT, POLLUTED WITH THE IMPURE BLOOD OF PEOPLES LESSER THAN GERMANS! I'LL WRING YOUR CHICKEN-SHIT NECK LIKE-"
Tanya rolled her eyes. She got points for creativity, at least.
"Nametake."
The sheships and aerial mages alike stilled at the word, becoming as motionless as the distant, flat horizon of the Pacific ocean.
"Keep her occupied until their minders arrive. Leave the others alone unless they attack."
"Understood," she replied, expression stoic, voice a mirror of Tanya's. Deutschland flinched in fear-
Her nametake disappeared in a flash, impacting the water and causing a small wave from where her feet touched the water. A grin crept onto her face as her rigging manifested, and then…
She whisted.
"Umbria, die Große Böse Seewölfin… go play with that meanie!"
From behind her, in an invisible tear in reality, what her nametake had variably christened her 'animal companion' tore.
Instead of the black, armored orca form that could fly through the air, the animal was in its other form. The mechanical, blood-red wolf howled as it tore towards Deutschland.
To her credit, she immediately opened fire on it. The animal dove beneath the water for a moment, and then lunged out towards the girl. She screamed, and the wolf bit onto her rigging.
It shook her like a ragdoll, with such force that a human would have broken bones, if they weren't outright killed. It let her go, and she skipped across the water like a stone, screaming all the while.
It turned its head to look back at her nametake, panting. AA guns bristled in between its sharp, spiky fur, while its long tail that served as a runway whipped back and forth through the air. The yellow glow of its eyes resembled the color of the Empire's flag, as opposed the more saturated, eerie shade of the Siren's technology and its orca form.
"Go on!" Her nametake said, "It's good for you to get some practice against an actual opponent! If things get too tough, remember you can summon some aircraft!"
It tilted its head and then looked at its tail, eyes intent. Her nametake sighed. "Umbria, don't let her get away!"
It looked, towards the sputtering Deutschland and its tail, torn. Her nametake sighed. "If you keep playing with her, I'll give you some treats."
Tanya wondered what that thing ate. The same thing as any sheship, or did it prefer dog food?
It bounded off. "Oh, Umbria! Don't tear her to pieces, please!"
It barked again, pounced on Deutschland, and began shaking her again. She was screaming, even more enraged than she'd already been.
Tanya turned her attention back to the other four. "Well?"
Brünhilde spoke slowly. "I was under the impression we'd been given a secret order from the homeland to personally protest their… celebrating. Nothing more."
The other three muttered their agreement, and Tanya was content with that. The hasty agreement stank of a lie to some degree, but she hardly cared. Instead, she watched her nametake's 'pet' Umbria, making plans to counter it if she had to.
Tanya might have to fight her, one day, and every scrap of information on how to fight her would be integral to surviving such a lopsided contest. With luck, though, she might not have to rely on her own comparatively paltry physical and magical strength.
Schugel was working to remedy the imbalance between a sheship and an Aerial Mage, but his skills were in constant demand.
"Wanna spar?" her nametake asked. The others, Nemonian and Iron Blood sheships alike, all answered fast and in the negative. Tanya didn't even have to look to know she was looking at herself, eyes pleading even if she'd taught the girl not to wear her emotions on her sleeve.
Her teaching was a work in progress, if the girl's naivety wasn't a complex facade meant to fool Tanya into thinking she didn't have Tanya's memories. "We're on duty," Tanya replied to the unasked question. Her nametake sighed, muttering indistinct under her breath, and then jetted off after Umbria and Deutschland.
Tanya watched her go. For all that Tanya sparred with her and ordered others to do so, she was faced with little challenge. She'd have to set something up with Enterprise, when she wasn't busy fielding the long line of challengers that wanted to settle scores or test their mettle against her.
A grin began to creep onto her face as she watched her nametake join Umbria. As the girl grabbed onto Deutschland's rigging, spun around, and flung her away for Umbria to retrieve like a stick, Tanya considered if she might have found a way to hit take care of her nametake's boredom and the intransigence of certain libidinous sheships.
-OxOxO-
When Portland's eyes next fluttered open, they were again blinded by bright lights. She struggled, not sure where she was, only knowing that the light was bad, and that she had to move, to get away, to-
Her memories returned to her in a rush, and she bolted upright.
The facts of her situation came to her slowly. She was in a hospital bed. She was hooked up to all the fancy machines a human or a shipgirl could want hooked up to them. She was in a room as bland and nondescript as any hospital she'd been in. There were no guards in the room. She was not tied down. The two shipgirls who had been attacking her were nowhere to be seen.
She lifted up her arms, her eyes widening. She was not tied down.
"Awake, dearie?"
Her gaze snapped to her right. She was not alone.
