Vulpes Stellar Prospects / VULPES

It had always been the most interesting part in B2B affairs. Traveling, seeing new Systems and spending the time through space travels with gathering information. This one though? Usually organizations at least try to impress with hangars like those Revel & York ones. They rent it on an hour base or even invest vast amounts of UEC in owning one that is located in a completely stupid location for their operations. This one though?
Scrolling through the organization’s owned properties, they indeed own several, but have made their home in one of those dirty asteroid hangars. They even moved it to a new location. It is puzzling. Why such a rundown thing when they could impress with their Aeroview or the Revel & York? He scrolls down to the company background.
The Organization has been founded by some Allen Weatherlight in 2907 and while he started with a single ship he ended up passing the ownership to his daughter. He was quite lucky and his daughter “Inria” hasn’t done any worse. The little company has summed up quite an interesting fleet none of them on lend money anymore.
A glance at the clock informs that it is still an hour until the arrival.
A bout 45 minutes later the pilot passes the information about a change of the course to overtake a vessel that crosses the path.
They pass a massive “Reclaimer” that is escorted by several i300 class ships, they all seem to be having the same target as the B2B shuttle. There are a lot of humbling ships out there but seeing these vultures floating through space is different.
Again the shuttle pilot gets into the com:
“We are now on a approach vector. Touchdown in about ten minutes.”

The old Asteroid hangar is filled with life. Several ships of all dimensions are being maintained by the techs. A small fleet of ships, each being able to be outfitted for different roles varying from exploration to escort duties, varying from the ever and all present Auroras through i300 chassis and that one massive Reclaimer that is just make its way to.
Maybe that is why they chose this place for the business meeting. It is busy it shows what this org does best. Ships are being services fueled or unloaded. Others are taking off for another run. This whole stage wouldn’t have been as impressive in one of those glossy high end hangars. The stage is perfectly set.
A young woman with blond long hair in an oil covered overall approaches and smiles. She exchanges a hearty and surprising strong handshake:
“Welcome to our home. The Boss is going to be with you in a moment, she is just docking with the juggernaut you passed on your way here. Have your way to the elevator and up to the comms. There is a coffee waiting for you, a good one not that shit they sell on Olisar.”
She then heads off with another smile making her way to the “Reclaimer” that just touched down.
Once arriving in the office that doubles as com center and some sort of tower to coordinate the landing procedures, it seems as if this is indeed some sort of home. There are private items a towel sporting the Squadron 42 tag, war bonds, and miniatures of spaceships of different types and brands.
One can get lost easily in trinkets like that and soon the main lift to the “Com” opens and gives way to the tall figure of Inria “Vixen” Weatherlight. She wears a classic pilot jacket that seems to have been through a lot.Badges are on it, the one of the Flying Tigers surely not genuine but the one of Squadron 42 might be, she has been in that war with them. The pilot jacket out of worn well cared for leather shows more than those badges. The company logo is on it as well. A smile creeps onto her face as she approaches wordlessly and extends a hand. With her the blond mechanic walks out of the lift.
When someone is greeting another with a “Hello.” or “How are you.” It can be very awkward to not get a reply instead someone totally different is speaking. It is no difference this time. Maybe the scar on her neck means more than just her not having removed a blemish.
She steps back and begins to gesture in sign language which the same blond mechanic is beginning to translate.
“Good morning. I hope you have not waited too long. The feds decided to sift through our escort ships at an annoyingly accurate level. No idea why they take apart a few Buckies and Cutlasses. Let us talk shop.” She gestures to a quite comfortable couch in a side room that must have been at one point some office but now is a lounge with posters and more signets of her past career as a pilot in Squadron 42. Once settled comfortably the mechanic again translates the gestures.
“You wanted to speak about a few missions? Give me some details.”