Treason

[Melanie Tyler]

T r e a s o n[/size]

Captain Melanie Tyler
Liberty Air Force
Kepler System

'€Navy transport. Liberty Logistics Ship.'€ The recording crackled, as cold as space itself. Captain Melanie Tyler closed her eyes, bracing herself for what she knew was coming. '€Burn it before reinforcements arrive.'€

This time there were no plasma bolts tearing into the hull, no screeching missile warning. In the hours since the Legionnaires had abandoned their attack, bringing Melanie'€™s Clearwater with them, Fleet Marshall Duncan Voss'€™ order had filled the transport'€™s cockpit. Time and again, the young Captain had replayed those few seconds of chaos, the attack that had nearly killed her and the Gull'€™s four man crew. The crew that she had sealed in the cargo bay. The crew that had no way of knowing what she had just done. More recorded voices, these ones different from Voss'€™, radioed acknowledgements. Tyler payed them no more attention now then she had then. Her own voice, verging on panic, cut across the attacking Legionnaires, urging the wounded Clearwater back to the California Gate.

Feeling old beyond her twenty one years, she stopped the recording, returning the cockpit to lonely silence. She didn'€™t want to hear the rest, not again. Knocks at the sealed door had stopped an hour or so back, the crew either too tired to continue or looking for another way in. Tyler didn'€™t like their chances. Military blast doors were built to take a hit from cruiser-class weapons, though the official flight manuals drew the line at gunboats. Knowing that the room was safely sealed off should have made her feel better, yet somehow it only agitated the discomfort gnawing away at her.

Five hours ago, she had broken every oath of service to Liberty she had ever made. Supplying the Hellfire Legion, repairing their ships, feeding them plans. Treason.

Punishable by death.

And the worst part was, that she wasn'€™t even sure why she had done it. A task group had arrived on the scene seconds after the Legionnaires opened up on her transport. Officially, without their intervention she would have died. In reality, the situation slightly different. Only slightly, but it had been enough. Moments before the Clearwater'€™s shields had failed, the fighters had broken off their attack. The order had come directly from one of the Legion'€™s commanders, for reasons Tyler was still struggling to understand. Perhaps that was why she had risked her ship, her life, helping them in return. Treachery had seemed simple, right even, at the time. Now, hidden from naval scanners by the Kepler cloud, she questioned her actions. Again, and again she'€™d replayed those minutes, trying to understand her own decisions, to fight back the worming doubt that would destroy her. She couldn'€™t remember consciously choosing to help the Legion, it had all happened so quickly. Her choices had been fluid, instinctive. Driven more by adrenaline then reason. Against the cold light of logic, they seemed stupid, ignorant and deadly. She had betrayed her comrades, her home and, worst of all, herself. Try as she might, she couldn'€™t silence the voice in the back of her mind, the one that whispered that it was self-preservation. Cowardice. She had seen what the Hellfire Legion could do, and she hadn'€™t wanted to die. So, she had taken the only course of action that ensured she wouldn'€™t, sacrificing God knew how many other soldiers to make sure she saw the next sunrise. Most worrying of all, was that it could be true. She honestly didn'€™t know. Tyler'€™s hands clutched at the cockpit'€™s sparse armrests, hauling her thoughts back to the situation.

Right or wrong, she still had to make a decision. Clearwater was a tough ship, but even she couldn'€™t survive the radiation of the field forever, especially with battle-damage. In their present state, they would be roasted long before food became a problem. That was if the crew didn'€™t figure out what had happened and get a transmission through to Command. If they did, radiation would be the least of her worries. Every moment they lingered outside of Liberty space increased the chance that someone would notice they were missing. So. What to do.

Packing up and becoming a revolutionary hadn'€™t been close to on her mind when she pulled on the uniform that morning, but now it looked strangely appealing. Enlist with the Legion, and they would take the transport off her, the crew would be dumped in a Freeport somewhere. She'€™d have somewhere safe to sleep, somewhere to eat, and a job to do. She would mean something. Liberty might never find out what she had done. There were a lot of ships in the skirmish, what was it if one more disappeared? It wouldn'€™t be her fault anymore. She would be free of blame. Someone else could take the horrible weight of responsibility that had settled on her shoulders. She could get a new name. Captain Melanie Tyler would be listed as killed in action, another sad statistic. Not her fault, not anyone'€™s fault. She would be thought of as a hero or, at the very least, not a traitor. All Tyler had to do was put in the call to Voss. It was tempting, oh so tempting, to just push that button and make it all go away. The only thing stopping her was the glint of gold on her collar.

Captain'€™s bars, barely two weeks old. Not long ago, she had been a Lieutenant, a fighter pilot. Fly from A to B and shoot the bad guys. Land. Repeat. As far as job descriptions went, they didn'€™t come much simpler. Promotion and a reassignment to the Clearwater changed that. Suddenly, it wasn'€™t just about getting her ship home, just her life on the line. If she screwed up, four other people died. Strange, really, that two little pieces of metal could mean so much. Well, she had screwed up today. And people had died. She'€™d seen a Navy gunboat explode, venting atmosphere, torpedoed by a Legion bomber she had repaired. Tyler didn'€™t need to see the report to know that there wouldn'€™t be any survivors. All because she hadn'€™t done her job. Had the Captain of that Gunboat turned, it could just as easily have been her on the receiving end of the bombardment, her crew dead instead of his. If she joined the Legion, it still could be. While they might accept her, she doubted the Clearwater'€™s loadmaster and three marines would be treated as well. Even if they did get back, if news got out somehow'€¦

No, too many good people had died because she wasn'€™t willing to do her job. She wasn'€™t going to be responsible for adding her own crew to that list. Records could be erased, and she could pay a freelancer to put a hole in the port engine. Make it look like combat damage had triggered the lockdown. Corporal Uies and his men in the hold would hear it, but they didn'€™t have any idea when the battle had actually taken place. If they didn'€™t check, she might just pull it off. Anyway, why would they? The Navy had too many wars on its hands to keep track of all of them, let alone when each ship was hit. If she was lucky, the Marines would be too preoccupied with the promise of shore leave to care. If she was unlucky'€¦ At least she could save the people she was supposed to be looking after. Small consolation it was, but it was something. It was enough.

Clearwater shuddered as her engines kicked into life, inertial dampeners humming in time with the cruise engines. A few minutes later, Tyler'€™s hand found the comms.

'€Norfolk, this is Clearwater. We'€™re coming home.'€

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This character is retired.