"Commander Duval!" the voice blared through the ship's intercom.
"Go away Trent." Nick Duval grumbled from his exceedingly comfy bed.
"No can do Sir, we're receiving an urgent request to return to Earth."
The dark haired male blearily rubbed his eyes and sat up.
"From the council?"
"Yeah, they won't tell us what it is though. Throw your onesie on and get up. What kind of senior officer are you Nick, sleeping in till noon?"
"It's NOT a onesie! It's standard issue military wear!" Duval grumbled as he hopped on one leg trying to slide on the pale grey and white garment. It looked much like the suits race car drivers and astronauts used to wear, with a patch indicating his rank sewn to the left arm and an uncomfortable Velcro clasp around the neck which Nick's tired fingers fumbled with multiple times. Sliding on his white slip on trainers he held his hand up to the sensor and shuffled out the door, straightening his shoulders and becoming more alert with every step.
"You need a shave Nick, and a hairbrush. Maybe a mirror too?" the pilot snarked as the commander strode in.
"Morning to you too," Nick chuckled, unbothered by the sass, his smile hiding under the untidy dark brown hair hanging over his face, his hair had grown to his shoulders in the last month they'd been patrolling the solar system and he'd be the first to admit he needed it cut.
"Well after more than four weeks we're finally heading home, yay paperwork and tedious politics." Lieutenant David Akanu clapped them both on the shoulders as he entered the room before throwing himself in the navigator's chair to the left of the pilot's chair Trent was currently occupying.
"ETA 39 minutes." Trent announced.
"Cheer up David, this will probably be a routine visit, then it'll be back to shootouts on Neptune and Trent wetting himself as we fly through an asteroid belt before you know it! You two behave yourselves while I go check on the crew." Nick winked at them.
"How come I have to call you Lieutenant Akanu and Nick just calls you David?" Trent pouted.
"Because he's my commanding officer and you're just irritating! Now let's make sure we get the re entry position right for the ship."
"Most people find my irritating-ness cute!" Trent pouted as he tilted the levers he was holding and the ship veered to avoid a small rock.
_
The ship was done out with a cold colour palette, stark grey and clinical white hallways lit by the blue glow of door panels and screens. In front of one such screen sat one of the mechanics, known only as Wes. Any attempts to determine his full name always hit a dead end, but most of the older generation of spacers in a bar on Mars Nick frequented during the (boring!) action free stints of his patrol claimed to remember a vicious pirate named Wesley from 50 years ago, his reach extending from Pluto to Saturn. When asked for a description the grizzly veterans had slurped up the rest of their drink and described Wes perfectly,from the lightly tanned skin and carefully ruffled inky black hair, to his charming smile and addiction to weird tablets, right down to the small circular scar on his wrist. The eeriest thing? Wes had been working for the military for the last 30 years and yet was still a teenager.
Whatever his past, and unusual longevity, Wes was a valued member of the team and Nick usually enjoyed listening to his animated discussions about mechanical things aboard the ship.
Today he looked frustrated, deep creases in his brow and tapping a spanner on the top of one of the engine control units.
"Problem?" Nick asked, slightly disturbed to see the normally cheerful man so angry.
"Unit's refusing to send more than 30% power to engine 5, don't get me started on the air conditioning in the crew's quarters, and I'm out of multivitamin tablets."
"That does tend to happen when you go through 3 a day. Anything I can do to help?"
"Leave." the technician growled and a chill ran down Nick's spine as the mechanic's dark eyes flashed.
A buzzing sound echoed from the ceiling before the husky voice of the Captain rasped through the intercom.
"Commander Duval, report to my office immediately."
Nick sighed, but was inwardly slightly relieved to have an excuse to flee from Wes.
_
Nick slid into the seat in front of the large oak desk behind which his commanding officer reclined in a huge cushy black leather chair.
Captain Smythe was the only person on this ship who outranked Nick, and since the captain on his previous ship tended to keep a hands off approach, Nick had become accustomed to being in charge and rarely seeing the captain. Then he was... hastily transferred to this ship, Warbler II after...that incident.
"Hey, so I made reservations for this sweet hotel in London, top floor of the observatory," the Captain smirked, "Problem is, I 'accidentally' booked it for two, maybe you could help me out?"
"I don't think that would be a good idea captain."
"Call me Sebastian," he leaned on the desk casually, looking into Nick's dark brown eyes.
"I don't think that would be such a good idea Captain. It seems unprofessional."
"Why don't you like me? I'm rich, good looking, charming," he flashed his perfect white teeth at the commander, "and I'm offering myself up on a plate here. Most people give in within a week of me pestering them, it's been a month and still you won't budge."
Nick cleared his throat and resolutely avoided looking in those jokey puppy dog eyes.
"Never mind, we're done here." Sebastian sighed.
On his way out Nick remembered the transmission from Earth.
"Sir you don't know why we're here do you?"
"Urgh, I've been assured its a fleeting stay before we're allowed to leave again. Some sort of witness protection thing. I can't be bothered to leave the ship so you deal with it."
"Yes sir," Nick sighed.
_
After America, Russia and China annihilated each other in the Great Global Power Struggle of the 2150's, and the collapse of the EU following just a few years later, only four countries (the ones who'd been smart enough to stay out of the war and pull out of the EU) survived with the resources and economy to remain a global power. Iceland kept itself to itself, closed its borders and became fully self sufficient. Norway chose a similar tactic, Australia too. The UK however, didn't. Within six months of the EU's collapse the population tripled. Huge shanty towns swelled around London and Birmingham, whilst Southampton became overrun with boats from France filled with the diseased, homeless, jobless people. whilst some of these were snapped up to add to the huge military, naval and airforce the UK was now famous for, most were too old, too weak, too unfit in some way to serve.
Spotting an opportunity factory owners flourished, providing the workers with a pittance in wages, but food and a roof over their heads. 8' by 8'6 freight containers stacked on top of each other, connected by metal fire escapes, became the main form of housing for the immigrants. It was in one of these boxes Nick stood (more like stooped really) five miles out from the centre of London, where he was due in five minutes.
"Nick! I haven't heard from you in so long." his father rasped, his sunken dark brown eyes shining, as he anxiously twisted the loose ring on his right index finger and grasped Nick's shoulder with a bony arm.
"I'm sorry, I've been really busy, my patrol route is right on the outer rim of the galaxy." Nick glanced at the cramped space illuminated only by a single light bulb. The toilet and sink were behind a moth eaten curtain, and the commander currently sat at the only chair next to a small rickety table. His father perched on the end of his narrow bed, next to piles of novels, magazines and newspapers.
"I brought you a new book." Just the type his father liked, with a submarine on the cover, a clean cut square jawed protagonist and one of those "will he/won't he win against the villain?" plots that always led to a happy ending - the hero riding off into the sunset with his personality-lacking girl. Nick hated those books so much.
"You're a good kid you know Nick, the best thing to come from leaving America was meeting your mother and having you. She'd be so proud of you."
Nick avoided his father's gaze, because he knew it would be filled with admiration he didn't deserve.
"You're late." the councillor observed, his pale blue silk robes flowing in the breeze.
"I had to make a stop at the suburbs. Sorry." Nick's tone was anything but repentant, but the councillor seemed oblivious.
"Kurt!" he beckoned to a young serving boy, who was deep in conversation with a young man who could only be the councillor's son, with the same curly black hair and strong face structure as the older noble.
Kurt scurried over,
"Councillor Anderson?"
"Bring Jeff here now."