Fall In (Eselain Tanaris)

[Anonymous]

“Good morning sir.”

It was the voice of Danneth's orderly, a fresh-faced Ensign that had been recently seconded to his staff, as he entered the Admiral's quarters aboard Libra station. Danneth had been awake for several hours already, with a throbbing headache, pouring over the latest fleet-status reports and dossiers of potential trainees. The aide bore a plastene mug with steam curling from the surface of a brackish looking liquid. Phoebian herb tea was Danneth's morning constitutional, sure to clear away any lingering hangover or sleep-deprived stupor that an officer recently on-leave might experience. Danneth had been drinking it for twenty years and he'd never yet grown accustomed to its foul taste. The ensign placed the mug on his desk, near the pile of unfinished reports. He offered a salute and beat a hasty retreat, not wanting to get caught in one of Tarn's somewhat legendary morning tirades.

Danneth sighed and sipped at the tea. He didn't belong in dock; not while a war was brewing. Unlike some officers that grew softer with age, stationside postings had never appealed to him—space was his place. But the Libran Maintenance Corps had taken the opportunity of the balked Aedolian attack and ensuing lull to test the general space-worthiness of his ship. Even now, she was easing her way into one of the station's orbital dock's—a maze of girders and arc-welding workers. About now, she was probably  having her computer systems scrubbed and her hull checked for atmospheric breaches. She'd get a new set of vacuum seals and an engine tuning. They would probably even iron out the waffle in her thrust vectored rudder – she'd been a bit sluggish at the wheel lately. Still, Danneth missed the sensation of being aboard. It had been difficult to sleep without the steady thrum of her engines and the vibrations of her deck plates.

There was no use crying over it though, when Libra called, Tarn answered. They had called him to back to the station, to a staff office, to manage the dispositions of the fleet. It wasn't his favorite idea for a posting, but there was always a need for well-trained, tactically minded officers to serve as administrators – if only briefly. He finished his tea, downing the contents, along with the sludge at the bottom, with a single , grimace-inducing gulp.

Time to get down to business.

He laced up his boots, snatched the datapad off his desk and headed out through the maze of officer's quarters, towards the conference room. Yesterday he had interviewed a steady stream of intel officers, looking for information about unit strength, general readiness and morale. What he had got was a load of bitchy, prissy whining about “pampered fleet units” and how they “got all the high quality supplies”. Today, Tarn had decided to cut through the clutter by going directly to the top. He would just interview unit C.O's instead. First on his menu was Lieutenant Tanaris of the 77th, a OZ/TOPZ squadron. They had quite the reputation around the fleet and Danneth was eager to see what manner of moxie this Lieutenant had to turn these badmouthed, hotshot slackers into such an effective fighting unit.

He passed his security card to the marine at the conference room door. He peered at the card and then Danneth's rank cylinder.

The marine offered a salute and shouted “Officer on deck!” The door slid open.

Danneth returned the marine's salute and stepped inside. The room was starkly pale, akin to the Libra's maintenance hallways, decorated with a rectangular plastene table and a set of chairs. On the other side of the table stood the Lieutenant. Danneth returned the salute that she had held since the door swung open—military etiquette was a bizarre culture, it worshiped higher ranks, and whenever someone had the silly inclination to shout “officer on deck”, hands always leapt to temple.

“At ease Lieutenant.” Danneth dropped into one of the chairs and motioned for Tanaris to do the same. He flicked on the digital dossier that had been tucked under his arm and steepled his fingers over it. “So, what can you tell me about the 77th. Oh, and incidentally, it's far too early for bullshit, so lets cut out how their the best and brightest and what a pleasure it is to serve with them—I got plenty of that from the tackies yesterday.”

[Anonymous]

Yesterday, just as her shift was finishing and just before she was about to power down her data pad, a message popped up informing her she had mail. Opening it, she felt her heart drop and settle itself beside her stomach. Conference room? Tomorrow? With the Admiral? Her first thoughts tended towards a grilling for misconduct- which wasn’t exactly implausible seeing as she spent an hour engaging in tiddlywinks in the break room. Not to mention some illusion magic in the mess hall which saw several members of Squad 77 walking around as naked as the day they were born … Yes, perhaps that wasn’t in the best of taste. They weren’t even that bad, she was sure they weren’t even proper transgressions, but she was meant to act her rank. That just didn’t sit well with Ese; she only pulled rank when she was angry. After all, she had been an OZ pilot only two years ago.

