Sk-8. Frenemies
When two bitter rivals are forced together by unexpected circumstances, one of several things can happen. A violent confrontation is the most likely result, although extenuating danger can sometimes force them to work together. In rare instances, the rivals can find common ground in their predicament, work on burying their rivalry and, at least if fanfiction is to be believed, begin a romance. The possibilities are endless!
Exactly none of these things happened between Lydia and Moby as they rode the elevator to the Radiolaria Galactica’s CIC sphere. Instead, the two slunk to their opposite corners of the small space and tried their best not to look at each other. It was certainly true they wanted to talk, to figure out exactly where they stood after seven years apart, but neither knew where to begin. The entire conversation was brushed aside with a simple “let’s talk later,” and awkwardness ensued.
Eventually, Lydia grew tired of the cringing silence. It was too moody for her tastes, and she was resolved to not sink into another depressive mire. She took a chance.
“Cottage cheese?” she asked awkwardly, as if Moby would somehow understand her question from those two words alone.
Moby looked at her, the slits of her irises widening slightly. “Pardon?”
“Cottage cheese,” Lydia repeated. “Do you like cottage cheese?”
“I’ve never had it,” Moby responded. “My Belphegor delivered nutrients to my organic body via intubation or intravenous methods, and since my upload I no longer require food of any kind.”
Lydia shrugged. “AIs can eat, though. I saw Sabina and Genevi eating… what was it? Holographic food?”
Moby nodded. “Some biological-originated uploads prefer to continue consuming food, if only in simulation. I never understood the appeal myself.”
“Have you tried it?” Lydia pressed.
“…I confess I have not,” Moby said, sounding a bit guilty. “I have your memories of consuming food, but they seem distant, like they’re not quite my own. Why are we talking about this?”
Lydia shrugged. “I hate awkward elevator rides, especially the sort where two people ignore each other in cringing silence.”
“But we’re…” Moby began to protest.
“We’re what exactly? Enemies? Rivals? Allies? Acquaintances?” Lydia asked, folding her arms and narrowing her eyes.
“…I’m not sure, exactly,” Moby replied, shrinking back a bit.
“Neither am I.” Lydia uncrossed her arms and relaxed her body posture, realizing she was coming off as intimidating. “We need to have a good, long heart-to-heart and figure out where we stand, but in the meantime I refuse to simply ignore you. I spent the last seven years hiding away on Mars, running away from my problems and wallowing in self-pity, but no more. The least I can do is have a professional working relationship with you.”
“That’s… exceptionally magnanimous of you,” Moby said cautiously.
Lydia shook her head emphatically. “Nah, it’s purely self-interest. Kometka would never let me live it down if I avoided you all the time. I’m simply sparing myself a tongue-lashing.”
One corner of Moby’s mouth lifted in a slight smirk. “You want to be better for her.”
“Exactly. So let’s agree to work together as soldiers and professionals, and we can hash out the tough stuff later… over a bowl of cottage cheese.” Lydia held out her hand, which Moby shook after only the slightest hesitation.
“It always was your favorite.”
“Yeah.”
With a perfectly-timed “ding” the elevator’s doors whooshed open, and the two not-quite-rivals walked out into the CIC sphere.
******
As Lydia and Moby exited the turbolift, they found themselves standing on a catwalk, suspended in an infinite sea of stars.
The ghostly, silent glow of the Milky Way swirled above their heads, stars birthing and dying in eons magnitudes longer than a human life. Beneath them, the pockmarked surface of the Moon’s dark side glistened in half-sunlight, crater walls casting long shadows across the graven grey landscape. Before them was a circular dais about twenty meters across that seemed to be floating in the star-void, disconnected from everything except the catwalk that ran up to it.
This was all an illusion, of course. The Radiolaria’s CIC sphere, some hundred meters across, was a scaled-up version of the spherical holographic projection screens present in every Gravity Frame cockpit. It allowed the ship’s commanding officers an uninterrupted view of surrounding space while keeping them buried in the very center of the ship, protected by many layers of energy shielding, ablative hull armor and thick bulkheads.
The two not-enemies walked side-by-side along the catwalk, towards the dais at the center, exchanging nods with two MP officers who stood guard at the point where the catwalk ended. At the center of the dais stood Admiral Ekatrina Savitskaya, looking prim and severe as usual, and surrounded by a half-dozen holographic displays that her eyes darted around like a cat watching a laser pointer. To her left floated a holoprojection of Laria, and to her right floated Sveta. Miette stood behind the three of them, hands clasped behind her back.
