Drydock 7

Drydock Seven loomed over the shuttle as they approached. Caydie and Mute sat side by side, anxious to be off the planet, yet also anxious to leave it.
Mute handled it far better than Caydie. She fidgeted in her seat, constantly searching for comfort that simply couldn't be found. She toyed with her fingers with shallow breathing while Mute simply sat with his arms crossed, aimlessly staring out the window.
"What?" Caydie asked.
"It's nothing. I'm a little upset about not having the naming. It feels wrong.
"How so?"
Mute smiled. "I was looking forward to it, in a way. There would have been tears."
"Tears?" Caydie asked. She scoffed, her demeanor suddenly changing. She stopped fidgeting, suddenly more curious than filled with dread. "I can't imagine that. You're going to have to explain."
"My mom wouldn't be there. That makes me more than a little sad."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Caydie said.
"Don't be. It sucks but that's part of it. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her."

The shuttle landed inside the massive complex. The moment the doors opened, sounds of industry roared around them.
They wandered through assemblies, the machinery hard at work producing ships, weapons, and tools. They walked down long halls where the deafening sounds were muffled and it was easier to think. Finally, they stopped before a caged window with a plaque beside it labeled "Requisitions."
No one was there to greet them, but Mute could see movement in the room beyond the window. "Hello?"

Drydock 7

Drydock seven is one of several such complexes located in Caydie's Cradle. It is, however, the most famous. During the first war, the wayfarers of dawn were given control of the drydock to produce their own vessels, a decision that is controversial to say the least.
The dry dock stands as the one thing allowing the wayfarers to retain their independence. They stood against the will of Safeharbor's elders before, and with the way things are going, they will likely do it again. Rebellion is a serious crime, and one that will be handled differently next time around.
The dock itself is functionally the same as its brothers and sisters, but the wayfarers are far more innovative. They've mastered its inner workings, making it more efficient. For every ship another drydock produces, number seven can produce three.

A young man turned from his desk, pushing against it so his chair rolled across the smooth ground. He slid into view, his light brown skin damp with sweat. His voice was higher than Mute thought it would be. "Excuse you?"
"My name is Jacob Burnley, I'm here to requisition a ship."
"Are you, now?" the man replied. He stood up and wandered about the room, stopping to pick up a stack of papers. He slammed them down in front of them and proceeded to casually shift through them. "Name please?"
"I just told you, Jacob Burnley."
"Name. Please." The man repeated, his eyes wide as if trying to send a message.
Mute narrowed his eyes, looking the man over and noticing the patch on his arm with the word "Goose" written across it in white letters. "Oh, right. Mute."
"Aha, yes," Goose paused and dug into the stack, pulling out a set of papers from near the bottom. "That one I remember." He set the stack aside and laid out the papers in front of them. "You're to be given a ship, a standard ECHO, and one rail rifle."
Goose paused and held up a finger, "you're not cleared yet, did you get pulled in with the others?" Mute nodded and waited as Goose read through each sheet. "Oh, Special Ops. Understood."
Goose notched several boxes on the sheet, straightened the papers on the desk and tossed them aside. "We have a ship that's brand spanking new in the assembly just to the right." Goose exited the room and into the hall. "Follow me."

Layout

The inside is a complex maze of halls, rooms, and assemblies. Each assembly has a purpose and was carefully modified to suit that purpose.
Some assemblies produced weapons, both for use on their ships and to arm the crew. Others produce tools and equipment the wayfarers need, while others are still entirely dedicated to producing their ships.
An adjacent warehouse is used to store things small enough to store in bulk, all catalogued by the wayfarers requisitions officer, Carlos "Goose" Garcia.

They entered the assembly and found it silent. A ship clad in Safeharbor steel shimmered in the sunlight leaking in through the door in the roof.
Goose stared in awe as he spoke, "She'll be fueled within the hour, but she doesn't have a name. You should fix that."
Mute never considered what the name would be. "What?"
"A name, boy. Something painted on the side in big fancy letters for all to see."
"Right." Mute didn't think for long. "December."
"Oh my, The SVN December. Lovely name. I'll get them started on it. Make yourselves at home."
Caydie followed mute to a row of chairs. Goose left and within ten minutes a group of people entered the assembly.
Caydie tried not to ask, but curiosity got the better of her, "Why December? That's the name of a month on Earth's calendar."
Mute looked confused at first, but in the end he couldn't help but smile. "Sorry to say it, but I disagree. December was my mother's name."

The Persephone Class

Drydock seven is the only place where Persephone class corvettes are made. It's their signature vessel, and one that is far more formidable than any other ship produced by humanity.
The Persephone class is unique in its use of Safeharbor steel. It has its own grid receiver which allows the use of Grid Chisels and grid glyphs. This also allows wireless transfer of power to hard points anywhere on the vessel.
This helps minimize blind spots for any weapons on the ship, and allows the vessel to easily update its equipment. Wayfarers can even take advanced alien technology and use it for their benefit with ease.

When the ship was ready, Mute slipped into the echo suit. It felt wrong, as if it wasn't earned. Caydie wore a suit of her own, but was upset for another reason entirely.
As they walked up the ramp to enter the ship, she stopped.
"What's up?" he asked.
"I'm fine," she replied, though mute assumed she was speaking more to herself than to him.
He entered the ship and waited patiently, taking care not to watch her as she inched up the ramp. When she finally made it inside, he waited until she got to the bridge before lifting the ramp.
He understood. Even he felt cramped, and he hadn't spent who knows how long alone in a dying ship.
He entered the cockpit and noticed how small she looked. Her feet pulled into the chair and her arms crossed across her chest. "Is it the fear of losing control or are the walls closing in?"
She looked up at him, offended at first. Her furrowed brow loosed when she realized what was actually bothering her. "I feel like something terrible is going to happen. Every time I get into a ship, it all goes wrong."
"You've only been to space once," mute replied.
"Once was enough. If it wasn't you, I wouldn't be here."
Mute activated the launch sequence, keeping careful watch on the screens around him. "That's fair, and I appreciate that. For what it's worth, I've been in space all my life."
Caydie scrunched her nose and narrowed her eyes, "statistically speaking, experts are more prone to mistakes than beginners."
Mute let out a laugh and raised an eyebrow. "That's true. Guess I'm lucky you're here to correct me."