All this dread occurred in the space of five seconds before she actually mustered the courage to read through the mail in its entirety. Just an investigation into the Squad. Following up on tacky reports. Interview format no doubt since she wasn’t asked to prepare a presentation. It didn’t totally alleviate her anxiety, since she was sure Squad 77’s attaché didn’t have much that was good to say about them, but at least the proposition didn’t sound as ominous as it did a minute ago.  It offered a little hope. Sighing, she powered down all the appliances in her officer before trailing back to her own apartment. She spent two hours talking to her mother, which followed the usual discourse; military isn’t good enough for you, when am I going to be a grandmother and you’re father’s getting old, you’ll need to look after us. After that grilling, she was sure she could handle anything the Admiral sent her way. Thus she went to bed quite at her ease.

The next morning following two caffeine tablets and a bowl of cereal, Ese got ready for her meeting. After a little indecision over whether to wear full-dress or undress uniform, she stuck with the latter. She strapped a phasor sidearm to her left thigh, simply because it was a particularly military thing to do. It was a status symbol. She wound her way towards the lift, moving from Deck 3 to Deck 5 and then to the conference room. She was apprehended momentarily by the marine until she produced her ID, and then she was allowed in.

In the five minutes she was waiting, she turned over the possibilities. Well, Admiral Tarn’s ship had just been docked, maybe he was killing time. Checking on the units. There was still the possibility she was going to get roasted for something, but she didn’t know what she had done that was bad enough to elicit a face to face meeting with a superior officer. At least it was one less evil than a court martial. The last one, which seemed particularly ludicrous, was the prospect of promotion. Which was pure do not want. The call from the marine drew her quickly away from her thoughts and her fingertips jumped up to her temple.

Unfortunately, the most difficult thing for Ese when she was in front of Admiral Tarn was trying not to laugh. She was given permission to ease up and she sat down, regarding the man. There was a warmth in his appearance and immediately made her associate him with a kindly grandfather. So, to hear ‘bullshit’ slip out of his mouth was at odds with her image of him. The mirth wasn’t entirely covered, manifesting in a shadow of a smile. Then she remembered she had been asked a question.

And a painfully vague one at that. What was there to say about the Squad? Without the bullshit. Might as well dive in- at least spontaneity was more revealing than a prepared speech.

“They’re loud; there are a lot of large personalities and egos that constantly clash. But that’s what’s part of the essence of them. I don’t have the authority to tamper with that and I’ve always felt that was why they work, because they have that dynamic. Things have the potential to get quite ugly seeing as we are mostly made up of senior Gunners and Captains who have a taste for independence, but I haven’t had any real trouble with it … I certainly haven’t been presented with any trouble that couldn’t be rectified.”

Last time she got backchat, she made the Gunner in question stand outside her office, arms level with his shoulder and a pile of books in each hand. He was ordered to stand there until she felt generous, being barked at whenever his arms wavered. She decided to omit the incident from her account.

“Is there anything else you want to know, sir?” she asked, because she still didn't really know what he was expecting to hear.

[Anonymous]

As a universal rule, Danneth knew that no one liked talking with a superior officer about the people under their command. It was like talking to your teenage son about his sex-life. There was usually a sudden bristling on the part of the asked, the air would become electric and the question would be answered as politely as possible but in such a way as to say “why the hell are you asking about things that are my business alone?” Remarkably, Lieutenant Tanaris managed to answer the question without lapsing into the typical defensiveness.

As she spoke, Tarn scrolled through the data-archive on the 77th. His lips pressed together in a tight line and a hand stole absentmindedly up to twirl the end of his mustache; his face grew darker with each flick of the scroll wheel. Not because of the lieutenant's answer, that was competent enough—just the sort of information he was looking for—but because of the red “Attention Required!” blips dotted throughout the 77th's file.    

“I certainly haven’t been presented with any trouble that couldn’t be rectified.”

Then why hasn't it bloody well been rectified, he was sorely tempted to say. Instead, Tarn twisted his mustache even tighter and ignored her until he made a complete reading of the file.

