Alien: Lockdown

Part 1~ Contact

Civilian Cargo Hauler
U.S.S Anna-Lee
Employer: Weyland Yutani
Course: Gateway Station
Crew: 40 + 8 Marine Detachment
72 Hours from Destination

The Bridge

Captain Richard Stone walked through the automated doors to the bridge. The crew on deck snapped to attention, but he quickly waved them away.

"At ease. You don't need to snap to attention every time I walk in the room. It makes me feel old," said Stone.

"But of course, you're the oldest person here, Captain," Executive Officer Grant grinned.

"Don't remind me, Grant. Or I'm sure Conway would be happy to take your job," Stone slapped his friend on the shoulder and went to his seat.

"Right right," Grant sat down.

"Alright report in gentlemen, what do we got?" asked Stone.

Smith, the navigation officer, rolled away from his station with a cup of coffee in one hand and a folder in the other. He tossed the folder onto the desk space next to Stone before scooting his chair back to his station, all while taking a sip of coffee.

"We're on course as per usual. Approximately 3 days out. Lucky for me, I don't have to touch any controls until the last day," said Smith.

"Unlucky for us, he's gonna single handedly drink all the damn coffee," said Helmsman Conway.

"I'd hate for it to go to waste, might as well drink it all," Smith laughed as he took another sip.

"He acts like it won't be here when we ship out again," Grant chipped in.

Stone shook his head and scanned through the report. Everything was in order. A quick and easy shipment for a damn good payout.

It was about time he and his crew had an easy job. If they kept rolling like this, he just might retire; hand over the reigns to Grant.

He was getting old, Stone lamented. He was fifty four, but felt seventy most days, made even stranger because he looked forty five. Medicine had come a long way to keep you looking young. That and he did his best to keep in shape anyway.

Stone leaned back in his chair and popped his back. Suddenly there was an alert from Smith's station. The nav officer sat up, checked his screen and then slammed his coffee cup down.

"Shit we've got a problem, Captain."

The Mess Hall

Alvin Dietz carried a tray with small helpings of food. He found eating a big meal after cryosleep made him sick to his stomach for at least a day. Or maybe it was running full PT right after waking up that did it?

Dietz sat down at a table with the rest of his unit. He was just a Private First Class (PFC) and had only been in for a year. He'd signed on for a three year contract with the Colonial Marines. He wanted to be part of the best, and he'd made it.

Now he and his squad were taking up glorified guard duty on a cargo hauler. Dietz supposed it could've been worse, so he didn't complain too much. The crew weren't all that bad, and the ship was actually pretty top notch.