Taylor was very busy. Loading had started up and while the starting loads were containers or boxes she’d been practicing with, she’d never loaded herself with serious cargo that wasn’t in its proper packing. Some of the stuff laid further down the pier and waiting its turn was worrying her. Barrels, bales, wooden crates in all shapes and sizes. All of it compact, heavy, like she was to haul coal, or rocks. Maybe ore? That would make sense. Surely the Abyss wasn’t using coal anymore, right?

But, busy, busy. Her sensor crew had started seriously going over her recording of the town with a fine toothed comb and there were discoveries Taylor might be able to exploit. Thing is? She was moving too fast and she knew it. One was supposed to case the joint first. Figure out who the players were. But even back at Midway she was playing fast and loose because Taylor wanted, needed out. Before someone figured out something had gone screwy with her rebirth and she wasn’t quite as Heartbroken as the rest of them.

She was fine pretending to worship the Abyss to lay low. She was less fine having her brain sucked out to actually worship it. The idea that she should trust in some shadowy, nebulous power behind the scenes was rather firmly ruined for her. She didn’t trust the people pretending to be heroes, let alone some darkness with a pipeline to her instincts. So, getting out while she could. Which meant taking risks and thinking on her feet.

Taylor had released her Imps as a precautionary measure. If the carrier could launch birds, she could launch her minions. Them being Imps, they quickly got bored of floating in place and went to play with their host. Perfectly natural. And if a few items got dislodged or lost in their scuffles, well that happened all the time. You couldn’t expect Imps not to roughhouse, right? Even if you could, you wouldn’t expect a freighter to have the ability to train warships, even war-boats to that standard.

It was harmless vying for position among creatures who were so far below them, their internal seniority didn’t matter anyway. They’d obey when ordered and happily rush to their deaths. Let them have their fun.

Which is how while Taylor was unloading the official cargo, a significant amount of contraband also crossed the docks. Her pets would go to their tender for treats and rest when they were tired and then bounce around the depot when they woke up. Losing things as they went, leaving trinkets behind for others to pick up.

Which was enough to prove her credentials and get her the buy in to start picking up new shipments headed for Midway. The hardest part was finding likeminded individuals to approach on her tight schedule. Some already had other arrangements with her escorts. She stayed away from those. There was fast and there was reckless. Taylor wouldn’t be going for the second, even if she was tempted. She got some bites from the local market and settled in to see what requests she got back from her Imps. She was fortunate she’d gotten most of her preparations out of the way before. Scouting, locating, arranging clandestine contacts, most of the work was done before the accident.

Taylor was lifting one of the barrels when the seal broke. The attachment points were poor and the sealing work subpar, so she was left holding the cap while the barrel plummeted to the ground, spilling rocks all over the pier. It was an odd rock, reddish, like rust. So she was carrying iron? Figured. She helped the local nightmares clean up the mess. Being seen as helpful was important. When they were done, loading continued, but much more carefully. Some of the big buckets were far too heavy for one of her cranes to pick up alone.

Her crew was struggling to find a place for everyone. It was like the blocks kids played with. All with their own shapes and sizes. She was really starting to appreciate containers. As well as miss them. Absently she noticed red dust on her gloves. Feeling bored she had a taste while figuring out how to adjust for her new reality that people were around and that conventional weapons didn’t work on the Abyss.

Then Taylor stopped thinking. About anything. She became acutely aware of her deck and her guts. She could see the engineers celebrating, almost rolling in the stuff. It was like a white Christmas, and they were kids making snow angels. But with more sea stars, sea urchins and masses of living oozes and algae rolling in red dust. Mixing it with their slime and secretions and grinding it into the walls of her fingers. Oh. Oh not again.

Her deck was covered in this stuff and there was still half a pier to load. She had more than eight more hours of loading this stuff. Then at least nine days carrying it, being submerged in it, feeling it with each step as her feet brushed her petty-coats which would be swollen with the very stuff she needs. Needs. Because while she was surviving, she wasn’t recovering. Taylor still felt hollowed out, internally. She was still missing her arm. She was incomplete. Crippled.

And she knew without asking that she wouldn’t be allowed to touch one whiff of it. With resigned dread, Taylor picked up one of the better packaged containers. There was Latin-American writing on it, something vaguely not-Spanish. Not that she could read it if it was Spanish. Someone had helpfully included an English translation of the cargo declaration. Her doom was called Bauxite. Well, that’s one way to answer that question.

For a moment she wondered what horrible sins she’d committed in a past life to deserve this torture.

Then she considered what she could remember of it and resolved never to tempt Fate so. From that moment on, all her attention was committed to resisting the temptation to filch some. There were short term plans and long term plans and getting caught stealing would wreck all of hers. Getting caught stealing something she’d not been given a taste off? That wouldn’t raise flags, but fireworks. So she had to resist.