“Senior Captain Tereshkova, Tactical Advisor Moby, welcome,” Katya said with a nod as Lydia saluted sharply. Miette shot the pair a questioning glance, wondering why they had arrived together, but kept her lips sealed as the Admiral plunged ahead with the briefing. “Sveta was just about to enlighten us regarding the distress signal she intercepted.”
All eyes turned to Sveta, who cleared her throat and opened several holographic windows filled with charts and equations, pointing to each in turn as she spoke. She simultaneously sent a copy of the briefing, wirelessly, to Moby.
“Fourteen minutes ago, deep-space radio telescopes gravitationally anchored to the Pluto-Charon planetary system detected a tachyon-like transmission identical in composition to the first set of signals we received from the alien civilization in Barnard’s Star,” Sveta explained. “This time, however, it was encoded in standard Revolutionary Army comm protocols and bore metadata indicating it originated from one of my own instances aboard a Foxbat Gravity Frame.”
Katya frowned. “You’re saying that instance of Sveta took control of the aliens’ transmission apparatus somehow to send us a message?”
Sveta nodded. “According to the mission report encoded in the signal, that Sveta plus her pilot, 2nd Lieutenant Hunter Kretzer, were forced to initiate first contact with the cr-… with the intelligent arthropods.”
Lydia thought back to the personnel files she’d skimmed, vaguely recalling that Lieutenant Kretzer had been sent ahead to scout the system and rendezvous with the Radiolaria Galactica when the latter made the warp jump to the crab’s homeworld. Clearly, something had gone wrong.
Katya’s expression shifted to disapproval, her lips pressed together tightly. “I thought I gave explicit orders that they were NOT to initiate first contact under any circumstances. We have a team of diplomats and xenolinguists for that purpose.”
“Yes ma’am,” Sveta responded carefully. “Sveta and Hunter did not initiate contact. The arthropods detected their warp signature and contacted them.”
“God damn it,” the Admiral said, rubbing her temples; Lydia noted with mild amusement that the stern woman’s mannerisms had survived her transhuman upload entirely intact.
Sveta shot the Admiral a sympathetic look. “According to the reports, the Sarcophage picked up on the arthropod transmission’s point of origin and sent a task force to attack. The aliens then requested military intervention from Sveta and Hunter, which they provided.”
Miette tapped her chin. “Sounds like they didn’t have much choice, Admiral.”
Katya rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. What happened next?”
“Sveta and Hunter landed on Crabworld, and…”
“Crabworld?” Katya interrupted, her voice icier than the north pole of Mars.
Miette failed to fight back a smirk as Sveta fake-coughed. “Yes, she… the Barnard’s instance of Sveta managed to interface with an arthropod computer system and master their language. Due to linguistic discrepancies regarding proper nouns between the aliens’ language and ours, she translated the name of the arthropod’s planet as ‘Crabworld.’”
Katya planted her palm in her face and groaned. “God damn it. I thought I made it abundantly clear we weren’t calling them ‘crabs.’ It’s disrespectful. What’s their own term for their homeworld?”
“Uh…” Sveta’s eyes unfocused as she accessed the transmission data. “Home World.”
Katya blinked. “Okay, a bit broad. What do they call their species, then?”
“The closest direct translation would be… The People.”
Katya groaned again, and Laria drifted closer to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Sveta didn’t include complete language files, only summaries,” Sveta continued, pushing through the awkwardness. “That said, it seems the arthropod language lacks proper nouns entirely, instead substituting precise descriptive terms. Hence they call their star ‘Red Origin,’ their planet ‘Home World,’ and humans beings ‘trench worms.’”
Katya raised an eyebrow. “Trench worms?”
Sveta shrugged. “Apparently, it’s the closest analogue they have for our kind of life. Mammals, much less non-amphibious organisms, never evolved on Crabworld.”
Laria cleared her throat, and all eyes turned to her. “If I may, Admiral. We were always destined to take a path like this on our first contact. Whether Sveta or a horde of bureaucrats handled the initial meeting, both our species would eventually have to fall back on familiar metaphor to contextualize each other. Fortunately, it would seem neither the crabs nor the worms object to the comparisons.”
“Pretty much that,” Miette concurred. “Besides, worms are cute, don’t you think?”
There was a chorus of emphatic nopes, except for Moby, who just mumbled under her breath, “I think they’re cute…”
“We’re getting off topic,” Kayta lectured. “Sveta, come to the conclusion please.”
