Simon's Enlistment

[Derkylos]

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James Aldwyn looked out of the window of his liner, the Derwent, at the view before him. The ship hung in orbit around Planet Cambridge, and, from the main observation deck, he could see sun, haloed by the Keswick ice cloud. Off to the side could be seen the Grasmere cloud, sparkling as it reflected the suns rays. He turned back to face his son. Simon lounged in an armchair across the room, paying no attention to the wondrous view, his attention entirely on his father. Why? demanded James, Why not remain with the company? Im sure the war can handle itself, Bretonia is not a poor house, we do not lack in experienced pilots. What could you possibly bring to our side?
I have experience, father, and the will to fight. Where do you think recruits come from? Someone must volunteer, and I wish to do my part to repel the despoilers of our house.
Those simulations you run hardly count as experience, lad, and they can quite easily use citizens who are less fortunate than you as pilots.
But why should I have preferential treatment over anyone else? Why should we not be permitted to fight, based solely on our position in society? Is that a morally just point of view? For too long have you told me to make my own decisions, and now I am. I want to sign up.
James sighed, his son could be intractable if he so desired, and if he had made up his mind, there was no way he was going to back down now. Alright, enough, you can do this if you really want toI know I have told you to take charge of your own life, but I had hoped it would not come to thishoped you would not chose such a dangerous path.
Dont worry, father, I have no more wish to see myself harmed than you do. I promise I will not disappoint you.
I have faith in you, Simon, replied his father, going over and laying his hand on his sons shoulder, Make us proud, make Bretonia proud, my boy.
I will, father, I will, Simon replied, clasping his fathers hand in his own. He had spent many days mulling this decision over in his head, and, now that his father had finally given him the go-ahead, he was unsure as to whether it was the right choice.

The next day found the Derwent hovering in the skies over New London. Having said his farewells to his parents and his sister, Simon boarded the shuttle with not a little trepidation, and settled in for the ride to the planets surface.
The rain splattered on the streets, splashing onto the pavement and passers-by alike. It always seemed to be raining on New London, ever since he had first visited here as a boy. Opening out his umbrella as he stepped off the shuttle, Simon paid the pilot, and left a hefty tip. The man stared after him in astonishment as he headed off towards the taxi park. The money he had just received was in excess of what he could earn over several months. Simon hailed the nearest taxi, and instructed the driver to take him to the Bretonian Armed Forces recruitment centre. They lifted off, and entered the streams of traffic moving backwards and forwards across the capital. After travelling for several minutes, the driver set the vehicle down outside an imposing building, emblazoned with the coat of arms of Bretonia. Simon alighted from the taxi, and tipped the driver, once again handing him a sizeable sum of credits. Opening his umbrella, he waked up to the main door, where stood a pair of bored-looking guards dressed in Bretonian military uniform. One of them straightened up and stepped forward as Simon approached Old it, lad, whats yer business ere? he asked, giving Simon an almost bored appraisal. He stood a good head taller than Simon, now that he had stood to his full height. His face had the look of someone who had seen too many fights to remember, and not all of them had been victories. Im here to join up, responded Simon, I heard that recruitment is open? The man snorted, then beckoned over his shoulder with his thumb, Go on in, then, I reckon theyll be able t fix you up with summat. Stepping into the lobby, Simon shook the rain off his umbrella and folded it up. There were a few other people waiting around, most of them with an air of shabbiness, noone was speaking, and no one payed much attention to his entrance. He stepped up to the reception desk,
"I say, is this where I join the Bretonian Armed Forces? If it is, would you be as kind as to submit an application for me? Simon Aldwyn's the name, widely considered to be one of the best shots in Cambridge and New London, wishing to put my considerable skills into the service of The Crown, especially to safeguard our wondrous nation from those pesky outsiders, such as those noodle-munchers I have heard so much about in the news recently. So, where do I sign?"
The Staff Sergeant looked up from his scone at the new arrival, grunted something partially intelligible, then handed him a clipboard, requiring basic information for enrollment. He indicated where Simon should sign, once the form was completed, and watched as he filled out the form in an immaculate hand, and signed with a flourish. "Bloody Blue Bloods", thought the Sergeant.
Once the clipboard was completed and returned, the Staff Sergeant smiled broadly (there was scone in his teeth), and extended a greasy handshake, which Simon accepted with great care.
"Welcome to the Armed Forces Lad!" exclaimed the Sergeant, and directed him on through a door for further processing.

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