“I had no idea the Trinidad was this huge!” I tell Friederika. We make our way into one of the corridors leading from the huge—yet true to Yuri’s words—empty transport bay, helping ourselves to an active floor conveyor. Despite being the flagship of the navy and the cream of the top in terms of battleship aesthetics… it’s a rather lonely presence here. Neither Friederika nor I see a small crowd as we make our way through the massive labyrinth that is the Trinidad.

We do, however, see some technical personnel here and there—not so much as commissioned officers. A skeleton crew, perhaps? The Trinidad represents the cutting-edge in Metropolitan design—could it be automation, and thus less manpower needed to crew the ship? Could be possible, might be that the Admiral has been lax with letting the majority of the ship personnel go ashore.

Glancing out the windows, I continue, “even the size of these hallways are absurd,” I remark “you could have a whole battalion march through here without an iffy.” Well, it’s a slight exaggeration—but there’s enough space and a high ceiling means it could be feasible enough that even a small elephant could trample through it with leisure!

Friederika acknowledges with a nod, “right? But you know what’s the real kicker? Even as huge as it is, our supply ships are, like, double the size of battleships like the Trinidad.”

“You’re kidding?” I muse, folding arms under my breasts, “supply auxiliaries that are bigger than their combat counterparts?” They taught us in the academy that supply ships were big, but never that big. Come to think of it, I never did see one of our own up close and personal. Only in the simulations, and they’re roughly the same size polygonal-wise in those.

“Yeah, something like that,” Friederika answers, “dunno the exact specifics meself of course, but since they’re not intended to house occupants these supply ships are cheaper and easier to construct since they’re basically just, uh,” Friederika taps her lip, frowning, “there was an engineer I talked to…”

“Wow,” I say, with forced enthusiasm, “I’m surprised—impressed, rather, by the fact you didn’t hear this second hand.” Friederika is mildly annoyed and pinches me on the side. Deserved, I guess. “Anyhow, do go on, love.”

“Right,” Friederika says, “as I was saying—their costs are usually kept low by, er… cutting corners with the chassis and some components. The guy explained that they’re basically just enormous warehouses,” Friederika raises her outstretched hands wide apart, “like, real big—he said that these ships are, like, one percent cockpit and housed compartment, one percent engine, and the rest is just storage area. They’re usually the least crewed, too. Even less than a destroyer’s usual amount, I guess.”

There’s one point that irks me, so I speak up. “I’m guessing they don’t pack much of a punch, then huh? You know, armaments and whatnot,” Friederika ponders the question but only shrugs.

“Maybe…” Friederika muses, “I mean, they’re just logistics at the end… I wager they’re nothing more than just a really oversized shuttle, at least defense-wise. If I were a commander of the fleet, I’d probably want them as far away from a battle as possible.” If there is one single solid thing that our lovely Commodore did right was not send any of our support divisions along with us—things could’ve been a much bigger disaster if we limped back to the Frankish Domains without supplies to keep us sustained… it could’ve snowballed into something so much worse.

It’s only a miracle that Li didn’t pursue us into the Frankish Domains in the hopes of capitalizing on her victory. I can only wonder if she hadn’t sought me out, would she have done so? Being mindful of her situation at Rouen, though, I doubt it. Maybe one day—if that ever comes to pass, I’d love to hear her thoughts on that dreadful August day. “And if I was your enemy commander, I would probably get as far away as you as possible, and destroy your supply line instead.”

Friederika taps her arms, and remarks a little too confidently, “worked out for you in all those simulation tournaments we had, didn’t it?” Resisting the urge to smack her, I yield with a shrug.

“What can I say?” I say “it’s a tactic that works when it works—the saplings like me are powerless against the strong, but I can sure as hell beat less talented cadets,” I pump out my chest, “and that’s the thought that counts! It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, after all. It’s still a more honorable tactic than spawn-camping reinforcement points.” Friederika gives me the stink eye; arms folded like she has a point to make.

“Oh stuff it,” Friederika says, rolling her eyes, “I’ve never done such a thing!” Ah, there it is, caught her in the act of lying.

“Oh?” I sneer, “you seem to have a poor recollection of what happened during the simulation war game we did for Lucky Alphonse!” For some reason, recounting that ill-fated demonstration makes my heart sink—and what joining the Admiral’s fleet may entail. But I quickly brush the thought aside.

“Well, wait…” Friederika says, throwing her hands up, “no, I can explain, your honor, it was simply to encircle your fleet!” A sly smirk, as if I didn’t see it, “really! Don’t be giving me the stink eye! Would I lie? Would I be a hypocrite?”

