COUNTERPOINT

CHAPTER 1: THE SOLDIER

PART 11

By Mya Thevendra


Before returning to his quarters, Ian decided to make one last call to the TacCon, before he turned in for the day; one last visit before Harold took over. In the lift on the way down, Ian rubbed a clammy hand across his face to try and clear his thoughts. He had been caught off guard and unaware, and in his case, that was a rarity indeed. His unit had been taken away from him, and he decided that all that was left for him now was to try and come to terms with it, and to sit back and watch. When this campaign was over, he expected he would most likely get his brigade back. Either then, or whenever Confederate Command decided it was time for Harold to have a new unit.

He was a little numb after his argument with Harold, and felt almost as if all of this was happening to someone else, and he was simply a bystander, watching, as a stranger's life fell apart. He felt oddly detached, as though his mind was somehow blocking his own feelings, to spare him the pain they would bring. It was a new experience for Ian; he felt little at the best of times, and although he had taken Harold's likening him to a statue sorely, he could put little argument against it. However, his present detachment was of a different nature; it was as though he was close to feeling something, something more than he had ever felt, and a purposefully constructed barrier, fashioned by his own mind, stood firmly in the way, shielding him from his own emotions. Ian was not a man accustomed to analysing his own thoughts, and indeed this could well have been the most consideration he had ever given them, but true to form, he decided it served little purpose, and turned his attention outwards.

The T.C.U. was in its normal state of organised commotion when Ian arrived. Corporal O'Hanlan had just come onto tactical duty, and sitting at the sensor terminal in his now almost familiar role as squad coordinator, he gave a nod of acknowledgement to Ian as he walked past to the Commander's chair. Ian keyed in his authorisation code, which, after tonight would no longer enable him to access the Tactical Commander functions; tomorrow, Harold would transfer command functions to his own code, as Ian himself had done two weeks previously when he had relieved Kirkland. As he logged in, he was presented with a flashing line of text, which read:

Commander Latimer, you have one unread mail message. Do you wish to view it?

Ian opened the message file and read it. It was a simple, short message, probably written by the computer, and sent by the Central Administration unit, explaining that as he was no longer the Tactical Commander of the base, he wasn't allowed to use the Tactical Commander's quarters, or any of the quarters located in the T.C.U. His clothing, gear and other possessions had already been moved to one of the officers' quarters elsewhere in the Command Centre. Ian stared blankly at the message. It wasn't surprising, and Ian was expecting it, but seeing the message laid out on the screen like that, hit home the fact that he was no longer in charge.

His rank of Marine Commander still enabled him to access classified mission files, however, and so his habit of reviewing tactical data files was, for the time being, able to continue unhindered. He transferred the files to his new quarters and logged out of the console.

The T.C.U. staff were busy getting ready to coordinate Murello's scouting party, and as such, were not involved in any critical activities, only preparatory and diagnostic routines. If he had wanted to, Ian could have interrupted them to say a few words; concerning his standing down as their commander, of the officer who would be replacing him, perhaps merely a few words of gratitude for the work that they had performed while under him, or encouragement for the work that lay ahead. Ian, however, felt little affinity for them; O'Hanlan was perhaps the exception, but to Ian, even he was distant, and ultimately a stranger of little consequence. He knew next to nothing about any of them. They were just another group of faceless people who were there for the same reason as he was: to do a job. Perhaps he did want to say something, perhaps only a word or two to try and bridge the gap, even though they were at the end and it mattered little. However, regardless of whether he did, or did not want to, Ian said nothing, and left as silently as he had entered, while the staff around continued on with their work.

His new quarters were located with those of the other officers, in the lower ring of the Command Centre. They were smaller than those of the Tactical Commander, only one room with a bathroom, and lacked a separate computer terminal, instead having one integrated into the small view screen, set into the wall. To Ian, the tightness of the interior was neither here nor there; a youth spent as a marine had accustomed him to sleeping rough, and so any room with a bed was a luxury in itself.

As the hour approached ten o'clock, having showered and eaten, Ian settled down to read over the files he had transferred from the TacCon. There was little need for him to do so now, but routine was hard to break, and besides, Ian felt that although he was now essentially little more than a spectator, there would be no harm in being well informed.