“Right. After first contact, the Sarcophage forces in the system began to swarm towards Crabworld, likely as a response to Sveta and Hunter’s presence.” She brought up a still photographic image, showing a fleshy swarm of horrors that stretched across the horizon, eliciting a gasp from everyone present. “Sveta borrowed the crab’s FTL comm array to send us a distress signal, and is presently engaging in asymmetric maneuver 2A-127-15X-191B as a delaying action. She and Hunter are using hit-and-run tactics to try and draw the swarm away from Crabworld and hold out until we get there.”
Katya focused on the picto-hologram of the swarm, her gaze intense. “Well, there you have it. Skewed as this situation might be, we are now mounting an emergency rescue operation. Laria, what’s our readiness?”
Laria pushed her glasses up her nose as she began speaking. “Provisioning is 92% complete, with most of the missing supplies being non-perishable food such as MRE kits. We are also missing 231 personnel, mostly low-level engineering staff. Even absent those supplies and personnel we are 100% combat-capable, and the Politburo has already approved our early departure. If we face extended deployment in the Barnard’s Star system, they will dispatch the Telesthisia Galactica to complete our provisioning once she completes warp certifications. They are also placing the fleet of warp-capable tenders, destroyers and Almaz tow-ships at our disposal should we require them to reinforce the system.”
“Very good. ETA?”
“At maximum warp, the journey will take us two days, four hours and seven minutes. Traffic control has approved us to depart in 791 seconds, once the remaining tenders are clear of our flight path.”
“Hmm,” Katya mused. “Is there any way we can reduce our travel time? Maybe push the engines to get more speed?”
Laria grimaced as if someone had just gut-punched her, and her tone shifted to that of a matronly schoolteacher explaining something to a child. “That would be extremely inadvisable, Admiral. A warp drive is a profoundly intricate piece of engineering that requires precise and complex calculations to function correctly. We cannot simply ‘gun it’ as if we were piloting a prewar gasoline automobile.”
“Fair enough,” Katya replied with a half-smirk. “It was worth a shot. Moby, tactical analysis?”
Moby took a step forward. “Based on Sveta’s report, the swarm currently assailing the Barnard’s Star system is stage two. She reported the presence of Spiralvores, strains that were deprecated in the Solar System following the fall of Mars, and a lack of any third stage Frame-class units such as Bladebugs. Thus, I have effectively classed this a low-level infestation. The Radiolaria Galactica and embarked forces should be able to clear the system inside of two months.”
Lydia let out a low whistle. “Only two months?”
Moby shifted her eyes to Lydia, irises narrowing slightly. “Yes, this vessel’s firepower is extreme. When used in concert with the newest generation of Gravity Frames and the Gravity Swarm, I anticipate no difficulties.”
Lydia focused on the image of the Sarcophage surge, ignoring Moby’s eyes boring a hole into the side of her skull. “So fundamentally, you’re saying this swarm is configured to fight enemies far weaker than us, and we’re going to completely overwhelm them.”
“Precisely.”
“Glad to see we’re all in agreement,” Katya interjected. “However, let’s not get overconfident. Preparation is our best weapon, even when going into a battle we expect to win handily. Lydia, work up our initial force deployments using Moby’s models and Sveta’s intel. Have it on my desk in twenty hours. After my approval, begin briefing your pilots.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Laria, have Zehra run our final weapons checks while we’re in transit and make sure we’re ready to fire our full arsenal seconds after we exit warp. Do another check on the shield grid as well.”
“As you command, Admiral.”
“Sveta, run the checks on every single Gravity Frame aboard. Have Genevi do the checks on the Swarm. Lydia can schedule rotation of the alert squadron if need be.”
“Aye-aye!”
“And Moby, please process a detailed breakdown of the data Sveta sent and collate it with your tactical models. Search for any variances that might give us an edge. I know the intel is limited, but-”
Katya was cut off by a loud set of clanking footprints, and everyone turned to the catwalk to see the figure of a pilot in an Inertia Suit running full-tilt towards the dais. The two MP officers at the junction stepped forwards, blocking the running figure.
“HALT!” said one of the MPs. “This is a restricted area. Return to the turbolift immediately.”
“ADMIRAL!” shrieked the pilot. “ADMIRAL! WHAT’S GOING ON WITH HUNTER?!”
“Final warning. Return to the turbolift.” the MP said, her hand going to her weapon holster. The pilot continued to run full tilt towards the officers, showing no sign of slowing down.
