Bretonian Armed Forces Recruitment Centre (iRP)

Cambridge system. Far from the front lines, secured from pirates by a wide network of weapon platforms and probing satellites. Home of Bretonian civil science, ecology and food industry. It containins a medium white star and two planets, one being a verdant world of vast pastures, green hills and lush forests, and the other one a serene, white planetoid with a wide, seemingly motionless, ring. It traps silence within its vacuum, between the immensely distant harmony of blue and red nebulae.
That is what admiral George Richard Hall sees every morning, trough the wide window in his quarters on battleship Norfolk, which he is in charge of.
After breakfast, George usually takes a cup of tea and starts with his work. This morning, he decided to check if there are any new people he could recruit and abuse.
"George Canary Teeze. Canary Teeze. Canary..."
It sounded familiar.
"Exotic dancer... Canary... Hm. Oh well. Won't be a huge pity if he gets killed."
Hall proceeds with inspecting the application.
"Cardamom tea. I might even like this one."
He imagines him dead in a brutalized ship.
"Bummer.
He expects a lot from the job. Poor idiot. Sings quite well, too bad that it will go to waste."
Something clicked in Hall's psyche this very moment.
"I recognize that singing...
Canary...
Hm.
Canary Teeze..."
Whirlwinds of adrenaline twisted the very core of his still sleepy soul, in one short moment, so suddenly, out of nothing. Hall's eyes opened so widely that they caused him pain, pain he was too occupied to feel at that moment, as at the same time a sip of tea happened to be in his throat, and in the following, all over his suit, the screen, the floor. He had barely survived such a choking once before, and if he wasn't so occupied with what struck him, he would be fearing for his life.
So suddenly can some things emerge, being disregarded for so long, when everything is functioning as perfectly as possible, and ruin all that has been so carefully planned. With a rugged voice, still recovering from another nearly deadly choking, Hall expressed his misery.
"No..."
He shakes his head.
"No. No!"
Recovering his strength, he gets up and nervously walks over his quarters, pressing his hands over his forehead and savagely rubbing his face. He starts shouting.
"It can't be! Why!? Why now!? No, this one flies right out of the office, right out, with the first ship... right... into the... into the..."
He stops walking and rubbing his face, opening the clench of his hands and showing a glimmer of hope. He starts speaking audibly. His speech is accelerated and rash due to anxiety.
"No. I must keep this one close. The closer the better. I can't send him to the front lines... But he won't matter after all of this is over and I move to Gran Canaria. Until that, I must keep him close. The closer, the better. And thus nobody will find out, until it doesn't matter any more. Yes, until it doesn't matter any more!"
He immediately sat back on his seat, paying no heed to the spilled tea, and wrote a reply.