Ten years later.

Hull rolled along the edge of the Katanga Bay in the plexiglass-covered carriage of the crane, its arm moving over to start repairs on the red scow that floated alongside the drydock.

A meteor had slammed into the long rectangular transport, leaving a giant hole in it. A section of the Katanga Bay's roof was raised open like the lid of a toolbox. Bubbling inside was molten steel in a ladle that slowly turned on its side and poured into a cast that pressed and turned the metal into long, thick steel sheets.

Hull tapped a series of numbers onto a ten-key pad built into the right armrest. A moment later the other crane arm, on the other side of the drydock, came to life and slowly rolled along the track towards Hull and stopped near the scow.

Using the joystick on the right armrest, Hull made the unmanned crane arm reach into the drydock, pick up a steel sheet, turned and held it against the side of the scow. Hull gripped the other joystick and turned her crane towards the sheet. She pressed down on the trigger with her thumb, and the tip of the crane arm ignited. The sparks from the tip flickered as it traced along the edge of the new piece of steel, melding it to the old metal over the hole. Hull repeated this again and again, moving either of the two joysticks, the repair work reflected on the polarized square lens on the face of her welders mask.

Halfway through the repairs, she noticed a rocket in the distance but didn't pay much attention to it. Many ships regularly flew past the drydock to land on the surface of Duskatelle below, either to deliver supplies or livestock to various tent communities scattered across the planet, or to sell various kinds of arms to the inhabitants below, so they could defend themselves from the dangers of Duskatelle or whatever terror the galaxy might decide to send there.

Hull finished the last weld when she noticed the ship was approaching the drydock itself. She took a better look at it. It was a giant rocket, half the size of the Katanga Bay. It was neon yellow, and instead of a name on the nose, it bore an illustration on either side of a standing naked woman with a large silver dagger stabbed in her back. The speaker, mounted to the control stick of the carriage, crackled.

A male voice on the other end said, "Permission to dock."

"Identify yourself," Hull said.

"Coalition of Forces Starship Lady Killer, on official business."

"No official business to be had here, buddy." She eyeballed the ship. "You need repairs?"

"Negative. We have someone who wishes to speak with you, Major Hull."

"The war is over," Hull said.

"Respect doesn't end, ma'am," The voice said. "Do we have permission?"

Hull frowned at the ship and let out a loud sigh. "Dock at the O-Ring. On my way."She punched the emergency stop button, unbuckled herself from the chair and climbed down the metal ladder, into the drydock.

She walked down a long gray corridor with tracks of bright lighting above that cast her shadow large and wide. Every few dozen yards she passed a large sliding yellow door. Each of them had names spray-painted in black stencil; FOUNDRY, SUPPLY, REACTOR and so forth.

Hull reached the other end of the corridor and walked up the winding metal stairs. She stepped onto an expansive landing with riveted walls, framed with long sections of clear plexiglass that overlooked the space ahead and the yellow planet of Duskatelle below. Hull could see the large rocket slowly moving backward as it prepared to dock. She walked across the landing, turned the corner and walked down to the other end.

By the time she got there, the ship had fully docked, and a large yellow and black striped door began to whine and raised upwards, into the ceiling. Hull pulled off her gloves and put them in the back pocket of her overalls.

A pair of ContractMarines, identifiable by the small gold C they wear on the lapel of their fatigues, stepped out, dressed in neon green combat armor, looking like emerald knights from a bygone age. They flanked a tall, thin man dressed in a light blue robe, white collared shirt and razor-thin black tie. Hull studied him. He was young with bright blue eyes, long nose and narrow lips on a long face. His smile, meant to be genuine, looked cynical and malevolent like he was about to trick someone into selling their soul to him.

"Couldn't afford Hussars?" Hull said.

"Good afternoon," The man said with a bow, ignoring the comment. "I am looking for Major Janit G. Hullwinder."

"Whaddaya want?"

He looked at her."That's your name?"

"No, it's yours." She took a cigar out from her chest pocket, lit it and took a puff. "Of course it is."

The man nodded slowly, getting back his bearings. "What's the G stand for?"

"Gears."

He blinked."Gears?"

"That's right."

He studied her."What's a gear?"

She eyed him. "You putting me on?"

He was confused."No... why?"

"Wow," Hull said slowly, stretching out the word. She shook her head."Whaddaya want?"

