Unfaltering

[Melanie Tyler]

Strange Times

“So, you're telling me that High Command's playing with Nomads?” Melanie Tyler gestured at the image hovering in her stateroom, her hand passing through the simulated shapes of a Liberty Dreadnought watching over a pair of Nomad warships, supposedly in dock. The Dreadnought wasn't a small ship by any stretch of the imagination, but the alien warships outstretched even it, bulbous forms extending beyond the confines of the man-made docks they were housed in. She rubbed her eyes again, driving the last of the night's sleep from them. Her sleeve slipped back halfway down her arm as she did so, Tyler glared at it and pointedly rolled the offending fabric back-up. Comfortable, or even well-fitting work uniforms were rarer then they had any right to be in Liberty, even for someone of her slight build.

It was still early in the ship's day, and her Commanding Officer had managed a halfway decent sleep for the first time in what felt like centuries. Odd, considering that they were posted in Texas, where a swarm of Rheinland warships rushing past the too-yellow sun was an ever-present possibility. Tyler blinked again, and stole a glance out the virtual window that overlaid the bulkhead. Houston was barely visible, a faint brown dot against the infinitely brighter star behind it. It was strange to think that such a tiny dot was home to billions of people. The very concept seemed laughably absurd when weighed against the vastness of space. It worked both ways though. From any of Houston's major cities, the Battlecruiser would have been indistinguishable from the blackness around it. Even artificial eyes struggled to distinguish the ship at that sort of range. Which, of course, was exactly the idea. It wouldn't do to have enemy eyes watching while the warship slept. It was a fragile sort of security, and one that Tyler felt slipping further and further away the longer she stared at the nomad battleships sitting in their cradles.

“No. I'm telling you that it looks like Command's playing with Nomads." Furious' Electronic Warfare Officer, a Lieutenant by the name of Macentyre shook her head, smiling as if she were explaining the color of the sky to a toddler. It was a trait that Tyler found incredibly annoying, but Macentyre was an outstanding Officer, as evidenced by her presence in the Commanding Officer's stateroom at ten to four in the morning. "The encryption messed up the file too much to reconstruct it properly.”
“It's fake?” Ancestors, wouldn't that be a mercy? She had enough problems to deal with as it was without adding... Whatever it was you called it when your own Command was growing jellyfish with an attitude problem- to the mix.
“Not quite. The whole thing was chopped up too badly for Furious' regular systems to get a proper idea. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I honestly couldn't tell you whether it's legitimate or not.” Damn. Tyler's fingers beat a staccato rhythm on the chair she inhabited.
“I ran the authentication code through the Fleet Database.” Macentyre continued. “Not a whisper, which was odd. Usually a search'll throw up a few matches, even if they're just typos. You'd be amazed how many 'dessert' exercises the ground forces run.” The young Lieutenant caught a glare from Tyler and the meaning behind it. Not all of us have been awake for six hours. “Anyway. 'REUS' didn't return any results. Zip. Nada. Nothing.”
“And this means what, exactly?” Tyler had never had much to do with military intelligence, preferring the rush of fighter combat. She'd been transferred directly to the capital fleet, and her inexperience showed - a fact the XO never grew tired of reminding her of.
“It means that we've either keyed in the unluckiest search terms in the history of the database, or my access is being blocked.” Tyler frowned. Macentyre had a bit of a reputation for eccentricy within the fleet. Even so, this was far beyond her usual fare.
“And if you're being blocked, then the database does have something on REUS.” Tyler finished, her brain finally shaking off the dark clouds of sleep.
“I'd bet my commission on it.” Macentyre nodded, smiling like the cat that had got the proverbial cream. Tyler just hoped that curiosity wasn't gunning for the same feline.

After the obligatory thanks and courtesies, she dismissed the Lieutenant, noting that the young officer failed to salute on the way out. It was the sort of absent-mindedness Macentyre was renowned for. Such a flighty nature was strangely at odds with the attention she paid to the ship's multiple intelligence-gathering systems, and Tyler couldn't help but wonder if she ignored the courtesy on purpose. Not that the older officer minded, she had far bigger things to worry about, and wasn't about to start jumping down the throats of subordinates who dug up such valuable, if concerning, information.

Tyler kicked her feet back on the projector and stared at the ceiling, allowing her mind to wander as she watched the virtual map drifting across the bulkhead. There were still a few hours left before reveille, and she knew she wouldn't sleep again that night. Texas' primary star dominated the view, hovering on the lower edges of the map like a God of old, completely apathetic to the concerns of the tiny creatures scurrying about it. A series of circles, tiny to the point of insignificance, hung suspended at the map's centre. If she cared to enlarge the image, she knew she would find Furious at the core of the innermost sphere, consecutive circles denoting the range of the warship's weapons, communications, and sensors. Against the scope of a star system, even they seemed woefully inadequate. She tapped the scale again, and Sirius shimmered into existence above her. Someone out there knew what REUS was. What the image still shimmering beside her meant.

It could just be nothing, but she knew in her gut that there was as much chance of that as there was of the ship beneath her growing a mind, deciding the Rheinlanders were really quite lovely people and proceeding to settle the war itself. One way or another, there was something Command was hiding. She shouldn't have been surprised, it seemed to be in their nature, even when it got people killed.

She sat there for a hazy period of time, drifting in and out of consciousness, but always faintly aware of the image beside her. The alien warships kept dragging her eyes to them, grabbing her focus. She had to be sure. A message to command? No. Pointless, foolish even. If the image was real, she'd only be exposing her ship to danger by sending it. If it wasn't, well. The response would be exactly the same. I'm sorry, Commander, we haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, good day. The images themselves would have to be verified first, but who could she trust to do that, if Furious' systems weren't up to the task? She knew a few people in Liberty, all of them in some form of military service or another. All of them too likely to be monitored. Too many problems, and too few solutions. She entertained the idea of hiring a shuttle to Bretonia and living out a life fighting the Gauls. It might be short, but at least it would be simple and she'd heard the Bretonians offered fantastic military pensions. Even as she thought it, she threw the idea away. If the problem was as bad as it might be, then she had no choice but to stay. Perhaps she could send a message to Tom, though...

Of course. Thomas Page, a Sergeant in the Bretonian Police Force. The two had met, and fought together, against the Gallic incursion in Leeds. The idea hit her with all the subtlety of a train crash. The Police would have access to the technology she needed to verify the images Macentyre had given her. Add to that the distance from anything vaguely associated with Naval High Command, and it might just be worth a shot. Tyler jumped to her feet, sending a file lodged against the projector skidding across the floor, powered on her terminal, and began to write.

---

| Character Sheet | Mel's Theme | Feedback |

This character is retired.