Half an hour's study had passed, when Ian's view screen blinked on, and the cold visage of the Adjutant peered down at him.

"Commander Latimer, you have an incoming call from Chief Administrator Rigg. Shall I put her through?"

Having been caught so utterly off-guard by Harold's sudden appearance, as well as the news he had brought with him, Ian had been doing a great deal of contemplating in the time since. As he accepted the call, he knew exactly what was coming.

"Ian…"

Bethany Rigg had made the call from her office, apparently working late. She opened her mouth to continue, but Ian was a step ahead.

"You knew, didn't you?" He said, with no hint of feeling or surprise.

Bethany paused briefly. There was some trace of faint surprise in her expression, but it seemed as though she had been expecting that Ian had realised the truth. She gave a repentant nod.

"Ian, I'm sorry."

Ian had begun to tire somewhat of people telling him how sorry they were.

"Yes." He said, simply.

"I'm sorry I lied to you. I didn't have a choice."

"I suppose not. How many other people knew?"

"Just me. That's the truth, I promise," said Bethany, "they told me that this was Commander Bellamy's post before I even got here. It was right after they told me that I'd been assigned as Chief Administrator. They told me to keep you in the dark until he arrived. Look, I..."

"If that's everything, Chief Administrator…" interrupted Ian.

Despite his own expectations, Ian felt no ill will towards her. Bethany had been given no choice but to follow her orders, and that was something that Ian understood only too well. But having said that, he was in no mood to listen to her continuing apologies; whatever guilt she may have been feeling because of her involvement in this, Ian felt little sympathy for her.

"That's all." she said after a long pause, her head lowered.

Ian switched off the view screen, sat down on his bed and began to mull things over. The Confederacy apparently had big plans for Fort Sunderland, and Bethany Rigg must have been overjoyed when she found out she was going to be involved. This place was going to be the first step towards driving the enemy back to wherever in hell it was that they came from. Troops from only one base wouldn't be enough to make a big difference; there were probably other bases similar to this one, other Fort Sunderlands, different names, different commanders, but the same agenda. Outposts positioned close to the border, from which the Confederacy could reach out into enemy territory and gain a foothold. While the front line receded into Confederate space, this would be the Terrans' chance of striking back. There would likely be a fair amount of prestige attached to an assignment such as this, of being involved in what might be the first decisive victory against the enemy. Ian figured that Bethany must have fought hard to even be considered for this place, and wondered if, in the end, it would be worth all of the effort she had given it.

There were still some data files which Ian hadn't studied yet, but Ian had been knocked out of his stride, and he no longer felt like working on for the next half an hour or so that it would take him to finish them. Left with little to do, he activated his view screen again. The communications blackout meant that the base received no television or public channel radio broadcasts, and so played a series of outdated news clips and a few old films, stored in the Adjutant's memory banks. They held little interest for Ian, and after a few minutes, he switched the screen back off. Although he was tired after the day's endeavours, his thoughts were still a little restless. He could have simply pushed them aside and gone to bed regardless, but he chose instead to stay awake. A minute of slowly pacing about his room passed, when he found the closeness of his quarters had started to become a little stifling; and so after dressing back into fatigues, Ian switched the lights off, and left his room to talk a walk.

He strolled with no particular destination in mind, and at this time of night, there were few people to be seen within the dim corridors of the Command Centre. Starting out at the lower ring, he worked his way upwards, through the administrative departments, and into the upper ring. Eventually, he found himself strolling down the exit corridor, which led through to the Command Centre's shuttle terminal.
The tube shuttles still ran according to their set timetable, but at this late hour, there were few using them. The terminal was quiet and empty, save for the guard posted at the main entrance into the command centre at the north side. The platform curved as Ian walked to the south end and out of view of the guard, and a thin metal bench provided a break in his journey.