“That's generous of you lieutenant...damned generous. I'm so glad that you feel your management skills are up to snuff.” Danneth spoke evenly, but his wispy eyebrows crinkled with the hint of a glare. “Some of your peers are considerably less generous in their assessment,” he tapped the datapad and the narrowed eyebrows went up questioningly, “shall I read you what they think?” Danneth cleared his throat and peered down at the datapad.

“Here's a small sample: 'The 77th routinely disparages other squads'. 'Men from 77th made continuous references to dubious parentage of squad 83th's'. '77th does not give proper respect to officers of other squads'. Here's one dated yesterday: 'Several members of 77th seen at mess in state of undress'. That's undress, not Un Dress.” Danneth managed to keep the mirth out of his voice, “you can explain that one to me some other time, it sounds like material for my memoirs.” Danneth had a reputation around the fleet for exploding at junior officers who screwed up—especially those in leadership positions, like Tanaris— but he had no particular desire to chew this lieutenant out. The failure of the 77th to adhere to the strict regulations of the Fleet would have concerned some, but not Tarn. His own career had been punctuated by a more...innovative regard with Fleet discipline—especially when it was discipline at the cost of effectiveness.

“Is there anything else you want to know, sir?”

“Frankly Lieutenant, I think these reports are all bollocks. For all their zeal, not one of these reports cared to explain how the 77th routinely dominates inter-squad simulations, or how they've maintained such an excellent combat record. That's the stuff that I want to hear from you. What is it that makes the 77th special? More importantly, can it be duplicated?”

[Anonymous]

Damn it, Tarn. Ese’s fists carefully loosened, her nails leaving crescent welts in her palms. She was completely incapable of taking the higher ground. She liked to make people sweat a little, drag them along for a little. So that’s what if felt like. She’d have to stop doing that- nah. Too much fun. She chewed the side of her mouth, the only sign of discontent she was going to allow herself. He didn’t give a lot of time to stew it out, because once again he was out with some more difficult questions for her to try and answer. How the hell was she meant to explain it. Because she didn’t have any real awareness of it. Didn’t need to be aware. She just worked with the Squad and they worked with her. But she didn’t want to say it was luck that she was with the right individuals. In fact, Squad 77 was no measure of her ability. She was in her comfort zone. Modesty? No. She felt it was true.

Better make some bullshit up quick. Or maybe not. Hell, I don’t want to be assigned to anyone else. Shit. Shit. Lots of it, quick! Put her in a Cruiser flanked by Space Pirates any day. She crossed her legs and tapped her fingers against her leg. Combat. Well, there was … She kept bringing it back to the nature of the people within the Squad. They were all so competitive, though, she supposed there was some deeper foundation for that. She supposed they just didn’t want to let each other down. Though to say what came first was impossible.

She was quiet for a long time. She felt the desperate urge to fill it with drivel, but had the ominous feeling that it wouldn’t be appreciated. Silence it was. Don’t take all day. What did they actually do to add to what was there? The combat sim tournaments, though those always descended into chaos and someone always got hurt. Besides, that was nothing out of the ordinary, all Squads had their tournaments. Nothing substantial. Then there was the man point tally, though that was more conducive to recklessness than anything. Fifty man points to conduct an entire mission with the autograv disengaged. She couldn’t mention that. Staying up talking to ungodly hours- did that really affect combat? Just team morale. How important was that?

Screw it. Just start talking.

“I suppose it’s down to a tremendous sense of justice and fair play, which in itself becomes a good work ethic. Within the Squad, there’s a lot of pride. No one wants to know they’ve let the side down. They want to do good by each other. And they’re fearless because of it. That’s why they dominate the simulations. That’s why they’re always training. They’re competitive. Perhaps I’ve failed to refine that competitiveness so it doesn’t hinder their cooperation with other Squads.” And sod them- a little rivalry didn’t hurt anyone. “I don’t know if you can transfer that to the others. Unless you convince them that they are the elite and instil that sense of pride in them.”

Speaking of doing good by each other- “And please sir, don’t reprimand any members of my Squad for that particular incident yesterday. That was my own formulation. If you follow me,” she said. He must have read her file beforehand and know about her magical abilities and achievements. Not that she would know, she’d never dared to read her own file.

