What am I doing with my life? Help please!!!

At somepoint this morning everything cracked and I found myself telephoning my wife and asking;

"What am I doing?"

"I don't know. What are you doing?"

"Well I'm on my way to work... I meant in life."

"Oh... do you..."

"Obviously not you and Sophie... Just everything else!"

I had been reading "One day" and was relating to Em's post university crisis of not achieving all that she had dreamed of and being defeated by the city of London. I started thinking about how I'd felt post degree and how I had hoped and dreamed and now....

Now I'm sat in a darkened room doing the same things day in and out for a company I'm no longer thrilled to be working for.

At 10.02 am I answer the same phone call "Hello Fred......... Thanks Fred....." EVERY LATE SHIFT.

I think about what some of my friends are doing with their lives or even what my sister is doing and it saddens me.

Other than my wife and daughter, of which I am eternally thankful and a hand full of close friends I've a massive hole in my life... I mean what is it all about?

In my spare time I write... not meandering rants/pleas for help like this but prose and essays that I publish on line but ultimatly what does it achieve? Nothing.
I read a lot too. I amass great swathes of fascinating (to me) information about people who are long dead and governments of countries that no longer exist and for what?

I want to do more Lib dem stuff but ultimatly can't imagine what it would achieve and I don't have the time or money to get as involved as I want to either. I just feel life has cornered me and is happily kicking the crap out of me and that Game Over is looming over my head.

I guess I'm reaching the point that I need some direction, I want to do something worth while, something productive or feel productive... Like I am doing something to benefit others, myself or society rather than sat in comfy chairs eatting Haribo waiting for the shift to end and wondering what the hell has happened with life.

I can't believe I written this... even if it is for a bet.

I woke up the next morning slowly, not with what have understandably been a shocked start in an unfamiliar room. A smug smile spread across my face as I pulled the white duvet over my head and nuzzled into the soft white pillow. I could still smell his aftershave on his side and I felt excitement build within me again and my heart skipped a beat.

I heard music gently emanating from down the hall way, it was... Oh what was it? The Magic Flute! I remember being pleasantly surprised. Then a new smell caught my attention.
Bacon.
I felt my stomach grumble as the smoky smell filled my nostrils, I was being pulled inexorably out of bed towards the kitchen. I stepped out onto the soft carpet and looked at my disheveled pile of clothes, abandoned in the heat of the moment. y eyes fixed on a soft white dressing gown and pulled it tight around myself and stepped out into the hall way. Sunlight streamed from the window at the far end blinding me somewhat. The kitchen-dining room door was open and the sound of Mozart and soft Germanic opera grew slightly in volume and in the background I could hear bacon sizzling under the grill.

I stepped into the room and there he was, dressed in a scruffy pair of jeans and an old graduation T-shirt from King Ælfred’s college. His hair was scruffy but roughly combed and his eyes fixed the bacon and sausages cooking under the grill, he clung to a mug of tea casually and a spatula with the other hand.
“How do you like your eggs?”  How had he heard me approach?
“That’s rather presumptuous of you.” I retorted. “I might be a vegetarian.”
“Surf and turf.” He said simply.
“What?”
“You told me your favorite meal was Surf and turf. Also in the restaurant you had Lamb Balti. Any way its Sunday. You have to have a cooked breakfast. It’s the law.”

I smiled “Scrambled please.”

He smiled back at me briefly then put the tea on the work surface. “Breakfast will be served in five minutes.”

I decided to let the master carry on his work and padded softly down the hall to the bathroom. As I washed my hands I saw his bathroom cabinet open curiosity got the better of me and I had a quick look. I’m not sure what for, maybe some sort of horrific medication or cream but no.
Just a flannel, spare razor blades, a bottle of aftershave and paracetemol . In a way I was a little disappointed.

As I stepped back into the hall I saw the oor to the second bedroom open and again curiosity [piqued my interest. I stepped into what appeared to be a study with all the walls lined with shelves heaving with books and a loan desk in the corner by the window with a PC and a couple of framed pictures.
I started to look through the books casually to see what he was interested in. The first few shelves were general fiction, some thrillers and a couple of books by that upcoming authoress  whose name I can’t remember at the moment. Then there was a couple of shelves dedicated to his favourite sci-fi franchise including some technical manuals as to how all the ships worked etc. I shook my head with a wry smile. The next set were history books about Medieval  England, eighteenth century Imperialism and wars in America and of course lots of books on the Second World War. The shelf next to his desk, obviously the ones that were used the most, their spines creased or with little bookmarks poking out. A well thumbed copies of Goethe and Schiller, some political philosophy like Hobbes, Locke, Mills and even some Marx. I was pleased to see a copy of Mrs Thathcer’s autobiography among the collected works of Grimond, Beverage, Keynes and Asquith. I looked away to the desk and at the framed pictures, nothing out of the ordinary just a couple of family ones of what I assumed were pictures of his mother and brother, one of his ex… she certainly was a plain Jane! Short copper hair scraped back in a tight bun and a look of serious expression, he was sat at her side beaming and holding a glass of wine obviously having a good time but her eyes showed she was obviously hating whatever the event was. The last was him wearing a black suit and yellow tie shaking hands with…

