Category Archives: Andrew Hales

It took about fifteen minutes for everyone to gather in crew’s mess. A very brief announcement was made ship-wide that DSF personnel would be boarding the ship, that they were not to be interfered with in any way, and that the crew was required to assemble on the mess deck immediately. No one seemed quite sure what was going on.

Michaels was the last to enter, covered head to toe in a blue-green powder except around his face where he had been wearing goggles and a respirator. “Did I miss anything?” he asked while trying to catch his breath.

“Have a seat, Michaels. We’re just getting started,” Captain Lawrence replied. Michaels found an open seat and plopped down, generating a small dust cloud as he did. It was rare to have the whole crew assembled in one place, even for meals. Typically those not on watch or working would eat as a group, and the rest would grab a meal when they had free time. Not only was the whole crew together now, but they had been joined by a squad of DSF marines, as well as what appeared to be some fleet support personnel. Continue reading →

As the airlock cycled through its pressurization, Captain Lawrence attempted to make sense of the last ten minutes. Almost out of nowhere a DSF dreadnaught had blocked their path and demanded that they dock with them. While it was not unheard of for a frigate or even a destroyer to board ships for anti-smuggling operations, a Trafalgar-class dreadnaught was far too valuable a resource to waste on something as trivial as hunting down a few containers of contraband.

Once they had gotten over the initial shock of being confronted by the massive battleship, Hunter and Lawrence quickly realized they were being hailed by the vessel. An arrogant young lieutenant announced that they were in the presence of DFS Actium, flagship of the Seventh Fleet under the command of Admiral Pierce. The brash, little officer then demanded that they prepare to dock and that the captain come aboard the Actium immediately. Faced with such overwhelming firepower, Lawrence had very few options, aside from acquiescence. Continue reading →

“I swear, if this ship is not ready to leave in the next two hours, there will be hell to pay,” the captain mumbled to himself. The corridor to Cargo Bay Eight was surprisingly clean and well lit for a cargo ship, although the faint smell of hydraulic oil hung in the air, indicating a potential leak somewhere in the system. “I’ll have to mention it to Michaels. Last thing we need is to blow a hydraulic line at the jump point,” he thought. The captain prided himself on running a tight ship, even if it was just a cargo tramp. A man should always take pride in his work, no matter how simple it may be, or at least that’s what he told his crew.

While he maintained the ship in a clean and presentable manner, the same could not be said for his person. Standing a little over six feet tall, Captain James Lawrence cut an impressive, well-built figure. It was obvious that he had been quite a physical specimen in his youth, though age and a hard life had taken their tolls. His unkempt mess of black hair was now streaked with grey, but his beard managed to hold its color for the most part. He normally dressed in simple work pants, boots and an over shirt, but at the moment he was wearing a pair of coveralls that had seen better days. When they were new, they had probably been blue, though now it was nearly impossible to tell through the oil and dirt that was layered on them. Not that it mattered much. Once the cargo load was done and the ship safely in hyperspace, he could shower and put on some fresh clothes. Of course, none of that would happen if Michaels were running behind schedule. Continue reading →