Sure she’d feel better and become whole again, but she needed to wait. What was the point of healing if she was only going to get her shit kicked in again? She was just here, pretending to be a transport ship. Pretending it didn’t hurt. Trying to ignore how much she ached for the stuff right next to her. It was a familiar kind of hell. Not the absolute need of hunger, but a deep ache for relief. Like she’d been carrying a boulder all this time, been crushed under it, and now could see the sun. See the way out, if she would but reach for it…

“No! Fuck! Damn it.”

To say that for the remainder of her stay in Acapulco Taylor was distracted, was an understatement.

***

Big Bertha was twitching. Fidgeting. At times shaking. It was unnerving to see a ship that big dance from foot to foot. The escorts had seen that kind of thing, but usually in PTs when they got bored. Before they made a mess. So several escorts made sure they were nearby and ready to respond, crowding around the slow girl. She wasn’t allowed to move. She still had work to do and she was staying there until it was done, got it?

They could play around on the open sea. Or she could play with her pets. Or with Wo’s birds. Anything that wouldn’t involve their clumsy sister endangering the strategic reserve of Bauxite that was already half-loaded on her. By the Abyss, who knew keeping an eye on one freighter could be more trying then keeping up with a full convoy of Wa-classes. At least they didn’t fidget while carrying thirty thousand tons of cargo. Hell, she was kicking up waves in the dock. What a nightmare.

How do you even entertain a freighter? What do they like?

***

Taylor had a pink elephant problem. She’d managed to tough it out in the dock but once at sea the combination of boredom and temptation would murder her. She’d forced her hadn’t into her pocket so hard she’d found another useful feature. One that was trying to get her killed right now. Since apparently, her pockets had false bottoms, and connected to stat space between the two dresses. It was very hard to use it while running but she felt pretty confident she could access her cargo unnoticed, if she was careful. Which was great, if not for the fact she’d watched them weigh and count every rock and there were no stops in between.

So she was stuck with a perfect way to pilfer something she needed, for her health, for her plans, to live not just survive. And she couldn’t use it. Her solution? Keep her mind so occupied it couldn’t spare the resources to plot how to steal some precious, necessary Bauxite. Maybe if they got attacked again she could lose some boxes overboard? “No, focus Taylor.” Fortunately she had something to occupy her on the way back.

So while the convoy kept its sensors of the skies, Taylor focused on her crews, retreating from the world, paying the barest sliver of attention. It was probably bad for her health but she couldn’t deal with all of it at once. The Flag thing was going to mind-fuck her, but she’d just have to undo the damage later and hope it didn’t get too bad in one trip. To that effect, her first order of business came when she started reviewing the recording of the air attack. Before she could really get into it, something pinged her training with PRT.

Taylor didn’t have to think about it. One moment, she felt the need, in the next she was there, on the bridge. This one? This one she feared, even if she was one of her nightmares. In a way it was silly. In a way, it really wasn’t. It was a plant. A bright yellow lily that was blooming on her outer deck, enjoying the salt spray. It didn’t mind. Its roots and branches stretched, letting it move like a chair come alive where the back support of the chair was the stem and bright yellow petals. They looked like they were smiling. It was a sharp thing, cutting, like a knife. The chair seat was a square pot half-filled with soil. There was a baby in it, wrapped in roots, half buried. It looked like it was peacefully sleeping.

She didn’t speak. Taylor didn’t want her to. She knew whose voice would come out, and she never wanted to hear him speak again. Hopefully, he was still stuck there, suffering for all eternity. It was the least he deserved. But this nightmare? Taylor knew its heart, its nature. Down to the bone, intimately. She’d lived it. It might make horrible mistakes, but it would not flinch from anything it knew was necessary.

So she gave it one job. To watch Taylor herself. Record her over time in diaries, notebooks. With all the feeds her sensor crew had, they looked out. But it didn’t take much to convince them to set up a work station that would feed every internal measurement to the Wilted Lilly. She would keep a record of Taylor-who-was. When the time came, she’d intervene. In whatever way was necessary.

“Oh depths, I already know I’m going to regret this.”

“But it has to be done.” his voice said, smug, suave, like her suffering was fine wine.

Yeah. They were her nightmares and they were working for her now. It didn’t make them any less nightmarish, sometimes. Looking at the Lily, just enjoying itself in the sun Taylor decided to spread the pain. Might as well not suffer alone. And it would be good for her.

“I’m appointing you my chief of security. As of this moment, you are to drill your men until they are fit for something other than wiping the floors with their faces.” That obliterated the smile from her face, as the Lily sputtered. “But we don’t have any manuals!?” Yeah and that was no longer Taylor’s problem. She could add them to the shopping list, but she’d just have to figure it out for now. The baby’s wails chased her out. Was it wrong that she felt happy she made a baby cry today?