My heart began to race with dread as I turned back to the bookshelves and stared at the politics books again. Grimond, Asquith,  Keynes, The Orange book… back to the picture of him shaking hands with another suited man wearing a yellow rosette. It was Nick Clegg.

Dave was a Liberal Democrat!

I felt, let down. I’d almost wished I had found a herpes cream in his cabinet instead. It sounds stupid but I really despised Liberal Democrats, I always had. They were always so wishy-washy, always on the fence and when they did have policies they were always opposite to what I believed in. Pro-Euro, always bringing up human rights and constantly banging on about electoral reform! There was nothing that needed reforming. My blood began to boil at the thought of it.

“Breakfast.” I heard him call from down the hall way.
I turned to look out the study door as he appeared in the doorway.
“Isobel,” he grinned. “Breakfast is ready. How would you like your tea?”
I looked at him with in hindsight was more of a glare, I tried to quickly recover and forced a smile. It couldn’t be that big a deal, so what if he was a Libdem? So what if I was a Tory and we had completely different outlooks on politics, the world and everything?

Book 2- Chapter 1. When Jonathon met Charlotte

Jonathon and Portia walked along the main street of Belgarum. The sun was setting and cast an orange tint across the houses. Portia shivered as a cold breeze whipped up and ruffled her platinum blonde hair. Jonathon put an arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I've missed this." She said "Your company I mean."

"I've missed you to. It's been too long."

They lapsed into silence again as they wandered the streets. It had been four years since they had last seen each other back on Rowlatt, they had both been on leave and bumped into each other and spent the next week soley in each others company. Portia had seen him change from a burnt out grief stricken young man into the care free youth he had been when he had left the planet for the academy, his metamorphosis had been amazing to behold. 

"How is home?" He asked presently.

She smiled "Not sure, haven't been back to that dust ball in four years but I imagine it’s still the same."

"Remember that guy who hangs around the star port?"

"Doug!" They said in unison.

"Oh my God yeah!" She giggled. "Remember the Doug trap?"

"Remember it? I'm still paying off the damage it caused."

They laughed as they pictured their youth on Rowlatt, the serene picture book version of their lives where the bad memories were white washed over and hurt was forgotten.

"What happened to those two teenagers Portia?" he asked sounding suddenly serious.

"We grew up I guess." She sounded distant, probably thinking of those days in the countryside.

"But why?"

"Well if I remember you wanted to go and fly your precious salamanders... I- I wanted to just get away from that place."

He nodded in agreement. "Now I remember."

Silence lapsed over them again as they walked with no direction.

"Do you ever regret it?" She asked.

"Some days." He was quick; he didn't even think it over. "But then I would never have flown, would never have met Doolan and would probably be working the family lot scratching out Potatoes. Strange but I spent all those days wishing I was elsewhere, fighting bad guys and flying and now I'd give anything to be that young and innocent back there, and I know I’ll never get back to that until I'm retired and too old to enjoy the pleasures of youth."

She squeezed his arm gently. "I know it’s been five years but... Do you still miss her?"

Jonathon looked down at the cobbled street and lost himself into thought. He had not thought about Claire in a while and he reprimanded himself for his failing.

"Often." He said finally. "We were close. I wish that I had realised sooner that I loved her, I wish that she had told me sooner and I wish she was here now."

"Those are quite a few regrets. You shouldn't live in the past."

Jonathon said nothing. He thought of the young woman he had lain to rest on Zosen IV all those years ago, her eyes always sparkling with mischief and that irresponsible grin. He missed her so much. She had always been there and he had thought, even presumed that she always would and the cold vacuum of existance without her stung him deeply.

"She would want you to move on." Portia continued.

"I know." Pentlow, Snellgrove and Stacey had told him that over the last five years but he couldn't think of a reason why. She had been his friend, his confident and perhaps his soul mate.

"Is there anyone else on the horizon?"

"No" he stopped and looked around the cold grey prefabs. "Where are we??"

She laughed that crazy boundless less laugh she had laughed when they were young.

"Only we could get lost in a town mapped out as a grid."

They turned around and headed back down the hill, pausing briefly to look out across the panoramic view of the city.