“Yes, and yes,” I nod, slapping her on the cuffs, “guilty as charged, twelve years to hard labor in the Zonal asteroid gulags.”

“Anything but that!” Friederika groans. The Sub-Lieutenant’s shoulders shag; a well-conceived crocodile tear that she pretends to wipe. “This is a kangaroo court, an unjust tribune! I’ve been framed!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I answer in a deeper tone, “tell it your chain buddies—in the astral mines!” The two of us share a giggle and pass the time waiting for the conveyor to take us to our location. Before long I continue again, “y’know, all this talk about giant vessels and I’ve been left wondering; since the Trinidad is so huge inside and out, do you think the cabins are any bigger? I mean, ours are claustrophobic as is—and even Buttermilch’s office is hardly the size of a master bedroom,” I glance around before continuing, “I can only imagine they have it good here—lodging, I mean. Just enough freedom to stretch your legs and whatnot. Maybe a little exercising, so you wouldn’t have to stroll to your level’s overcrowded gymnasium…”

“Never mind that,” Friederika says, “is their canteen huge? If they have more capacity, that must mean they should have loads of food, right?” With a sense of disbelief, I give Friederika a disapproving look. Friederika practically drools with sparkles in her eyes.

“Is that the only thing you ever think about, food?” I quip, “I had no idea you would think about anything other than boys.” Maybe a little too hard on the insult, I wonder? I immediately regret it before Friederika locks me in the eyes.

“No, I think about you a lot,” Friederika says absentmindedly. It takes both of us to register what she blurts out, and we take a step away from each other—my cheeks burn a little too hot for my liking. A little too out there, aren’t we, Kiki? Friederika loudly clears her throat, taking a step back to me. “Well! Anyway, I’m sure if that good-for-nothing Alexandra was around right about now, she’d be more than happy to give you a tour of the Trinidad and her room, if you’re so inclined!”

Speaking of that good-for-nothing, full-of-herself-seagull, I haven’t heard from her since we set foot here. Blimey, I’m surprised she didn’t even book it for my ship the moment our fleets joined together. Looking back at Friederika, I’m left wondering; did she ditch me and head to shore? Is she at the staff meeting? A deeper thought lingers as I stare intently into Friederika’s eyes—did Alexandra, by chance, die?

No, Alexandra is not the kind of good-for-nothing brat to die so easily. And besides—the Trinidad is still here and operational. Surely Alexa hasn’t been feeling adventitious leading marine charges at pirate havens? “Hey… could you not stare so intently?” Friederika’s voice brings me back to reality. I break off eye contact with a tomato-faced Friederika. “You don’t have to overthink what I said, about, uh… thinking of you that much, you know?”

“Unlucky you,” I respond wryly, “I was lost in thought thinking about another person—in this case wondering just where that red-headed hooligan is.

“Hah!” Friederika smiles meekly, “jokes on you! I was only joking when I said I was thinking about you specifically—I was merely plotting on ways I can torment you!” Friederika uncharacteristically lets out a sigh after she finishes. Did I hurt her little feelings perhaps? What a little baby—but, I guess I am being a little harsh playing with her. “Being serious for a second,” Friederika continues, “it would be nice if we had a guide right about now.”

“Say what now?”

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed—because you’re so fixated on looking at a gorgeous babe like this—“ Friederika points to the windows, towards ships that have seemingly been there forever, “I think we’re gone in circles a bit, mate. Or rather, I think we’re a little lost, don’t you think?”

Oh. Maybe I have been ignoring our surroundings for Friederika more than I’ll admit. I’ll give Friederika props for this, just this once. “You might be onto something,” I say, pinching my nose bridge, “you know, all this time I can only hope the Admiral’s staff meeting isn’t long over by now.”

“If that were the case we’d probably see a load of people rushing through these hallways by now,” Friederika answers, a short pause as she tilts her head with a thoughtful expression, which I had no idea Friederika is capable of doing, “probably. Since, you know, this battleship is bloody huge. ”

“And neither of us had the smart idea to simply ask any passing personnel for directions,” I say, heaving my shoulders and letting out a frustrated sigh. Just as the two of us step off the conveyor, we spot a soldier in a brown tiger-striped uniform pass by us, absentmindedly. The soldier is a woman—likely no older than Friederika and I. She has big, beautiful purple eyes and short, poofy red hair that I find is something long out of style. Slung over her shoulder is a small, ocean-blue knapsack closed tightly.