Wearing a white dress and shirt, sporting round, kindly features, as well as a small hat with a red cross on it, Portland recognized them as a nurse. Only after the girl opened her eyes did Portland realize that the woman with the tri-tipped pupils was not a human woman, but a sheship.
The inconsistencies in her appearance began making more sense. Her uniform was a size too small for her, and the long black hair flowing down her back couldn't have been to regulation for a human woman. Portland opened her mouth, to ask where she was and what was going on and where the two tracking her down had gone-
"Repair ship Bridgeport, hull number AR-2, at your service, miss Portland. I'm happy to say that your injuries are all patched over, though you'll need a week of easy going before you're fit for battle."
She turned away and began packing away a number of personal items neatly arranged on a nearby desk. "Taking care of the overwork and malnourishment will take a bit longer than that, I'm afraid."
Like a number of repair ships Portland had met, she had the perfect voice for making one feel guilty for things they'd had to do in the name of winning a battle. As she'd answered before, Portland said, "Yes ma'am."
Her nurse bag restocked, the woman did a small curtsey with her head bowed. "I'll be doing your checkup in a week, and that paper there has my recommendations as far as your nutrition and exercise are concerned. You should study it after your meeting."
"Meeting?" Portland parroted.
The door opposite her bed opened, Bridgeport stepped out, and someone else stepped in.
She looked like living art.
She wore an unmistakable embroidered red toga. A satchel hung beneath her right arm, strapped to her side and enmeshed in the rippling fabric. The clap of leather sandals reverberated around the tiny room. Though her left hand was held across her abdomen to keep the toga in place, her right arm gestured as she strode forward.
The bright red of her toga blended with the ochre tint of her skin. The orange shade shifted along where her clothes covered her, blood orange where exposed to the sun and the shade of the flesh of a cantaloupe where it didn't.
The nails of her visible, gesturing hand, the stark, contrasting veins in her arms and neck, her curly, lengthy hair done up in an intricate ponytail, the glossy teeth and smiling, picture-perfect lips, and in the space where she should have had eyes were all a matching, glossy obsidian.
Portland's face smiled, to match the shipgirl's infectious grin.
"Khaireís, Portland!"
"Prometheus!"
In her eye sockets, the warm twin flames of her irises grew larger and brighter. She quickly adjusted her headband and squirreled away a loose strand of hair. She leaned forward to hug her, and Portland returned it. "Oh, don't squeeze me so hard, Portland! I'm not as tough as you frontline ships, even wounded!"
Portland giggled as Prometheus backed away, still smiling. "It's been years, my friend. How have you been?"
Her face fell, and Prometheus sighed. "Yes, I imagined that might be how you responded to that question. My apologies."
"Pro, what… what's going on? Who were those people you saved me from?"
She winced. "Ah, well, as it happens, we, ah, didn't save you, per say." She paused for a beat. "The two you know as Agents Audit and Lightning actually work for me."
Portland stared at her, uncomprehending, until the loose hold she'd had on her blanket began to tighten considerably. Her joints creaked out an ominous promise. Prometheus sighed again, her orange eyelids concealing the flames hanging in the inky, glossy space of her eye sockets. "How about I start from the beginning? I swear, I'll answer all of your questions I can, and explain that there's been a big misunderstanding, if you just… give me a chance?"
Portland shivered. "Or what?" she dared to ask.
"We let you go."
Again, Portland just stared, uncomprehending. Prometheus explained. "If you don't want to hear us, hear me out, then I will release you, should you promise to stop looking for Indianapo-"
"You know me better than that." Portland's voice was low, and Prometheus let out another, much longer sigh.
They'd bonded, during a mutual stay at Pearl Harbor after Portland had spent weeks helping blunt the Siren offensive near the Aleutians. Prometheus had been there, and they'd bonded talking about their sisters. Portland had just one sister, while Prometheus had simultaneously many and none, given the often storied careers of repair ships before they were converted and awoken. Portland and Indy had pretty similar hulls, while the various repair ships couldn't be more different, oftentimes. Prometheus looked up to Vestal despite being the elder sister. Portland looked after Indy despite her being a very capable shipgirl in her own right.
Portland had made a lot of friends, despite 'coming on strong,' as her sister had said.
"I do, which is why I don't think you'll leave. We can- we want to help you with Indianapolis."
The silence after that statement hung in the air between them. Portland wanted her sister back, or to know if she never wanted to see Portland again, for whatever reason. It sounded like something else, something bigger, was going on, but…
She looked into Prometheus's burning eyes.
"Alright."
Prometheus's earnestness faded into giddy joy. "Great! Would you walk with me?"
Portland did, slowly and gingerly.
They left the room, walking down echoing halls of what looked like a fairly normal hospital.
