A low clang roused Vixen from her sleep in the modest core of the Salvage Frigate. Over the low hum of engines, the sound seemed to run from one end of the vessel to the other. Pulling herself from the lounge where she had dozed off, thoughts heavy with implication and unanswerable questions, she stepped through the ship on the way to the bridge.
The Novus Domus, a salvage frigate that had been put together under her own instruction, with the help of Eva, Rick and Bret, consisted of two sections. Running the length of the ship was a central core, Which could've been a home on Gran Canaria for all a visitor knew- Complete with holographic windows and natural-esque light that gave it all the feel of a calm house somewhere far from all the turmoil that seemed to chase her down. Unfortunately that had failed to dissuade her recently, she couldn't seem to pull herself away from the fact that she was still in space.
But outside the calm central core, the ship was wrapped in layer after layer of tempered, reforged scrap metal, designed to ward off the cold, irradiated environments to commonly attributed to such a vessel. The two layers had an absolute zero when it came to melding, in fact, they were joined by a simple double-door, the plastered walls giving way to a rusted metal staircase up to the bridge.
Vixen stepped onto the command deck of the vessel, approaching the current 'acting' commander. She glanced down into the chair at the figure, sitting across the chair, with a silly look on her face. On her head donned the strangest of things- A rather ancient-looking Tricorn, which the giggling feline wore rather well.
Leaning her head on the side of the chair, Vixen smiled down at her rather enthusiastic replacement. "What are you doing" she murmered after a moment, causing the cross-breed in front of her to jump, snapping to attention and trying to look busy. Sarah glanced up from the navigation table below, but didn't comment.
"Uh..umm...just..." the confronted girl stammered, trying her best to look busy.
"You were slacking. And being stupid while doing it." Vixen cut her off, a wide smile crossing her face. "I remember when I used to do the same...Just try not to keel-haul us while you do it, alright?" She snickered at the flustered feline, snatching the tricorn in one smooth move and resting it on her own head. "How close are we?"
"Well..." Jade said, standing so Vixen could take her usual place at the head of the bridge, her brooding thoughts banished by the mostly calm sleep. "We're close to Pittsburg. We've had to detour around the planet and avoid the tradelanes for obvious reasons." Vixen nodded. It went without saying they didn't want to be anywhere with records. "At the moment we're only a short distance from where Eva told us to be. Just near the moon there..." She pointed out into space, where the red planet and its smaller moon lay within the (in her opinion) best environment possible- a scrap field. Over the time she'd joined the Junkers, scrap had seemed more and more appealing- maybe she'd become Agoraphobic, or maybe she just liked the ambience. Ambience? There wasn't even sound in space, it was just broken metal...but either way, that broken metal had become her home.
A slight shiver went down Vixen's spine as she recalled the reason they were out here. The mysterious institution asking for her by name, and the little gathering Eva had planned out. At least she wouldn't be alone. That was the only part of the situation she really liked. I hope Bret gets here soon... she thought to herself, letting a soft smile cross her face. I could use some support right now.
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Meanwhile, near Fort Bush, a customised research liner blasted out of a lane, heading towards a dry-dock on the nearby shipyard. The ship was visibly different to a regular liner- Along its length, four large hauler engines were sturdily grafted on. The armor was thicker, the underside bearing a slight, scorched tinge. It was the sort of ship designed to dive into a planet's atmosphere- and come back up without harm. Onboard, a black-armored figure walked along a cold hall, checking tags on a row of icy tubes, stacked in blocks of eight. Looking around, the figure seemed to be almost flustered with anticipation...the objective they had been assigned was almost at hand, and the benefits of the day would be directly to their advantage...
A million dollars isn't cool. You know what is cool? A basilisk.