She finished feeling like she hadn’t done enough. What now? Demotion? Relocation- let someone more ‘competent’ actually control them. Because if their ability was natural, then what was the use keeping her there? “I don’t know what else to say.”

[Anonymous]

Silence hung heavily in the room as the lieutenant worked her jaw and stared at Danneth, trying to give an answer to his intentionally vague questioning. The quiet, Danneth knew, would bother most admirals. They preferred the “yessir, yessir, three-bags-full” sort of answer; most of them conducted interviews like this simply for appearance sake. Tarn, on the other hand, actually hoped to learn something from Tanaris—something that would help the men under his command, not just the 77th, survive. She hadn't said anything terribly revolutionary yet, but he knew that if he dug deep enough, both of them would walk away wiser. And so, he folded his hands over his chest and smiled through silence.

“No one wants to know they’ve let the side down. They want to do good by each other. And they’re fearless because of it. That’s why they dominate the simulations. That’s why they’re always training. They’re competitive.”

“Esprit de' corps. Camaraderie. I think you've hit on what drives them to excel...but I doubt that it's the root.”

“I don’t know if you can transfer that to the others. Unless you convince them that they are the elite and instill that sense of pride in them.”

“Again, I think you're darting around the issue...how did the 77th get that sense of the elite and that pride?”

“And please sir, don’t reprimand any members of my Squad for that particular incident yesterday. That was my own formulation. If you follow me.”

“Noted...consider this your reprimand: you have a slow imagination.” Danneth smirked, showing some of the command causticity that he was famous for,  “at least when it comes to admirals' questions.”

“I don’t know what else to say.”

He leaned forward, raised an eyebrow and tapped his rank cylinder. “I don't know what to say, sir.” Now he was thoroughly, shamelessly enjoying himself; not for the discomfort he was surely causing the lieutenant—although his mischievous side certainly savored that—but because this was Tarn at his best. He had always reasoned that people thought quickest and spoke truest when they were off-centre, out of their zone of comfort. The lieutenant looked anything but comfortable. “If you'll allow me to be blunt,” and since he outranked her, she had no choice, “you've probably answered the question three or four times already in your head.”

The answer, lieutenant, is family. The 77th is one massive, totally dysfunctional family. The reason for the camaraderie, the competition is the closeness that the unit has fostered. You have the very great honor playing mother to that family. I've seen it in your file, your treatment of the men: you empathize with them, you don't hold yourself above them...I'd be tempted to say that you genuinely care for them.” He paused, let silence fill the room again. It was one of the simple, universal truths of soldiering, putting it into execution was the difficult part.

“How do you do that? Be specific. Surely you do something while on duty every day? What is it?”

[Anonymous]

I hate you Tarn, so bad, she cringed inwardly. Ese didn’t like not handing out the goods. If she did so, then this frightful questioning would be over sooner. What was Tarn expecting, he wasn’t exactly giving her questions she could readily answer. She didn’t know the answer. She didn’t think about these things. They came naturally to her. She did them without thinking. The bonding between her and her subordinate seemed to just happen because both parties were there, not because of any effort on either of their parts. Hate, hate. Lots of hate. Her fingers continued to tap against her leg, quietly against the cloth of her uniform. All she could do discreetly.

She was also getting irritated because he seemed to think she could transfer whatever it was that made them work so easily. It wasn’t like that. And she was going to tell him. Damn right she was. Screw it. This was important.

“With all due respect, sir, I can’t give you the answer to that. I don’t calculate how I act around my men so that I appear to be the ‘mother’ as you said. I just do it. I may tell you that I help organise nights out, give out my e-mail and phone number to all members of the Squad, tell them they can talk to me about anything at anytime, always inquire after everyone’s health and visit them when they’re in the infirmary but I don’t know how you are going to use that information. Pass it on? To what end? So that some other officers can synthesise being genuinely caring? What would that achieve? Respect without foundation. What happens when it comes under strain? When you have to ardently put you bollo- rather, put your neck on line. Would that camaraderie falter or survive?”

