The sky is dim with early morning light and the air is soupy with the late July heat. The gentle tattoo of the lake's waves beat rhythmically on the concrete barrier as a pair of pelicans stand watch over the water. Overhead, low puffs of scud clouds race across the sky, chasing a wind aloft that never quite seems to make it to the ground.
Just up the shore, the New Orleans Lakefront Starport is waking up to what promises to be an insanely hot day. Gleaming shuttles are being prepared for the day's activities. A beautifully curved, white, two hundred ton interstellar corvette is being carefully escorted out of a hangar. Her lines are clean; she was clearly built for fast atmospheric flight. On the side of the ship, clearly written in bold red, are the words "Lady Dragon." Behind the ship, it's clear that this ship was built with acceleration in mind, as the engines look large enough to adequately push a ship twice her size. Low, thick wings and cover panels also show that at some point she may have served with the Confed Navy. The thick wings hide an inner strength ready to endure anything her pilots can throw at her. The panels clearly cover mounting hard points for turrets. Evidently, this Lady Dragon once hurled fire.
The ship comes to a rest. A few people walk out of the maintenance building and open the hatches. As a crew person disconnects the tow bar, the aft ramp comes down. Forklifts begin bringing pallets of cargo to her as other crew persons begin to fuel her up with hydrogen. After about half an hour, the trail of cargo has ended and the fuel lines are secured. The Lady Dragon's engines begin to purr. The ramp closes, and she lifts off of the ground. Her great maneuver drives light up and with a load roar the Dragon hurtles into the sky, momentarily distracting the pelicans from their sentry duty.
The crew person lights a cigarette as he watches the white corvette streak out of the atmosphere. He looks over near the fence line and sighs. Now that the Lady Dragon has been launched, he has been asked to move the derelict hundred-ton Snake Eyes to a different spot at the other end of the tarmac. The ground man guesses that this tub has been sitting in the same spot for at least five years. The grey paint has begun to peel at the edges of panels. Legend has it that its owner bought it to tinker with, but he has since died, leaving the identity of the current owner as some sort of mystery. The ground man hooks up the tow bar to the front gear and begins to haul the pile of junk to a new nest. As he begins to move the vessel, one of the front tires disintegrates with a loud bang. The ground man sighs again. It's going to be a long, hot day.
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