"You recall Audit and Lightning claiming to be representatives of the Federal Government?" Prometheus began. Portland nodded, studying the halls as they walked and talked.
Now that she was getting a better look, everything looked very well tailored to shipgirls. The doors were around ten feet tall to accommodate even the tallest shipgirls and most riggings. The halls were even wider.
"Specifically, we're our own organization." She gestured to the walls, and to the shipgirls they passed. "We started off as a branch of the Office of Naval Intelligence, but with a bit of help, we've grown over the years. We were a founding member of the US Intelligence Community, and as head of the organization, I report to the Director of National Intelligence and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I've even spoken with the President a few times!"
Portland gaped at her as she continued. They passed by what Portland suspected were another pair of repair shipgirl. "Publically, there's a line in the budget of the navy and a number of departments and organizations for 'shipgirl medical care and research.'"
They passed another intersection. An elderly shipgirl with two hulking turrets on her rigging was being helped along by another shipgirl she recognized as a repair vessel. They were swiftly approaching a set of double doors.
"While half of our mandate is to provide medical treatment to allied shipgirls," she said, as she pushed against the door, "the other half of our mandate in clandestine operations."
The door opened, and Portland gaped at the massive food court.
Sheships of all shapes and sizes met her vision. Riggings sleek and modern mingled with rope and cloth. Features human and mechanical, animal and plant, and even plastic and rock imprinted on her gaze. A dozen faces she hadn't heard from in years were recognized and dozens more didn't spark even a hint of recognition.
Then, Prometheus's words registered in Portland's mind, and she whirled towards her. "'Clandestine operations?' You mean you're-"
"Yes," she said with a charcoal-black grin, "a lot of us are spies."
On the one hand, shipgirl spies were the coolest thing she could imagine since she'd seen Enterprise work together with the Sakura carriers to land the finishing blow against the ginormous fleet they'd intended to take Hawaii with. She wanted to ask if they were like the ones in the comic book movies, and who was there, and what this place was even called.
On the other hand…
"Then… do you know-"
"We'll get to that," she said, "I promise. I've got a few more things to explain, but to assuage your fears," she continued when Portland's face screwed up in frustration, "we know a bit about what happened to your sister."
What happened to her sister.
The words were a balm for her soul.
What happened to her sister.
Then, Portland hadn't hurt her sister.
What happened to her sister.
Portland hadn't driven her away, with her incessant needling or weird hovering or her…
What happened to her sister.
Portland hadn't been around to help her sister. To save her from what happened to her.
She nodded once. She asked her own unmemorable questions and only vaguely internalized what she was being told by Prometheus while internally working those five words over and over.
"Hm? Well, I suppose we sort of are. Our organization is secret, for certain. I don't know about superheroes, but the majority of our operatives, staff, and patients are shipgirls."
"Our clandestine operations are aimed at combating the influence of both the Sirens and the Crimson Axis. When the FBI, CIA, US Army INSCOM, ONI, or the others get something that humans can't take on, they come to us for help."
"Easier than you'd expect. We made a lot of destroyers and destroyer escorts. With the Sirens contained after war, not all of them looked forward to spending more time patrolling, so we recruited plenty of them. Most of the results of the Tempesta project aren't capable of standing up to modern day warships, so plenty of the less famous ones are here as well, as are a few of the blueprint ships. Anchorage is here seeking treatment and an attempt to re-anchor her, while Georgia oversees plenty of operations. Since the end of the war, the US has been ensuring that allied-aligned states obtain US-made navies of their own, which includes a deal for us to awaken their old ships and train them."
"Well, Anchorage is the most notable patient we have here, but there are others, especially among the free navies whose homelands have been occupied for all these years. Some of them have become prone to inexplicable sickness as the years have worn on. We're working to undo all that, of course."
"Yes, we've helped with supplying rebellions all across the Axis. Mostly, it's been combating other shipgirls or providing security to other organizations."
"To be honest, we're not sure. Did he not tell you? Well, he might suspect we exist, but he likely didn't have any proof. That's why he sent you to us-"
"No."
In her fugue, they'd wandered away from the mess, through doors and hallways, towards a giant, underground lake. She could see a few handfuls of shipgirls training on the water.
"Prometheus," Portland asked, "No one could tell me where my sister was, beyond that she was alive and unavailable. Every one of my letters came back unopened. The Commander showed me how to escape to find my sister, not your-"
The woman waved her hand. "That's splitting hairs. No one knows what happened to her, so they've been telling you what they've been told to say."
"Then what happened to my sister?"
Prometheus paused.
Her voice was lower, now.
"You told me you two wanted to visit your namesakes together after the war, correct?" Portland nodded once.