She had leant forward as she spoke, displaying an assertiveness that was probably not appropriate to the situation. It would look quite aggressive. Ese was a little stunned herself. True to form- I don’t think. She slowly reclined back into her chair, hands folded in her lap. She needed to do something to avoid a complete roasting.

“ I am sorry if I disappoint sir, but I don’t know what you want to hear from me. Perhaps it would be better if you observed. Covertly that is. Not in person- it would alter their behaviour. Also, don’t tell me when you are observing, so that I will not be affected either. I can have Mr Bazalgette set that up for your benefit, if you should wish it?”

Roasting avoided? I bloody well hope so.

[Anonymous]

As the lieutenant gave her explanation, Tarn's right eyebrow slowly raised higher and higher, he began to twirl his mustache so vigorously that it looked as if would pull it clear off. The gentle, laughing smile never quite left though. The defensiveness that he had expected from the beginning had finally broken through. Now she was leaning forward, punctuating her sentences with terse verbal jabs of the, Tarn noticed the fingers she drummed against her leg as they reached a frantic rate.

He realized, belatedly, that he had learned something after all. Don't push for information that isn't there. Clearly, Tanaris thought of herself as a natural soldier. She was good at what she did, why question it? Unfortunately for her, natural soldiering wasn't enough for Danneth.

“I am sorry if I disappoint sir, but I don’t know what you want to hear from me. Perhaps it would be better if you observed. I can have Mr Bazalgette set that up for your benefit, if you should wish it?”

He nodded politely at her offer and then waved it aside. “Not necessary,” his smile turned apologetic “an excellent idea, but the time for it simply isn't there...” Tarn trailed off. He stared at the lieutenant blankly for a moment, tapping the table absentmindedly. He rose from his seat suddenly, with enough force to shove the swivel chair back into the wall. He straightened the rumples in his coat with a jerk.

“Fall in lieutenant. I want to show you something.”

He stepped to the door and it slid open noiselessly. The marine shouldered his rifle again and was about to call the whole hallway to attention when Danneth cut him off with a quick salute—it was the easiest way to get out of the “on deck” business.

He walked briskly down the corridor, Tanaris following a half step behind to his right. The halls were crowded, but in typical military fashion the traffic was orderly and rapid moving. Wordlessly, they navigated quickly through the press of uniforms and into an empty elevator at the end of the hall. Danneth punched a button on the wall and swiped his security card. The transparent doors of the cylinder closed with a hiss. The auto-grav activated abruptly, sucking them towards the sleek, white walls of the lift. The bottom of the lift dropped out and, with a rush of air, they jetted upwards. The lift spat them out at one of Libra's highest points—the aft observation deck.

The room was panoramic. Seamless, transparent titanium in six foot tall sheets made an immense half-circle—at least eighty feet across. The walls were bare, free of distraction, and painted in muted tones. The view included fifteen of the twenty decks and the whole of the orbital dock. Tarn stepped up to the windows, his face inches from the panes. He motioned for Tanaris to join him.

“Ah, I hoped we'd catch her.” He pointed towards the dock, “the Bastion is going in for repairs.” He scrunched his forehead and watched as the ship lumbered forward into the massive cradle. Dockworkers wearing pressure suits and wielding plasma cutters flew along the outside hull, like bees swarming. The stern of the ship was the epicenter of activity. “Ha! I knew it...they're swapping out the vector-rudders. I knew that's why she was so sluggish.” Danneth couldn't help the smile now—there was a certain pride every soldier had in their ship, a mysterious affinity for her lines, the rumble of engines and the sweep of her curves.

“Eight-hundred crewers. Plus the scientific contingent, the infantry detachment and of course the OZ/TOPZ squadrons and their crews. Just over three thousand souls, all told. I'm responsible for all of them, all the way down to the galley cooks.” The smiled had vanished, replaced by the set jaw and hard eyes that Danneth always sported when talking about his boys. “If I fuck up, they pay for it. I'll be honest, lieutenant—it weighs heavily.”

He turned and regarded Tanaris carefully for a moment, as looking for a sympathetic response. Finally, Tarn turned back to the windows, shaking his head. “I can tell lieutenant that don't like your job the way some officers do. You don't crave responsibility. That's wise— it's a bitch to have. Nevertheless,” he drew a lengthy sigh, fogging up the pane, “you ARE in command. Your responsibilities do not end at the 77th.” Tarn gestured towards the ship. “I can't take care of all of them. There isn't enough of me. That's why I have lieutenants, like you.”