"Any way, what about you?" He tried to change the subject.

"No nor me. Although I wonder what my new first officer will be like. Maybe he will be the one." She half smiled. "I don't know Jonathon; I've not decided what I want yet."

The city lay below them in a quiet haze, street lamps began to come on as well as a few lights in the houses. He could just make out the town clock saying seven O'clock.

"Guess it’s time we got back to the Mordred and I can collect my new C-O"

Portia threw her head back and laughed. "Oh yeah Jonathon you will love her!"

He furrowed his brow and raised an eyebrow in concern "I don't like the way you said that. What is she like?"

"Charlotte is... well... She is an excellent officer. She knows the regs, is calm under pressure and exemplary in her field but..."

Portia paused that laugh still rang in his ear and made him worry. "But?"

She squeezed closer to him and kissed him on the cheek. "She's one of a kind." She whispered. "You get to meet her in half an hour."

The entry ramp to the shuttle slowly descended towards the docking bay floor, a stream of coolant spraying along its length. Through the swirling white steam Charlotte could see her Captain chatting to another officer. Her eyes narrowed with anger as she glared at Portia. Her opinion of her Captain had never been particularly high, she constantly flaunted the rules and let her crew get away with murder at times and When Charlotte tried to enforce the rules she was made to look like a bitch. Portia had always been really polite and friendly with her but deep down there was a mutual understanding that they didn't like each other. In fact Charlotte felt the Captain's motivation to put in a word for her at the Promotion hearing was so she could move her on. Charlotte would prove wrong, she knew she deserved this promotion and could handle the responsibility. She had put up with enough crap from her superiors and subordinates for too long. Now was her time to shine.

Portia and the other officer were finally within six feet of her; she threw a quick salute and clicked her heels.

"Good to finally have you back sir."

Portia winced at the thinly veiled rebuke.

"Shall I have some quarters prepared for your friend?" Charlotte continued unabated.

The other officer, a commander wearing the yellow rank badges of a fighter pilot and a collection of commendations on his left breast crowned by the Galactic cross at his throat on a torn ribbon looked shocked.

"That won't be necessary." Portia raised her hands defensively.

"Understood." Charlotte nodded again, another velvet covered sledgehammer struck home. "Nothing to report by the way."

"I'm sorry commander." The red haired pilot broke in. "That is no way to speak to a senior officer."

Portia squeezed his arm. "Jonathon it's ok. Don't..."

He held up a hand in defiance. "NO Portia... It's unacceptable."

"Well commander." Charlotte spat back acidically. "Seeing as you don't out rank me and this isn't your vessel." She gave him one of her cutting glares that was usually enough to silence the most rowdy of crew men or belligerent of officers.

"As acting Captain of the Agravane I do out rank you Commander." He puffed his chest out and tried to look more important than he was.

Charlotte looked shocked. Agravane? That was her ship. This jumped up space jockey couldn't possibly be the new Captain. Then realisation struck. It was worse than that he was her new first officer. A thin smile etched its way across her face.

"What's your name and position?" Jonathon continued.

Portia's eyes rolled and she squeezed his arm gently. "Jonathon..."

"Commander Charlotte Bell, First officer of the Mordred and Captain of the Agravane."

Icy cold horror washed over Jonathon. What had he done? "Oh shi-"

Claire Doolan's grave stood alone on the water meadows outside Dracon, long grass tugged at the shaft of the wooden cross and brambles were questing towards it through the undergrowth.It had been undisturbed since the fateful day it was placed there, standing like a beacon among the peace and serenity to remind passers by of the war and the sacrifice of a young officer who had given her life to save this planet and the human race from a genocidal onslaught. Through a sheer miracle her silver cross still remained hanging from the marker, sparkling in the sun and dancing in the wind.

A single red rose lay before it dying a slow death as a mark of sentimentality; laid by someone who loved her and had made the pilgrimage on her birthday, next to it lay a wooden Nautilus model, hand carved and painted by another who loved her although he had not been to her in a long time - for Jonathon the pain was far to deep.

The wind caught the small silver cross and it danced once again back and forth in its waltz with nature. High above the field the clouds turned black rapidly slowly whipping up into a swirling black mailstrom in the heavens, great forks of lightening arched across the formations and speared towards the ground ripping the ground assunder and tearing trees in twain.

Rain began to fall from the skies in long hard lines that hissed and burned on contact with the ground and caused the brambles to whither and die along with the once vivacious green grass. As the poison began to take affect all life on Zosen IV reached out before choking on burning trachia or suffering hidious chemical abrassions. Even the fish in the rivers that flowed past Claire's grave floated to the surface, their gills and eyes bleeding from the acidity in the water.

