By sunrise on the second day on Scrap-Heap Star, the five-mile basin east of Station #8 was surrounded by mountains of sorted warship wreckage that reached higher than the clouds.
Newly appointed Recycling Bureau Director General Chu Wuhen sat proudly atop his Rank 7 Bone-Warhorse at the edge of the basin. Both he and his horse were wearing giant bright-orange reflective safety vests over their ancient armor, and Chu Wuhen held a red-and-green traffic flag in his hand.
“Keep the line moving! Heavy bronze battleship hulls go into Pile A on the left! Broken flying swords and spirit-cannons go into Pile B on the right!” Chu Wuhen shouted enthusiastically, turning his newly oiled neck 360 degrees around like an owl just because it felt so good. “Skeleton Squad #88, don’t mix copper boiler pipes with iron anchor chains! Watch your sorting categories!”
Clack-clack!
Millions of orange-capped skeletons marched in neat, tireless streams down from the rust mountains, carrying three-hundred-foot sections of ancient warship hulls over their heads like ants carrying leaves.
On the observation platform above the basin, Chief Shi Gang and General Tie Zhan stood beside Pei Xuan, staring at the sheer size of the scrap mountains.
“Lord Pei,” Chief Shi Gang said, scratching his shiny iron chin in worry. “General Chu’s skeletons are fast! In just one night, they’ve piled up five hundred million tons of ancient warship hulls! Even with the locomotive’s magnetic vacuum hopper running at full speed, and even if I bring all five hundred…