At first, the distinct uniform means nothing to me but my mental gerbils, having made their way back from the nether planes of existence are quick to double-time in their wheels for me to recognize it as none other than a Frankish Legionnaire. I’ve never interacted with a Legionnaire firsthand—despite the Yilan having a handy amount of them. But they seem to be the sort of folk that kept to themselves—and as such, I never saw them too much outside of their infantry quarters. From what I remember, our Legionnaires were transferred to Side Malabo because of mounting losses.

The stuff I’ve heard of Legionnaires is not one to be taken lightly. In the military records and history books I’ve read in the last couple of years, they’re a branch in the Federation armed forces that have been disbanded, reformed, and reorganized countless times because of their stained records. From the people I have worked with, Legionnaires are ruthless in the field—they’re composed of the worst scum the galaxy has to offer. They’re monsters; cold-blooded battle addicts forsaken by the very government they fight for.

And yet, before me, is a pretty young lady who doesn’t look like she could hurt a fly. She looks pretty out of it—not something I’d say drives her to kill for the sake of bloodlust. She barely looks capable of wearing full gear and a loaded rifle, much less a bayonet!

The Legionnaire spots us, and Friederika and I hop off—landing stiffly and standing straight. The two of us clack our boots together and give utmost professional salutes. Frail little babe or not, she’s a Legionnaire in the end—and I imagine Friederika doesn’t want to leave a bad impression either. The Legionnaire, on the other hand, doesn’t react at first—but she gasps—and with a drop of her knapsack returns the salute.

“Madams!” The Legionnaire utters, she nearly smacks herself and sends her red beret flying—which lands at our feet. “O-oh!…” she gasps again. She breaks the salute and kneels to grab it, but being quick I get to it first and hand it to her—her eyes widen with surprise, mouth gaping wide open.

“Hey, hey,” I begin, getting to my feet and putting the hard leather beret neatly on her poofy hair, “we didn’t mean to startle ya, love,” I to let her snatch her bag up which she hugs to her chest. As such, it’s difficult to make out her name or rank. “Ensign Happ-Schwarzenberger—er, I guess you can address me as Lieutenant,” I glance at Friederika, “and that’s my good, weird but reliable mate Sub-Lieutenant Trachenberg—you can just call me Victoria and her Friederika.”

“Friederika—not Fred-uh-Kuh,” Friederika retorts, stepping forward, “if that’s too difficult to pronounce, you can say Kiki though.” Friederika beams a smile, “we don’t bite—I only nibble,” I scoff, elbowing her on the side, “Victoria is not a good sport though, I’ll give you that.”

“Um—“ the Legionnaire shifts the knapsack in her arms, “it’s… uh, Bernie—Yamazaki, second lieutenant Bernie Yamazaki!” Bernie smiles meekly; her shoulders sag from seemingly being stiff like us. That’s the spirit. “Were… were you guys heading somewhere? I couldn’t help but notice you two sometimes passing by bickering about stuff, um…”

Bernie’s Francien accent catches me off guard. I’m accustomed to interacting with Frankish personnel sometimes—but hers is relatively… quite the opposite of what I would call thick. It’s easy to understand if a little squeaky. Not quite Australian Anglish, but not quite Frankish either. It’s somewhere in the middle out there in terms of accents. “Glad you asked—‘cus you’re the chaperon we need right about now… oh! We weren’t bickering, by the way, it’s more like…”

“Banter?” Friederika interjects thoughtfully. Yeah, something like that I suppose. Bernie looks at her puzzled, but gives a nod as if she understands… but I don’t expect her or anything else to understand our antics with each other. I wonder if outsiders see our exchanges as unhealthy? Even Prince thought we were having a spat, and that makes me scoff at the reminder.

“Well, getting back on point,” I add “we’re stopping by for a bit, and… and we are a little lost if it’s not obvious enough,” I peek a smile, “we heard that Admiral DeRyck was convening with his general staff right about now. You wouldn’t happen to know where this ship’s tactical command center would be, right? Or where the chief council is being held?” A brief pause, “you’re a Second Lieutenant, right? You wouldn’t happen to be heading there mate?”

Bernie is quick to acknowledge by shaking her head. “No, no, um…” she hugs the knapsack tightly, her eyes averting to the windows, “I’m coming from my living quarters to head off for shore for a bit. I’ve been looking forward to it for a long time, and… I don’t want to miss the opportunity. My superiors say that there’s a chance we may participate in the upcoming operation, but our involvement is still up in the air,” Bernie says “I haven’t seen my mom and dad for a good year or two… I don’t want to regret it in case I do get shipped out—and that could happen any moment now.”