Within fifteen minutes all life had died and only Claire's grave remained now on the barren wasteland that had once been a lush green meadow even her silver cross had fallen, it's chain eaten through and its light died in the darkness of the passing storm that had killed the planet.

Keister watched Zosen IV die, something he had dreamed about for five years. This planet had been a dark stain on an otherwise immaculate career, he had been called to the prescence of the Gefuht for the first time and instead of a glorious promotion he was given a three hour dressing down followed by a demotion to Commodore. It had taken five years to claw his way bcak up to admiral, calling in old favours he had hoped to save for something really important.

Now though- Now he had his revenge on this pointless world - this planet that had blighted him. The black clouds swirled around the epicenter of the explosion slowly spreading out across the planet like a voracious tumour. He knew that under the black shrowd the Szac gas was killing all biological life and leaving a scarred burnt husk behind.

Within twenty minutes the swirling black clouds had taken over the whole atmosphere turning the planet almost invisible against the darkness of space.

Four small vessels roared past his flagship and dived for the surface, their glowing orange exhausts illuminating a yellow plasma trail in their wake.

"Remora." He spat. "Why am I not surprised?"

The Remora were the most hated species in the galaxy, no one knew where they had come from or where they went just that their tiny vessels always seemed to be around large battle fleets and often swooped in to pillage from the dead and dying. The admiralty had issued an order not to fire upon them though, an order he felt was an afront to the honour of the Navy but orders were orders.

He allowed himself a quick smile. They would be surprised when they landed on Zosen IV and found their lungs melting and their eyes bleeding. That would soon teach them.

He turned from the observation point and pointed to the helmsman.

"Ensign! Plot a course for Staaken."

"Yes Admrial."

Keister turned again to watch the orange light fade into the swirling black abyss that now covered Zosen IV, like candles in the night.

Jonathon sat opposite Charlotte in the shuttle's passenger bay on what felt like the longest shuttle flight in his life. He fidgeted uncomfortably as he replayed their first encounter in his mind's eye. How could he have been so stupid?

She was sat leaning away from him facing the loading ramp and staring intently at some paperwork, her eyes like icy pools devoid of light and warmth.

He cleared his throat nervously as he shifted again.

She didn't move.

"So sir..." he tried to break the tension. "How long have you served under Captain Wright?"

There was a long pause and Jonathon thought she would ignore him thenn her voice cut through the silence, her gaze didn't shift from the page.

"Two years." Her voice was was clipped and sharp.

He felt foolishly encouraged. "How did you find it?"

She sniffed distractedly and continued to read. "It was alright." She eventually muttered in the the same curt tone.

He looked at his boots and the foolish bravado that had powered him as a youth tried one last stab. "How does it feel to have your own command?"

She slammed the pad into her lap as a cold stab of rage filled her, those cold eyes came to settle on his and he felt himself whither away from it and stare back down at his feet like a naughty school boy.

"Is this inane interrogation going to go on much longer?"

He mumbled a brief "No sir..."

"Then Kindly do shut up." She scooped up the pad and with a frustrated sigh resumed her reading, obviously still fuming to herself.

Silence descended and Jonathon stared uncomfortably at the floor unconsciously flicking Doolan's Galactic Cross, his mind wandered to Claire. Her memory was fading but still close to his heart, he could remember actions, pranks they had pulled or her saving his life but the sound of her voice had faded save for that scream, her final scream as he had lapsed into unconsciousness. Guilt dug at him as he remembered rushing to her in the field hospital after he had come to, the night vigils by her cot - he never let go of her hand even as she flat lined he squeezed it tight.

A tear welled up in his eye as his heart sank. He missed her.

A scalpel sharp voice cut into his thoughts. "I said... Have there been any orders as to where our next mission is?"

Jonathon looked up to see that icy glare studying him as one would sturdy a biological specimen.

"Not yet sir. Just to rendez-vous with Mordred." He said slowly and quietly still thinking about Claire, her hair blowing in the wind, her smile and those sparkling blue eyes that enchanted him.

"When was your last medical?" Charlotte's voice seemed to be echoing from another room.

"Two months." He said mechanically, still staring at the floor and tugging on the medal at his neck. TWO MONTHS. He thought. IT'LL BE THE ANNIVERSARY OF ZOSEN IV AND CLAIRE'S DEATH.

"Right...Well I want you to undergo another hearing test." She muttered "I can't..."

He cut her off in midd acidic flow. "I need a week's leave in two months time...I have some personal business to attend to." His voice was still hushed and distant.

Charlotte appeared to think for a while and nodded gently. "Fine."

Jonathon nodded and looked down at the cross at his throat. He wished she was still here with him.

Charlotte turned back to her paperwork and resumed her reading.