Admiral Garrick Veyre
No master but the stars.
The station smelled of engine coolant, recycled air, and desperation.
Admiral Garrick Veyre walked the main docking concourse at an unhurried pace, hands clasped loosely behind his back. The crowd parted without realizing it, drawn away by the quiet gravity of a man who looked like he belonged in command.
His eyes moved from ship to ship, not with the glazed admiration of a spacer daydreaming about the stars, but with calculation. A scratched hull told him the pilot didn’t waste credits on vanity; fresh weld seams spoke of recent fights. The way crew moved up the ramp, or didn’t, told him more about morale than any logbook could.
At Dock 12, a Corellian freighter sat powered down. Its captain - a weathered man nursing a dented mug - noticed Garrick studying his vessel. “She’s not for sale,” the captain said flatly.
Garrick’s lips twitched in something close to amusement. “I wasn’t looking to buy.” His gaze flicked back to the ship. “Runs hot, doesn’t she? Probably needs a refit before the regulators notice.”
The captain’s brow furrowed. “And what business is that of yours?”
Garrick stepped closer, his voice lowering so it didn’t carry in the crowded bay. “If you’re running hot, you’re running from something. And if you’re running from something, you might be interested in running with something.”
“With what?”
“A cause,” Garrick said simply. “One that pays in more than credits. Keeps worlds from ending up in the hands of people who’d strip them bare. You bring your ship, your crew - you keep your freedom. We just ask that you point your guns the right way when the time comes.”
The captain studied him for a long moment, then smirked. “You recruiting?”
Garrick turned to leave, offering only: “I’m choosing.” And then he moved on, toward Dock 13, scanning the next vessel as if reading a book written in steel and ion scoring.
The Galaxy is carved and recarved by major powers - Empires, alliances, the endless clash of Jedi and Sith. But not every world wishes to be absorbed. Not every people want to live beneath banners drawn far from their homes.
The Free Systems Fleet is a wandering coalition of ships, captains, and crews united by one belief: every world deserves the right to decide its own future.
We are not conquerors. We are not empire-builders. We are wanderers, freedom fighters, smugglers, and diplomats - drawn together by a commitment to independence and self-determination. Wherever governments trample voices, the Fleet sails in to give them strength. And when our work is done, we vanish into the stars.
What We’re Looking For
We want players who enjoy:
Resistance & Freedom Stories: Worlds pushing back against annexation, and the moral dilemmas that come with choosing sides.
Diverse Characters: Smugglers, diplomats, soldiers, refugees, slicers, idealists, rogues - the Fleet has room for all.
Internal Drama: Our biggest debates are often within the Fleet. Should we intervene with blasters, or with words? Are we truly neutral, or just another power in disguise?
Hooks Over Claims: We don’t seize territory or erase other people’s work. We exist to add narrative tension and give other writers something to bounce against.
Why Join the Fleet?
If you want to write:
*Rebels without a flag.
*Diplomats who value voices over borders.
*Smugglers and rogues with hearts (sometimes) of gold.
*Soldiers tired of fighting for empires.
*Or anyone who wants to live in the spaces between galactic powers...
…then there’s a place for you aboard the Fleet.
Interested? Reply here or shoot me a PM, and let’s plot.
The stars belong to all of us. Let’s keep them free.
