Admiral Randell “Falcon” Fordman groggily woke up from his zero-g bed capsule and keyed the hologram image of an alert chime. A voice began to come through.
Admiral, you have a meeting with Military High Command in one hour.
“Understood computer.” Replied the Admiral as he tapped the control for the sleep capsule to be open and got out. A good zero-g nano stimulus nap always left him refreshed.
Lined up outside the pod were a half dozen of his gynoid servants who helped him change out of his sleep suit and into his admiralty uniform.
As the haircut bot made her rounds, a look into the mirror reminded Fordman who he was. A young, energetic face looked back at him. Actually, it was fake, partly. Advances in nano-tech allowed ageing to be slowed or covered up, providing one could afford it. And as an Admiral, any budget left over from an operation was his.
He then began towards his suites personal kitchen, where one of the gynoids was already preparing his breakfast. A large meal of rare meats, breads, and sauces with his favorite Xenospice-shake to go with it. He calmly asked merely for a sandwich however, he didn’t want to ruin his uniform for the big meeting, prompting the gynoid’s flirting/appeasing programing to say how sorry it was to waste his time and would give him some “Special” time later. He merely asked for the sandwich and then began off to the holographic tactical planning suite.
There was a big battle he had to plan for, and he wanted to dust off his designs beforehand.