It shocked her, just how normal the world seemed.
The world was so shockingly mundane. The sun went on shining, people continued to go about their business. To every single one of them, the world was the exact same one it had been the day before. It was insane to her that this was the case.
Because it wasn't the same for her. It couldn't be. Never again. The world was the same she knew, and yet it was different. So very, very different. How could it be? With them gone? It had been so easy to ignore at first, there had been tasks aplenty to distract herself with. So many had inexplicably looked to her to be their pillar of support. Piled their woes atop her shoulders and expected her to have all the answers they needed. But it could be ignored no longer, that horrid inescapable emptiness that tore at her insides. That void that they had left in the wake of their passing and that was now overflowing with pain, pain, pain….
The night after she had found Matt's jacket had been the worst. She had been silent on the return to camp. Expression inviting no questions, hands clutching the tattered jacket with a grip an Elcor could not have dislodged. A few among their party, had given halfhearted condolences. Empty sympathetic platitudes. She remembered none of it of course.
When the truck had pulled in and she had disembarked. She rushed to the nearest quiet, dark, private place and had allowed the dam to break. Just fallen with her back to a wall, teeth clenched, eyes screwed shut and allowed the grief and the tears to wash over her. Clutching that ragged scrap of cloth and adding tearstains to join the blood.
It shocked her that the world was so unchanged. Despite the end of her world, despite the fact that a man she had loved and respected as a father was gone forever.
Despite the fact that the very best sister that had ever lived, the kindest, most beautiful, most amazing woman Jane had ever known or would ever know. Was now lying in a box, six feet beneath the earth of Mindoir. With only a small marker to show the world that Melanie Shepard had ever existed at all.
Despite the fact that a man Jane would happily have spent her life with. Someone who she exalted every day in loving, and being loved by. Would never hold her again, would never smile at her in that insipid dopey, irresistible way. And help her believe that everything would be alright. In that way that only he ever could.
Despite all that, the world remained stubbornly unchanged.
How dare animals chitter and sing, when she would never hear the sound of their laughter again? How dare the sky be blue and the sun be shining when she would never have her day brightened by the sight of their smiles again? What business did the world have, continuing to be as bright and as beautiful as it was. When within herself there was only a hideous gaping darkness?
Everywhere she looked seemed to expose a fresh agony. The pitch of a nearby voice, or a scent, or a sound. And suddenly she was rocked by memories. Of constant crushing inescapable reminders, that she would never see them. Never hold them, never speak to them again.
Home wasn't home anymore. She wouldn't, couldn't, stay.
All this she considered as she stared down at the personal communicator. Held loosely in one hand with the alliance officers' information in the other.
On the one hand, she'd never had any interest in the Alliance. Still didn't if she was honest. But there was nothing left for her on Mindoir. No friends, no family, no obligations, nothing. It wasn't ideal, but it was something. And anything was better than staying here to be haunted by the ghosts of a happier past. Before she could find a reason to convince herself not to. She input the number. Waiting nervously for it to be picked up.
Anderson was jolted from sleep by the chime of his communicator. Drowsily he rolled over in his cot, and stared balefully at the warbling electronic as it robbed him of his stolen nap. He sat up to snatch it from the small storage crate that was serving as an ad hoc cot-side table. Murmuring an irritable oath under his breath that whatever this was had better be good.
"Hello?"
The voice was young sounding, female. And undeniably familiar. And Anderson gave a small start once recognition dawned. In perfect honesty, a part of him hadn't expected to hear from this particular caller again. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the last vestiges of sleep. And made the best effort he could to make his voice sound as if he hadn't just woken literal moments before.
"Yes, Anderson here."
His opposite number on the other end of the line took a long breath, before next she spoke.
"I'm Jane Shepard, I've given it some thought and, well. I was wondering if that offer was still open."
Anderson, for his part. Felt the last of his drowsiness be banished by a sudden upsurge of pleasant surprise. It was beyond expectation. But he could look forward now to reporting to the admiralty with something like good news from this catastrophe. Hurriedly he stood up and began throwing on the pieces of his BDU discarded for sleep.
"Um, hello? Are you still there?"