“Ah, that’s all fair then,” I remark, “I won’t force you to tag along and show us where it is… but can you spare the moment to give us directions before I let you carry on?” Bernie gives a nod, and points behind us from which we came.

“This is level F-One,” Bernie states “you’re looking for level C-Ten.” For some inexplicable reason, I stagger to the side. I had no bloody idea that we were so comically off-course! Could this battleship be any unreasonably bigger? Bernie can’t help but giggle at my realization. “It’ll be hard to miss there,” Bernie continues, “that block-level is faint red, but I think that the exterior of the tactical headquarters is black.”

“Oh blimey…” I groan. Slapping the side of my head, I smile meagerly, “anyway, thanks big ears! If we hadn’t stumbled upon you I think we’d miss the whole charade. Carry on then, don’t let us hold you back any further. Maybe if we’re lucky, we can meet again when you’re not in a rush.” Friederika and I are about to hop back on the conveyor, but something seems to weigh on my friend’s mind, and she takes a step back toward Bernie.

“Say, I’m surprised you didn’t think to talk about a certain friend of yours,” Friederika says to me. Before I get the chance to ask what she means, Friederika turns to call after the young Legionnaire, who is needless to say startled. “Hey! Real quick—before we really let you off the hook! My lovely friend here has been curious if you know the location of a certain individual…” Friederika brushes both hands through her hair, from the back “she has long, red, sexy hair…” oh, brother—I want to yank on Friederika’s collar, but an invisible force prevents me from doing so.

Friederika then positions her hand, at a flat angle, above her head as she continues, “she’s about this tall…” next, she does wide, circular gestures in front of her chest, “she has great lovely assets, too!” I slap my face but I can’t bear to look away from this walking disaster. I seriously have no idea what I’m going to do with this wench sometimes. Friederika, luckily, stops embarrassing herself for a moment to glance back at me—she looks puzzled as if trying to use her last brain cells on what further point she wants to make—and to my misfortunate surprise, she seems struck by eureka. “Oh! That’s right, the most defining feature!” Friederika exclaims, she points to her face, “she has a horrible, horrible case of freckles!”

Oh, blimey, this chaotic woman.

A heavenly sigh. I look at Bernie to see her reaction to all of this. The Legionnaire seems bemused at first—but before long she is shaking, and soon enough bursts with laughter. “What kind of description is that?!” Bernie nearly cries from laughter, wiping her tears away with her rolled-up sleeves. Friederika doesn’t look the least offended—I’d say she looks proud. “Kiki, was it? You’re something of an oddball, I’ll say that much,” Bernie says, a heartfelt smile across her face.

A strange feeling tugs at my consciousness. It’s like a mix of annoyance and jealousy as if it is an allergic reaction to someone other than me calling Friederika by her shortened nickname. But it’s a vexing stimulation that I brush off without further thought—I don’t want to dwell on a trivial matter too much.

Bernie shifts the knapsack around in her arms before continuing, “freckles, flowing red hair, huh,” Bernie muses. She glances at the windows with perplexity, and I can’t help but think it’s a slight stretch for someone as shy as her to be familiar with Alexandra at all—this ship is huge— it probably has a crew that’s a few hundred strong, maybe twice as much that. It makes me doubt that even after a year of campaigning, Bernie would not have crossed paths with the likes of Alexandra, and yet, still… a bit of me hopes she does. It’s not that unfeasible for Bernie to interact or know of some lowly staff officer, right?

“Freckles, freckles…” Bernie continues to muse. But struck by surprise, Bernie’s eyes widen, and she smiles again. “I think I have an idea of who you mean. Lieutenant… I think, Descartes-Dolz, yes?” Restraining myself from running up to Bernie and grabbing her by the collar, I—and interestingly Friederika—are quick to respond with nods. “Right, um… I think she went to shore at the very first opportunity,” Bernie blinks several times before continuing, “I think… I would even say you may have just missed her.”

Lightheaded, and not realizing my breath has been bated this whole time, I cut loose a frustrated sigh. I rub the side of my temple and glance at Friederika, who shrugs as well. “Sorry, was that, er… not to your expectations?” Bernie asks, worry in her tone. “You would expect someone like her to be at that high-officer meeting right now, I’m sorry. Why she wouldn’t head there instead is beyond me.”

“Well, that much is true,” I remark, “but… I’m just relieved that the walking, oversized seagull is alive and well.”

