Ouray's control tower was a messy hub of noisy communication operators, bickering logistics officers and maintenance chiefs arguing with squadron commanders about why their birds were still on the deck instead of in the fight.
Ouray's role as the Xeno's firebase, their home on the front, lent her a near constant atmosphere of tense excitement. Between the constant rotation of ground crews, injured pilots and the ever pressing chance that the whole operation would need to be uprooted given an naval incursion things rarely fell into any sort of stability.
But how it didn't register as an event of worth how some exceptionally foreign looking person managed to slink his way onto his ready room to inquire about signing the dotted line made David more than slightly irate.
David flipped off the monitor displaying the taped recording of the man's interview with no small lack of humor, ejecting the memory card he handed it back to Glenn.
"Viper, I dunno who this clown is. But we've got hicks, drunks and all manner of 'ignant pissed off savages manning the sticks of our rag tag fighters. But I'll be danged 'afor I put one of my ships into the hands of some fool who can't put down the tote for five minutes before wasting my time with an application. Especially none looking so daggon silly as that pleb." Musing for a half moment he carried on. "Grab some muscle and go on down to have a chat with that fellow, find out where he's from. He got onto our base, so he knows someone. If he checks out see about putting him to work on the docks, he can try applying in a few weeks once he's cleaned up some. If he doesn't check out... Well, send him on his way via the airlock sans a ship."
David stood up with a rueful smile. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a few bomber repairs to yell about"