Anderson belatedly responded as he used his hands to smooth the worst wrinkles from his top.
"Er-! Yes, just give me a moment!"
Very quickly he snatched up his communicator and tabbed to the text function. Jamming out a quick message to one of his aides.
MSG From: DAnderson AIC 5:35pm
My tent, right now
That done, he responded to the young woman.
"Yes, the offer is still very much open Ms Shepard. Where exactly are you now?"
"Still in the refugee quarter."
She said,
"Should I head over now or-?"
"No!"
Anderson blurted, rather more loudly than he'd intended.
"No please, that won't be necessary. Stay where you are, we'll come to you. Just meet us at the entrance. We won't be more than 20 minutes."
"Understood."
With a click, the call was ended. And Anderson let out an explosive breath. Before all but throwing aside the tent flap and walking with what absolutely was not excitement. Perhaps this kind of giddy anticipation wasn't seemly, but it wasn't every day someone got to swear in the child of an alliance hero. To be the voice they followed as they intoned the words that confirmed their allegiance to the force responsible for the protection of earth and all her colonies.
Anderson, like every Alliance Navy recruit of a certain age. Had joined to follow in the footsteps of one woman. Admiral Hannah Jane Shepard. It was difficult to overstate just how deeply she had been loved and respected by her entire species. For a generation of humanity, her name had been synonymous with heroism. With every story of successful anti-pirate naval action. Every story of a new trail blazed or new garden world or resource rich planet discovered. Her legend only grew, cementing in the minds of every man woman and child that humanity was strong, that its place in a suddenly much larger galaxy was secure and ever expanding.
Of course a generation of young men and women had signed up to serve. Determined to follow in her wake, to carve out a legend of their own, Even after her tragic if somewhat mysterious death. If anything, her demise had only enlarged her legend. A larger than life hero had become something almost mythical in death.
For Anderson it had been a moment of deep pride to follow in the footsteps of his personal hero. To put his boots to the line, and swear his life and his honor to the service of his species. That he now had the opportunity to help another make that promise, and especially one like her. Filled him with an emotion that he knew erred dangerously close to pride. But he honestly couldn't find it in him to care.
Andersons mood survived all the way through collecting his aide and making his way through the camp to the refugee quarter. Before it died a grisly death once Anderson saw the look on Jane Shepards face.
He'd seen that expression before of course, no one who had spent more than a few years in service could say with honesty that they hadn't. But Anderson had only ever before seen it on the faces of fellow warriors, trained soldiers. There was something much, much worse about seeing it on the face of a child.
No two stories that produced that expression were ever exactly the same. But common themes were communicated. A deep seated pain, an understanding that something irreplaceable had been lost. Sometimes it was a feeling, or a place, or a person.
For her, Anderson imagined it was all three.
She puts her name to the appropriate forms robotically, devoid of passion or emotion. And when Anderson leads her in speaking the words that constitute her binding oath to serve and protect her people. She speaks in a voice sapped of all spirit. The words somehow robbed of something vital by the mouth speaking them.
Anderson had never imagined that an occasion so momentous could be made so hideous.
It is after all has been said and done. After Anderson returns to the privacy of his tent. And the turmoil of his own thoughts, that he resolves to help Jane Shepard. He isn't certain how, or even precisely why. But he knows a part of him will never rest soundly again if he doesn't at least try.
The big 2-0. A milestone for the story from a certain point of view. And it only took me 10 goddamn years, give or take a few months.
Anyway.
There, I did that thing you all seem to like where I supply you with literary slop. And then somebody in the reviews calls me a slur or something. Shorter than usual, which in my defense I did warn you about. It got pretty angsty and feelsy there. Which I have it on decent authority I could stand to get better at writing. Anyway the next chapter is the prelude to some pretty serious shit going down. So look forward to that I guess.
Also I have had the unequaled pleasure of having someone in the reviews unironically call me a libtard. Which has honestly just tickled me fucking pink. It's one of those things that you think only happens in memes and video games and movies made by extreme left wingers nowhere near as clever or funny as they think they are. But there it is.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Until next time.
The Guarding Dark.