“You're a damn fine CO. In fact, I'd say that you're a natural leader. Like you said, you don't think about it. Synergy just happens. Well, that's not bloody good enough.” Danneth's set jaw lengthened into a scowl, the lines on his forehead deepened, “I don't want gifted amateurs, I want goddamn professionals. The talents you have are commodities in demand. Leadership saves lives. I don't give a damn if you don't think it can be synthesized, I want to know what you do because I need to kick other lieutenant in the ass with it, lieutenants who don't have your natural ability. That's my job damn it. To motivate!” His tirade had been delivered on one breath and, by the end of it, his face was Mars red.

Danneth forced himself to take another deep breath and let the anger bleed out. He unclenched the fists that had appeared magically by his side during the shouting, his knuckles were white. “Now then, I like to think myself a fair man. If you think that was uncalled for, feel free to say so—as loud as you like, we're the only ones up here—and it won't be held against you.” Tarn nodded and braced himself, “go ahead and say your piece and then consider yourself dismissed.”

[Anonymous]

Ese had a lot to think about in response, but not a lot she wanted to say. She was angry at Tarn. Very angry. It was like they were both talking about different things and she couldn't help but feel the Admiral was missing her point. That is was wrong to try and pretend to care. It just made the whole thing really immoral to her- purposefully manipulating people’s perceptions and feel to get them to work. It felt wrong.

… now she got it. You’ve been stupid Ese. Manipulating people was what leadership was about. What it should be about said the pragmatists anyway. She wasn’t meant to be their friend. She was the commanding officer and she should act as such. Even if that meant haughty. She was evidently far too attached to the Squad. More than was professional. But that didn't seem to make sense either. How could one be too attached to something when it was their duty to look after and care for it? It was an aspect of her profession to care.

What did he want her to do? Teach other people how to lie and pretend to like their Squad members? She couldn’t do that? She didn’t understand how people could not throw themselves into every aspect of their subordinates’ welfare? Why promote them to lieutenant if they’re incapable of doing that? She hated some of the officers she had to work with- those who were high and might because they were commissioned and university educated. To hell with them. Why did they make it? Fill out number probably. All armies liked numbers because they looked impressive.

It seemed when Tarn stopped ranting, his anger began transferring to her. His relatively calm speech afterwards just irritated her more. This seemed like a matter to shout about, because it was damned important. It seemed they had fundamental differences in their views about leadership. Tarn right now was suggesting the end justified the means. And Ese didn’t like treating people as means. Didn’t help she was convinced she had it right either.

He had given her the opportunity to speak without consequence. She had better use it wisely.

“Fine,” she started quietly, resolved to keep her composure. “Fine. I’ll teach all the incompetents who refuse to muck in with their soldiers and earn their respect the honourable way how to properly manipulate them and lie to them to get good combat results.” Her composure evidently was slipping by that point. “I’ll teach them all the things I’ve personally tailored to my own troops so that they can have all the appearance of genuinely caring without making the effort to get to know all the lives they have under their care. That’s what I feel I’m being asked to do. Can you see where my protest is coming from yet?”

She was still smarting from the responsibilities comment as well. That really hurt. “But you know what? I’ll do it anyway sir, because it’s my duty,” she said tersely. So don’t suggest I shirk it when I can.

She finished, holding a few moments of silence. And she suddenly felt tired and … unexplainably upset. More upset than she felt was legitimate. She would take her leave before she would embarrass herself further with watery eyes. “I’ll send you relevant pages of my diary to illustrate my technique and daily routine with the Squad members that I feel builds the team. I hope that will be satisfactory,” she said, unenthusiastically.

She clicked her heels together and saluted. “Sir.”

She then promptly quick marched out of the observatory. She would show him with her diary- a personal object- how people should treat their wards. If he didn’t like it … well, he’d just have to chat with her again. On the lift down, she wiped at her eyes but managed a weak smile at the thought of Tarn reading about the weekend trips to Cancer.

Yes … hopefully that would show him what she had been talking about.