Across the shuttle channel, and through the transparent shielding of the terminal's edge, Ian looked out towards the west. The last light of the day had all but passed; only a fading crimson blush was left, painted low in the dark sky. Ian breathed a deep sigh and sat back, while around him, all was still and silent save for the barely heard whispers of tube shuttles, echoing through the tunnels from elsewhere in the base. Ian stared into the darkness outside and let his thoughts wander. He could make little sense of what he was feeling, and found that the harder he tried, the greater the pain and confusion became. And yet, when he attempted to deflect his thoughts elsewhere, his mind wandered back of its own accord. His anger simmered uncomfortably inside him, there was no way for him to resolve or console it, and as he sat there a victim of his own broiling thoughts, being cast from one side to another, once again from the deepest part of him the unnameable feeling crept coldly to the surface. It had been days since he had felt it last, and it entered into him like a biting wind. Ian slumped back against the bench and closed his eyes. This day had carried him to a towering height, offering him a glimmer of hope and normality, and then had flung him back down to the ground. The feeling swelled within him, and he cast his mind back, trying to remember what it was like, what he was like before he had become this way, but he could not. He was aware of his own past self, but the feeling that held him now was all encompassing, and blotted out any attempt to recall a past frame of mind. Ian cradled his head in his hand, and struggled to stamp it down, as he had grown accustomed to doing. Every time it became harder and harder, and in this instance, he waged a quiet war with his own mind as the secret bane that held him so terribly, gradually, and reluctantly subsided.

Ian kept his eyes closed, and his head still lay propped on his hand, whilst deep within, he gathered himself. Every time was harder, and every time that he pushed the feeling down, a little more of it was left behind to plague him. A dark numbness closed around him, and was abruptly splintered as a voice spoke through from the outside.

"Sir?"

Ian opened his eyes, and looked up to find Sgt. Sheppard standing to his side.

"Sergeant." said Ian, his voice low and sullen, "What are you doing awake? You're on shift again tomorrow morning. You should have been notified of everything by now."

"Yes, sir." She replied, "I have, but I've just delivered today's reports to the TacCon, I've finished all of my duties for today, and…"

"And?"

"Well sir, I thought I might find you and have a word."

Ian rubbed his hand over his face.

"About what?" he asked.

Sgt. Sheppard stood silently, trying to find the proper words, but in the end, merely looked down at Ian with a troubled gaze. Ian looked up once again to see the concern in her eyes. He looked down towards his feet, and nodded slightly.

"It's all right, Sergeant," he sighed, "don't worry, Commander Bellamy is one of the most accomplished Marine commanders I know of. It'll be a big change, I know, but just make sure you pay attention; do the same as if it were me in charge, and make sure the men do the same, and you'll do fine."

"Actually, sir," said Sgt. Sheppard, "it was more you, that I was, uh, that I was…"

Sgt. Sheppard struggled to find a way to phrase her concern for her commander that was not too informal, or intrusive. Recognising his XO's intent, Ian looked up to face her.

"I'm sorry sir," she said, as she began to step away, having decided it best not to pursue the matter, "I shouldn't have-"

"No. No, it's fine, Sergeant." said Ian, a faint smile crossing his lips. He waved his hand over to the empty space on the bench beside him.

"Here, take a seat."

Sergeant Sheppard walked around and sat down at the opposite end of the bench, apprehensively eyeing Ian as she did so.

"Sir, are you all right? I mean, I assume it wasn't your idea to transfer the unit over to Commander Bellamy."

"That's neither here nor there, Sergeant. I was expected to follow orders and I did so."

"Yes, sir."

"But, I'm fine." Ian hunched forward and looked in front, peering into the middle distance. "It's just that, sometimes it's difficult for soldiers to be friends. Sometimes orders make it difficult."

In the entire time that Lorraine Sheppard had served under Ian as his XO, they had never had what might be described as a normal conversation. Many other commanders would have made an effort to become as close as possible to their second in commands; a strong bond was invaluable when working together and when attempting to anticipate each other's thoughts and ideas. Ian however, had kept his relationship with Sergeant Sheppard entirely professional, preferring a command chain based on efficiency and clarity, rather than any genuine empathy. When she had been assigned to the Spider Monkeys, Ian had meticulously pored over her service records and academy files, in order to gage her prowess and potential as a marine, and as his XO. At this moment in time, he became very much aware that he knew almost nothing about her, personally. He had told Harold that he couldn't get by without her, and yet, even after all this time, he knew next to nothing about who Lorraine Sheppard actually was.