He cleared his throat and stood straight and tall. "My name is Bunco. I am a legal representative from Dockmaster Intergalactic. I came here today to make you an offer for your drydock."

"Is that so?"Hull put her hands at her sides. "Alright, how much?"

Bunco told her.

She barked a laugh.

He frowned. "I am authorized to negotiate a higher amount, if necessary."

"You should have started with that," Hull said.

Bunco smiled. "So you will sell this drydock to us?"

"Hell no," Hull said. "I just like being amused by people who think they can buy anything they want just because they have money."

"You're being... sarcastic?"

"I'm being quite serious," Hull said.

"That's unfortunate," Bunco said with a frown.

Hull shrugged. "Hey, if you fools want to build rockets that need to be replaced every few cycles and not offer a decent maintenance package, that's on you. I keep them running, that's why people come to me and not you."

Bunco let out a loud sigh. "How much?"

She folded her arms over her chest. "Not going to happen."

"In that case," He went into his robe, pulled out a folded sheet of yellow paper and held it towards her.

"The Coalition of Forces on Scramblon has authorized me to serve you with a Cease and Desist Order that specifies that you stop maintenance on older rockets, vessels, frigates and so on, effective immediately."

She stared at him in disbelief, and then she started laughing.

Bunco blinked, "Major Hull, this is serious..."

Hull interrupted him, "That means absolutely nothing in these celestial waters."She took a drag from her cigar. "It really means nothing anywhere else outside of Scramblon."

Bunco gave her a wary look. "The Coalition of Forces has treaties with various worlds in regards to legal and judicial precedence..."

"Which has no legal jurisdiction anywhere else in the galaxy." Hull said, "Youcan request, you can ask, hell, you can beg, plea and bribe, but you can't order. The Coalition of Forces doesn't work that way."

"Yes, they do!"Bunco said, losing his patience. "They are the premier force in the galaxy!"

Hull raised her voice, mocking him. "They are a Mutual Defense Organization made up of various worlds. That's it. It has no legal, social or moral jurisdiction over anything, anywhere. Know your history, pal."

Bunco pointed at Hull's chest. "You will stop, or you will be sorry, Major."

Hull leaned over his extended hand and stared into his eyes. "Get off my dock."

The two Contract Marines took a step back.

Bunco, frustrated and afraid, yelled a profanity before quickly turning around and storming out past the two mercenaries. "You haven't heard the last of this!" He shouted back at her.

"You better pray I have," Hull said. She puffed on her cigar in thought for a time. She let out a sigh. A loud, decompressing hiss came from the vents along the ceiling, followed by a loud rumble. She turned and looked out the large window as the Lady Killer roared away from the drydock and Duskatelle.

She made an obscene gesture to the rocket.

The wall-mounted speaker above Hull's head crackled to life, and a young woman's voice spoke through it. "...Hello?"

"Didn't I just tell y'all to bugger off?" Hull said, puffing on her cigar.

"I'm sorry?"She said. Hull looked out the window and noticed a small rocket gliding towards the drydock from Duskatelle.

Hull pressed the red speaker button mounted on the wall. "Whatcha need?"

"Permission to dock, ma'am?"

"Identify yourself."

"Titan-SessionSix, Kindari variant, Second Chance."

Hull looked at the rocket again. Something about it seemed familiar to her. She sighed and began walking through a side corridor. "Come on aboard."

The ship docked onto the elevator and rose upwards into the drydock where Hull was standing. The yellow and black striped platform raised and stopped with a loud thud. The rocket's door hissed as it opened outwards and a lanky, tall woman stepped out, dressed in a many-pocketed leather long coat three sizes too big for her that partially concealed her clunky knee-high leather boots and skintight black catsuit. She had a small, round face with auburn hair that was cut short and two round green pearl earrings on each ear. She looked at Hull, and she couldn't help but smile. "You look the same, ma'am,"

She looked around."It's nice to be back here."

"I'm sorry?" Hull said.

She couldn't stop smiling.

Hull's eyes narrowed, and she took a better look at the newcomer. Nothing on her struck a chord until the woman moved slightly to the side, causing her wide lapel to shift slightly and expose a gold heart-shaped necklace that hung around the woman's neck.

Hull said. "Lael?"

The woman's eyes widened. She let out a loud giggle. "You remember me!"

Hull took a puff from her cigar. "What can I do for you?"

"Ma'am," Lael straightened up and stood tall. "I want to learn how to fix things and I want you to teach me."