This is my the start of a much longer piece. I've been told that this is brillaint, but I've also been told that this is clichéd - judge for yourself.
One year ago
Dresdon Cole snarled at the computers constant bleeping as he stumbled and weaved his way from his sleep-chamber to the command deck. Fumbling blindly, he hit the control panel until the noise stopped. "What!"
The computerized female voice pierced through his skull. “A distress signal sir, shall I respond?” The ACI6000 system was the very best computer intelligence that money could buy, and Dresdon owned the latest version. In his sweeter moods, he affectionately called her Ace. At the moment however, Dresdon hated her.
“Damnit Ace, I told you not to bother me unless it was really serious. Like ‘we’re-about-to-hit-a-planet’ serious. Don’t respond, someone else will help them.”
There was a pause, then, “responding to the distress signal.”
“Ace! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dresdon roared.
“Sir, I believe we should help, we only need to tow them to the nearest Space-Center, which will take exactly 1.2 standard hours.”
Sometimes it really didn’t pay to own a computer who could think. “We’re not Enforcers anymore... I just want to be left alone; I don’t need more helpless people on my conscience.” He wished Ace would stop this madness. He also wished he hadn’t left his bottle of brandy in his quarters.
“Sir, you cannot give up your duty, you are honour bound to do it, despite your dismissal.” Dresdon winced at Ace’s pure logical voice. “You know I am correct Sir. Plus, there are severely ill children on board who need medical attention.”
Dresdon gave in, he couldn’t ignore children, especially not sick ones, and Ace knew it. “Fine! But you tell them, I’m going back to my sleep-chamber!” Ace chirped in a happy fashion and started the process of rescue.
Dresdon thumped onto his bunk, head still reeling and aching from the bottle of brandy he had polished off last night. It had been one long standard month of one drink after the next and the wound still ate at him. It didn’t help that Ace had other ideas about his dismissal and insisted on helping every waif in distress. But she was right, he still had his honour, but what did honour mean when his reputation was ruined?
Groaning with frustration, Dresdon ran a hand through his hair and fought for some clarity in his thoughts. He couldn’t turn his back on duty, despite duty turning its back on him. He’d been doing his job for fifteen years, fighting with the Empire at his back - it was in his blood, and in the blood he had spilled. But the Empire didn’t know even the best could shatter and break - Dresdon was proof of that. He had drunk to forget horrors he’d seen, now he drank to forget his loss. Dresdon sat up and looked across the chamber to the storage panels in the wall. In them was his salvation, in several more bottles of brandy. He reached for another drink, determined to carry on until the blackness claimed him.