"I suppose that's the problem with continually answering to a higher authority. You don't always get what you want." Ian said, lowering his eyes to the floor again, "In fact, you hardly ever get what you want, so I suppose it's best not to want anything at all. Well, that's…just one way of looking at it, I guess."

Ian looked sideways at Sergeant Sheppard.

"When you get on in this job, you'll realise what's important; what's the right way of doing things."

"Yes, sir."

Ian looked back across, out into the nighttime landscape. He wasn't exactly sure what he was trying to say, but he felt as though he was straying away from the things he really wanted to ask. It was a challenge for Ian to even vaguely enter into a personal conversation; so little experience with people in that way had left him with almost no frame of reference. He felt as though he wanted to reach out in some way, but he was unsure as to how. He scoured his thoughts for a way to begin a conversation, something to say, a question to ask, but he was at a loss; he simply couldn't. In the end, he didn't have to.

"Sir," began Sergeant Sheppard, "If it's not too bold, I was wondering if I could ask: why it was that you joined the Marine Corps? I know you volunteered, didn't you, sir?"

Ian nodded.

"That's right." He took a slow breath, and stared out in front.

"I joined because," he paused, furrowing his brow before carrying on. "Well, I had very few options back then. And so, the Marine Corps seemed…" Ian paused again. He wanted to let himself relax, but he didn't want to take it too quickly, or too far; he was coming close to elements of his past that he felt were perhaps best left alone. Altering his tone, he gave a routinely dull answer.

"Ah, I just wanted to serve my planet, and the interests of the Confederacy. Simple as that."

Ian's head hung low, as he silently berated himself for his lack of honesty and openness.

"What about you?" he asked, "You know, I don't think I've ever asked you. Why did you decide to sign up?"

"Oh, I'd wanted to leave Swandil Minor since, well, for a long time." said Sergeant Sheppard, "It's a lovely world to grow up on, but I didn't want to spend the rest of my life there. I don't know why, I just wanted to get out and see places. I guess I just wanted to experience what the Koprulu sector was like, all of those different planets, so many cultures and environments. And then when I got older, and found out how the war had been going on amongst the colonies, I decided that I wanted to try and do something about it. So, in the end, I decided that what I wanted was to join the marines and try and help, and if I could see the galaxy along the way, then so much the better. That's what I thought back then, and I still think it. I guess I joined because…I wanted to make a difference."

Ian had never realised that his XO was such an idealist. At best, he had thought of her as honest and forthright, but had never thought her so unsullied by the ways of Confederate life that she would sign away her life to help others. In retrospect, however, he wasn't surprised. She could be tough when she needed to be, but her naturally gentle and sensitive manner gave the impression of someone who was there because she cared. Many Confederate Marine volunteers had some sort of agenda, be it fame, reputation, money, boredom, the desire to travel; Ian knew, however, that there were those who joined because right from the start they wanted to help change things for the better. He knew that they existed; he just hadn't expected to meet any of them.

Sergeant Sheppard looked expectantly across at Ian. He decided that it was time to go out on a limb, and to start talking to her. He pursed his lips, and after a moment spoke out.

"Do you miss your home?" he asked.

"Oh, yes sir. I do miss it a little. I miss Heretrium, it's the city close to where I used to live. My friends and I would go there for day trips and such; I miss my friends as well, of course, but we grew apart a little before I left. I suppose it's what happens as you grow older."

"What about your family? I seem to remember from your files, you have an older brother, don't you?" asked Ian.

"Yes, sir. I have two actually, and a sister, a younger sister. My mum died a few years back, and my brothers left home, so it's just my sister and my dad left there now. Emily, my sister, I think she'd be finishing college about now; when I left, she still didn't know what she wanted to do with her life. Do you have any, sir? Family?"

"No," said Ian, "no, I don't. It's just as well though. If I did, I suspect I wouldn't appreciate them."

Sergeant Sheppard gave a quiet nod, and then smiled fondly as she thought back.