***

Her second target were the Dockworkers. Without the manuals for the cranes, Taylor tried splitting her experienced work party to serve as foremen for the rest. Get them teaching. She nearly lost them. Less than a day later they were already starting to lose their edge. Her Regular work crew was something that was a function of the crew, not the individuals. She could and did make them oversee the other two shifts when they drilled, but any kind of personnel transfer messed with the rating. They’d all lose their mojo if she put in one newbie.

Which wasn’t great, especially as she had very limited drills she could run while at sea. The cooking helped. She was sort of using her cranes for that, even if the loads were tiny, so they could practice a couple of times a day, but it was slow going. And really, that was it. Because drilling? You had to know what you were drilling to practice, and without the instruction how could Taylor teach her crew? Her first mate was copying the stacks of books the carrier had lent her and she was out of ways to occupy herself.

Well, except for one. So Taylor settled in for a lengthy re-run of the air attack. She figured maybe she could learn something. At least it kept her occupied and not thinking about Bauxite. Holy shit, some of her crew were already trying to break into the cargo. “Pink Elephants, pink fucking elephants on patrol!”

She missed her bugs. That caused a happy hum to fill her sensor room.

***

There was a final indignity at the end. Her reward. They’d gotten back to Midway un-molested and Taylor had spent a day and a half unloading everything before finally being allowed to slip out of her rigging. Which left her naked again. Fuck. So she walked around with her skirts folded, rigging up. Plenty of girls kept their rigging on. She learned she couldn’t dive for food with it up, which meant she was still skinny dipping for fresh fish, but that wasn’t so bad. She could hold her breath for a really long time. She’d never had the inclination to test that, but maybe she should.

But, the humiliation. When she was finally done she was pulled in to report on the whole thing. She kept things factual and failed to bring up any of her misadventures. Just Bit Bertha here, pay no attention to the Taylor behind the eyes. It was probably planned. Shinigami and Sapphire did enjoy humiliating her.

Sapphire blamed her for missing the port and her sisters backed her up, of course.

“I take it back. She is fat. She is the fattest fat ass that ever sailed the ocean. I have never seen anything like this, how does she even stay afloat, she’s a freaking whale, did you know she couldn’t keep still and caused waves in the docks? With half the cargo loaded?”

Taylor felt like an inch tall. She’d failed her Flag. They caned her red until she couldn’t sit down. She felt like she had splinters taking root, growing on her sandbanks. Then came her reward for a job well done.

“You know Fat Bertha loves to eat and the poor dear did hit her head while we were there. Took damage to the bridge, with all her fancy gear. She is more recent then the Wa-class. Can you believe she needs replacement electronics? But she’s been a mostly good girl and I know she missed her muzzle.” the Flag said, rubbing her hair. Taylor leaned into the touch, feeling a bit hazy, but happy she’d done her proud.

Then Sapphire pulled a large pacifier and rammed it in. It was bright yellow, garish and incredibly noticeable. But the bit in her mouth was red and tasty, something she really need. A finger was wiggling before her eyes.

“No biting you big baby. I want to you enjoy it. Now what do we say?”

Of course she wouldn’t bite it, no matter how much she wanted to, orders were orders. In fact, she could go the extra mile so she started loudly sucking on it to the other’s delight.

“Tha’k yu’s miss Sap’hire” she puffed around her sweet, sweet reward, in cute baby talk. That earned her another pat that made her all gooey inside. Taylor was allowed to leave, so she went to find her friend and her pets. Tell them all about her maiden voyage. It was such a great day, she’d done good.

When she found Shun, the Yo-Class submarine teamed up with her pets to drag her away and sit on her until she slept for a solid eight hours. Once she wasn’t loopy anymore, Taylor was beyond pissed. At her crew, for practically abandoning their duties when they finished unloading everything. At herself, for allowing them to leave her loopy and vulnerable, like they couldn’t have waited another freaking hour for R&R. At the Fla-That fucking bitch. She needed to get out of here. If she had to go on another patrol with Sapphire, Taylor was going to kill her.

But hey, silver linings. She learned a lot, and her fingers were back to normal. Fuck, she had to find that carrier before she decided to remind her of her obligation by sending a bird to buzz her bridge. She’d seen other carriers do it.

***

At least the whole thing ended on a high note. The Wo-Class got her replacement planes. More than she needed. She was going to sell them or just scrap them when Bertha came over to return her manuals. She wanted some planes, but no way was Yukiko giving her anything armed and besides, she didn’t have a landing strip.

But she was perfectly willing to exchange her extras for some Abyssal Reconnaissance Seaplanes that Yukiko could then turn around and trade to Bertha for a dress. She liked dresses and Bertha had shown she could make them. It was slow, boring work, perfect for Bertha and it’s not like Yukiko could trade them for anything meaningful. The things that mattered were beyond her reach. Except for Kaga, hopefully.