“Who…?” Lydia muttered as she watched the scene unfold. Katya looked on impassively, her expression neutral.
“ADMIRAL! ADMIRAL! DON’T IGNORE ME, ADMIRAL! I…”
Both MPs drew their sidearms and levelled them at the pilot. The points of two green laser designators appeared on his chest, and a moment later there was a loud POP as bolts of electricity followed the paths ionized air the lasers created. The pilot slumped to the ground, stunned unconscious.
“Apologies for that, Admiral,” the second MP said as the first moved to restrain the prone pilot.
“Quite alright,” Katya responded, walking over to examine the pilot. “You did your job perfectly. Laria, who is this?”
“2nd Lieutenant Lyle Melusina, Maid Corps 2nd Squadron,” Laria replied. “He’s a close personal friend of 2nd Lieutenant Kretzer, the pilot currently at Barnard’s Star.”
“It seems rumors of our mission are making the rounds,” Katya said. “His passion is understandable, if not his breach of protocol. I’ll make an all-hands announcement soon to help calm nerves.” She watched impassively as another set of MPs arrived via the turbolift and began to drag Lyle off to the brig. “Lydia, this pilot falls under your new command. Disciplinary action is up to you.”
Lydia looked sympathetically at the pilot as the MPs dragged him away. “Understood, ma’am.”
Katya returned to the dais, distraction forgotten. “Now, where were we?”
******
The first thing Lyle noticed when he awoke was his throbbing headache.
He pressed his palms to his forehead, the pain waxing and waning with each beat of his heart. After a minute, he begrudgingly pried open his eyes to take stock of the situation.
He was in the brig, of course. Sheer metal bulkheads, smooth and unpainted, surrounded him in five sides… and a crackling blue force field on the sixth. As he shakily rose to his feet, the memories came flooding back; his charge into the CIC sphere, the MPs barking orders, the crackle of electricity, the ground rushing up to meet him…
He winced.
Anger welled up inside. How could the Admiral just ignore him like that? His best friend was… was… and she’d just allowed her leashed dogs to chase him away! God damn it! God DAMN IT!
Lyle furiously drove a fist into the force field, only to yelp and wince as a sharp electric jab repelled his nervous system. He withdrew his hand and rubbed his smarting fingers, his anger only boiling hotter for lack of an outlet to express it.
“I’d recommend against that.”
Lyle’s eyes darted around, seeking out the source of that voice, and found two figures walking towards his cell. At first he thought he was seeing double, because they both appeared to be the same person… but not so. On closer examination, there were differences.
The figure on the left had her red hair cropped close in a practical, entirely non-ornamental haircut. Her tanned face was covered in scars, and one of her eyes was cybernetic. The figure on the right had long, prim hair that reached the small of her back, and both her eyes had black sclera and red slit-irises. Lyle caught sight of her sharpened teeth through slightly parted lips.
Lydia and Moby. Twins. The original, and the alien clone.
What did they want with him?
“Zehra specifically modulated that kind of forcefield to repel biological humans,” Lydia said as she stopped in front of Lyle’s cell. “Touching it won’t hurt you, not directly, but I’ll wager it’s mighty painful.”
“You don’t say,” Lyle responded through gritted teeth, rubbing his aching knuckles with his thumb.
Lydia looked up, almost as if staring at the ceiling. “Laria, deactivate the force field.”
“Done, Senior Captain,” responded a voice from nowhere. With a snap and a pop, the jagged buzzing of the force field faded, and Lydia stepped into the cell. Lyle noticed the gravity lessen slightly as she entered.
Lydia produced from her pocket a small, squarish foil container, and a larger foil pouch with a straw glued to the side. She offered them up to Lyle, who stared at them suspiciously.
“What…?”
“Ibuprofen and water,” Lydia explained. “For the headache. I know getting stunned by an electrolaser can smart; I’ve been there plenty of times myself.”
Lyle wordlessly took the packages, tearing open the first with his teeth and swallowing the pills. He then ripped open the second and squeezed the water into his mouth, not bothering with the straw. He barely noticed Moby step into the cell behind Lydia as he swallowed.
“So,” Lydia said, her voice becoming grim as Lyle wiped his moist lips on his sleeve. “Breach of a secure area, failure to follow a superior officer’s instructions, insubordination, and assault on a superior officer.”
“Bullshit,” Lyle replied sourly. “I didn’t assault anyone.”
“True,” Lydia replied. “I’ll strike that last one. Even so, the other three stand. As your commanding officer, leader of the Maid Corps, it falls to me to determine your punishment.”