"They threw a party for me when I left, my family. It wasn't a big do or anything; it was just the five of us. They, well, that was the last time that I saw them. I don't really keep in touch as I ought to these days. When I first joined up I used to contact them all the time, mails and such. My dad used to keep asking if I'd made admiral yet," she said with a chuckle, "I suppose I'm going to have to let him down one day."

"What do you mean?" asked Ian.

"Well sir, I just don't think that's realistically going to happen, that's all; command, I mean. I don't think I'm cut out for it."

"Do you want to command?"

"Yes, sir. Someday, but…"

"Then let me tell you something," began Ian as he shifted on the bench and turned slightly to face her, "there are two things a person needs to command in this military. One is the ability itself needed to command. The other is the desire to do so. As long as you want to do it," he said, raising a finger towards her, "then you will…because you've got the ability in spades."

Sergeant Sheppard's eyes widened as she received the first compliment Ian had ever given her. His icy demeanour had always made it difficult for her to judge what he had thought of her performance, but since he had never complained, she had figured him to have been satisfied with her, or at most, slightly impressed. This was a pleasant surprise to say the least.

"Thank you, sir. I- I'm grateful you think so, but it just seems so far away. I know most junior officers would leap at the chance to command, and I would as well, but I'd think twice. I don't know why."

"It's a change, it's a big change." said Ian, as he leant back again, and stared out across the terminal, "But I think you'll be able to handle it. Most do, simply because they have to, and the fact that you're a little apprehensive is a sign for the better, I think. There's always a little fear with progress, and if there isn't, there should be."

Far away to the west, the last embers of the sun burned dimly above the lip of the basin. Ian watched as the amber glow flickered faintly through the darkness, and steadily shrank from view.

"I'm fairly good at judging how well a person might bear responsibility, if they needed to, and I believe you have what it takes. I don't just mean about being able to handle pressure, you've got more than that. You inspire trust, the way you are with the unit; they adore you. And if they weren't the Spider Monkeys, if they were the worst bunch of feral convicts with shoddy resocialisation jobs, I don't imagine they'd feel too differently. You know when to be tough with them, when to hold your ground, and when to give it. You could do it with any unit, I suspect; it's one of the most fundamental requirements of a commander in this job. Inspiring trust…and loyalty."

The words echoed in Ian's head, and for a moment, he remembered the biting words Harold had spoken during their argument. Sergeant Sheppard sat silently as he continued, his voice low, and his eyes searching through the side of the terminal.

"I've had a long career, Sergeant. I've spent more than half my life in the military. There are people who would prefer not to bear a burden such as that, and there are those who would see no burden at all; who would excel, thrive, rather than survive."

Sergeant Sheppard stared into Ian's hazel eyes as he turned to face her.

"It seems quite clear to me which type you belong to. You're a fine officer, and you're a good soldier. You will command one day, I promise you that."

Ian slowly turned his attention back to the shrouded landscape, Sergeant Sheppard remained still and quiet, and for a short while the two of them simply sat, as the sibilant voices of distant shuttles echoed around them. Moments passed, and the softened voice of Sergeant Sheppard's was the first to break the silence.

"Sir, I'm very grateful for everything you've said, but are you sure that you're all right?"

"I'm fine, Sergeant. But it's a little late." said Ian. Weariness had overtaken him, and his own words had left his thoughts confused and chaotic. Once again there was too much feeling, and Ian felt that he would rather be alone. "And you've got work tomorrow. You'd best get a good night's sleep." he said.

"Yes, sir."

Ian sat hunched forward, his arms resting on his knees, his hands clasped in front. Without moving, he spoke.

"All right, then. Dismissed."

Sergeant Sheppard rose to her feet, and after a brief glance downwards at Ian, she walked past, back towards the main entrance, and out of view.

For a while longer, Ian sat there, alone now with only his own turbulent thoughts for company. He wondered if he would ever be able to tell another soul of his own problems. He wondered why it was that he had always had such tremendous difficulty in doing so in the past, and he thought about how he had never called Sergeant Sheppard by her first name.

Time passed unnoticed, and after a time, Ian rose slowly to his feet, and began the walk back to his quarters. Outside, the last glinting edge of the Widow sun lingered briefly atop the basin's edge, and then disappeared.