"We know that she arrived in Norfolk and received her new posting. The two of you were supposed to be at the Caribbean base, together."
Portland flinched. They were supposed to be together. For years. She could have had years with her sister, instead of lonely, maddening, soul-crushing years apart.
Something happened to her.
"She was given leave to visit Indianapolis. She got on the train, and then she disappeared."
Portland's world felt like it was churning. Not churning like the sea in a storm, but like the earth during an earthquake. A great heaving without visible cause that shook knees and buildings and mountains like they were nothing.
Prometheus continued. "Poof, right into thin air. We have eyewitness reports that she was there one moment and gone the next. Finding her has been one of our organization's longest running missions."
She whirled away from the lake and glared into Prometheus's eyes, her furious gaze hotter than the shining flames. "Then why did I have to stay on that island? WHY COULDN'T I KNOW?"
The shipgirl remained calm. "For the most part, the considerations were… political." Portland's fists shook. "I know, but think. What would happen if a decorated shipgirl went missing, in the middle of the country, with absolutely no sign of what happened to her? The only idea we have right now is that she was teleported. The public would be up in arms, thinking it could happen to anyone. Having people panic wouldn't fix the problem."
"Eventually, our superiors made the decision to claim she was busy working on important, classified projects. In your specific case, they made the call that if you were brought in, you'd do anything, including alert the public, if you thought it might bring her back."
"And now?" Portland asked, voice low.
Prometheus shrugged. "You managed to make it here, despite everything. We've spent too much money trying our damndest to keep you out of the press, and our higher-ups want it to stop. We were ordered to bring you in."
"I'll be honest, Portland," she admitted quietly, "we've tried everything, and we can't find her. We'll give you resources, if you think you could find her. We might want you to help with a few other things, but if you join us, then your main job will be searching for your sister. What do you say?"
She wanted to say yes. She wanted her sister back, and Prometheus wanted to help.
The Commander's worried face swam into her vision, a silently mouthed warning to 'be careful' unspoken.
Portland paused, indecisive.
"Why were Audit and Lightning so mean, if you just wanted me to join you?"
Prometheus's stature collapsed with a tired, long-suffering sigh. "Agent Lightning is one of our best operatives when it comes to combat. However… well, her appearance points to the fact that her existence is not a normal one, yes?" Portland nodded. Portland certainly hadn't seen or heard of a shipgirl like her before.
"Well, Agent Lightning's real name is ORP Piorun, an N-class destroyer. Recognize her?"
She shook her head, and Prometheus gave her a wry grin. "You should reread the report on Bismarck's 'last' battle, then. The gist is that her crew charged at Bismarck and actually got off a few hits on her. Bismarck nearly destroyed them in turn, but the decision was made to use one of Poland's only wisdom cubes to awaken her."
"As with so many others, her short service history meant she awakened unstable, both physically and mentally. She's made of electricity, as far as anyone can tell, again courtesy of her lacking history. Over the years, she's become as pleasant as any other shipgirl, but during missions, or anything resembling a mission, she gets… tunnel vision."
Prometheus shrugged. "She interpreted her orders to bring you in both forcefully and literally, and she is not one for diplomacy against perceived enemies. Agent Audit – ah, that is, USS Monitor – was supposed to reign her in, but she's-"
"Wait, Monitor? As in-"
Prometheus gave her another black grin. "Yes, that Monitor, of Civil War fame. They found her wreck while searching for Mirror Seas off the coast of North Carolina a few years ago, documented everything they could, and then awoke her right there on the seafloor."
They basked in the lull in the conversation for a moment. Prometheus broke the silence with the clearing of her throat. "Well, I'll get them to apologize to you, but if you'd like to learn anymore about us, I need to know if you're with us to find your sister."
It wasn't even a choice.
She sniffled. "I- I can't believe there are people who believe me," she said quietly. Prometheus gave her a small smile. "First the Commander, and now you all…!"
She cleared her throat and held out your hand. "I'll do it! I'll work with you to find my sister!"
Prometheus's skin was hot against Portland's hand. Their hands shook. "Then Portland, let me say this: I think you're going to help us do great things here at Centerboard."
-OxOxO-
A/N 1: As I said in the author's note for the last chapter, writing this story is always so much fun. If you didn't know, Prometheus's design is supposed to be reminiscent of the distinctive 'red-figure pottery' of the ancient greeks. Did I cook with Piorun and Prometheus's design?
A/N 2: If you'd like to donate to support me monetarily and read chapters a week ahead of time, search for Sugarcane Soldier on the website of the Patrons.
Thank you to WarmasterOku, Theewizzz, Afforess, UNSC_Kawakaze, Vee, malenkaya, and Saito Tachibanafor supporting this story and everything else I write. Make sure to vote if you haven't yet!