Lyle pressed his lips together into a thin line and remained silent, very much wanting to get this over with. Lydia looked at the petulantly taciturn pilot and sighed deeply.
“Hunter is alive.”
Lyle’s widening eyes snapped to Lydia. “What?!”
“The Admiral made an all-hands announcement just before we jumped into warp, around three hours ago. You were still unconscious at the time, so here’s the quick version: Hunter and his instance of Sveta are still alive, albeit trapped in a sticky situation. They’re currently attempting to draw a Sarcophage swarm away from the crab homeworld with asymmetrical delaying tactics.”
Lyle sprung to his feet, eyes alight. Hunter was alive? There was still hope? The face of his friend’s smiling face flashed through his mind.
“We have to go save him!” he shouted.
“We are,” Lydia responded. “We’re currently travelling at maximum warp, and we’ll arrive at Barnard’s Star in two days, one hour. Saving Hunter’s life will be our first mission priority.”
Lyle wrung his hands together, his anger replaced by worry. “Can he survive for that long?”
“He is using a battle plan of my own design, asymmetric maneuver 2A-127-15X-191B,” Moby explained. “His odds of survival over a two-day period are 72%, despite the force disparity.”
Lydia nodded. “So we’re going to ride in like big damn heroes and pull his ass out of the fire.”
The worry on Lyle’s face faded, only slightly. “I want to help save him.”
“You’re in the brig,” Lydia responded sarcastically. “Standard sentence for insubordination of this sort is one week’s cool time, minimum.”
Lyle clamped his jaw shut, but his glare spoke volumes.
Lydia rolled her eyes. “That said, based on extenuating circumstances… namely, that Hunter is a good friend of yours… I’m willing to suspend the sentence until the end of combat operations. Besides, it wouldn’t serve me very well to have one of 2nd Squadron’s pilots in the brig during a battle against an entire Sarcophage surge.”
Lyle looked up at her, surprised. “You’re… You’ll let me fight?”
Lydia frowned. “I lost friends and family on Mars, 2nd Lieutenant. I know how hard it can be when a significant other is trapped behind enemy lines. The military can be heartless, by necessity, but I am not. Yes, I am going to let you fight.”
“Th-Thank you…” Lyle said uncertainly.
“However,” Lydia continued, leaning forwards, “if I catch even a whiff of further insubordination, I’ll throw you back in the brig so fast your head will spin. We clear, mister?”
“Yes ma’am,” Lyle responded, petulance and newfound respect warring in his voice.
“Good. Now report to duty, 2nd Lietenant. 2nd Squadron will be relieving 3rd on alert duties in 35 minutes. Hop to!”
As Lyle saluted and ran out of the brig, Moby’s eyes followed him until the turbolift doors hissed shut, then turned to Lydia. “Once again, I must say… how magnanimous of you.”
Lydia brushed off her compliment. “I’m just trying to be a good person, Moby. I’ve been in Lyle’s position more times than I can count… sometimes with commanding officers who understood and accommodated me, and sometimes with hard asses who didn’t give two shits about my feelings. I prefer the former.”
Moby pondered that for a moment. “Fascinating. In the Sarcophage, battle-forms which had difficulty responding to command signals, or those whose performance had dropped beneath a certain threshold, were simply recycled into raw materials for use in new forms. Inefficiency was not tolerated.”
Lydia looked at her askance. “Good thing we’re not fighting for the Sarcophage then.”
There was a brief pause, an unspoken objection that never passed lips. “Indeed.”
Lydia noticed the delay, and the conflict in Moby’s eyes. “Don’t dwell on it too much, Moby. Existential questions and battle don’t mix. We can discuss all this difficult stuff later.”
“As you say,” Moby responded. “Shall we work on our force deployment plans like the Admiral ordered?”
Lydia nodded. “Let’s head for my quarters. We’ll meet Kometka there and get started.”
It’s often said that friendship and rivalry are two sides of the same coin, and that to truly understand someone you must face them in battle. Whether or not this is true is a question for philosophers and saints alike. Yet as the Radiolaria Galactica warped towards war, hurtling through space at a thousand times the speed of light, one thing was abundantly clear to Lydia and Moby both.
They didn’t know where they stood, what they truly thought of each other. There was so much uncertainty, but for the moment they had achieved a tense equilibrium. If anyone asked whether they were friends or enemies, if anyone ever pried to the exact nature of their relationship, both would have the same answer.
“It’s complicated.”