“Sea…gull?” Bernie tilts her head, pronouncing it slowly with a look of bafflement. I wave it off with a small chuckle. “I’m not sure what you mean by that…”

“Oh, believe me,” I answer, “if you heard that bloody broad laugh for even a second, you’d understand the outrageousness of it.” Bernie looks at me like I’m an asylum patient, but sighs with a smile that says I still don’t understand, but I’ll pretend I do. “Listen, um… in the exceptionally rare off-chance that you come across lieutenant Descartes, tell her a certain funny-accented blonde was on the prowl on her ship. And if everything goes well, tackling her will be the first thing I’ll do.” Even Friederika steals a glance at me and wonders if I’m going crazy.

“Will do,” Bernie says, carefully extending an arm from her knapsack—blimey, just how heavy is that thing?!—the tiny Legionnaire gives us a perfect salute. “I’m glad I could be of help to you two,” she says cheerfully. Bernie then does an about-face and heads off again. Likewise, Friederika and I wave her off and go about heading for the long-awaited journey to sector C—and hopefully not without getting lost this time.

And yet, a slight infection spurred by Friederika’s silliness compels me to spin around and call out to the departing Legionnaire. “Hey! Curious, mate, if you don’t mind me asking, what Side are you going heading off to? Friederika and I would love a tour guide so we don’t wander off into some bad part of town or go missing in a wooded area.” And if I’m lucky, I might be able to stumble across Alexandra if it happens to be the closet Side, but I refrain from including that tidbit—Friederika might get a little jealous after all.

Bernie taps her lower lip and smiles. “Side Terrassa, it’s a nice place. I think you’ll like it,” and as if telepathic, the tiny Legionnaire answers my question, “I think that freckled seagull you mentioned will be there, too. My folks used to say it’s always been a popular attraction for active-duty personnel back in the day,” Bernie smiles, but it fades—her gaze falls to the floor and she mumbles something that I’m unable to make out. But it’s only for a second, and she seems cheery again. “So long! Um… try not to be too long, okay? I hear there’s a saying not to keep a girl waiting for too long.”

“I can’t promise anything,” I say confidently, patting my chest with a smile, “I’ll see you when I see you, love.” And with that, the three of us part ways for good this time.

“You know, I hear Legionnaires get a lot of bad rep and all. But that, that was something else,” Friederika says, “in more ways than one—like, she’s awfully petite for a Legionnaire, isn’t she? She’s practically a shrimp!” Well, that’s one observation I won’t deny. Bernie’s uniform is not fit for her size—and I can’t help but find myself baffled that someone like her could be inducted into a formidable force like the Frankish Legionnaires. I’m not exactly the strongest gal either, but I imagine I could still pick her up no issue even if she wore full combat gear. When I think about Bernie like that, it’s kind of endearing, actually.

But, well, I would say I’m in no capacity to make such a remark, though, or Friederika for that matter. Now if we were both beautiful, buff men then that would be different. Though, the idea of a beefy male Friederika plagues my thoughts for a second too long, which leads me to perish the disturbing image. “Just comes to show that not every Legionnaire is a murderous psychopath.”

“Well, I don't know about that—oh,” Friederika freezes and glances behind us, “say, shouldn’t we tell her, er… about getting a ride to Terrassa?” Oh, the thought never even crossed my mind. “You could've had her seek out Yuri or something. I’m sure she would appreciate some company.”

“Ah—huh,” I begin, “you know, considering there were barely any pilots loitering around, yeah, she might have some trouble even finding someone to snag a trip with. But heading back now might defeat the purpose of coming here, innit? Even if we went searching for Yuri, I think she’ll get awfully mad at us, right?” Friederika opens her mouth to retort, but she frowns and dwells on the question some more. Is she trying to think of excuses for me to miss the conference meeting, after all? No—I’m sure she wouldn't try to sabotage me like that. I think Friederika is genuinely concerned about Bernie missing a flight to Terrassa.

Friederika breathes heavily through her nose, “well… if you say so. It’s not like she would blame us for going back, either. Don’t want to get her a tempter or anything, you know?” A slight chuckle before she continues, “say—since there aren’t any military police around, you think we should break into a jog?”

“A suggestion for a jog?” I utter in surprise, “from you of all people? Are you sure you can even catch up?” Friederika is annoyed judging from her scowl, and with good reason too.

“Don’t underestimate me! I can keep up with you if it’s an extended jog—“ Friederika scoffs, “well, probably. In any case, I’ll just become a casualty of war if I can’t—hey!” Without breaking a sweat, I accept Friederika’s proposal and race down the endless hallways for sector C. And to my pleasant surprise, Friederika is capable of maintaining the beat fairly well.