"The overall buildout of Redemption Spaceport looks pretty good…"
Through the dome, Eden watched a hive-like megastructure swelling in the void—so huge it seemed to swallow the horizon.
That was Redemption Spaceport No. 1, the core hub of Dawn City's transit network.
Its architecture echoed the Lion's Gate Spaceport—an edifice that rose from ground to orbit—stitched together by innumerable dock-rings and orbital elevators.
But this one dwarfed Lion's Gate by several factors and was laid out far more rationally, able to berth fortress-class super-warships.
Each outer tier of the spaceport was about a kilometre thick—people called these tiers the "skin," the foremost defensive strata.
Within the defense skin lay a nearly twenty-kilometre middle belt—a forest of docks and depots, built to store and shuttle freight at scale.
Deepest of all stood the suite sector, the core, about five kilometres long—its central square crowned by a holy statue of the Savior.
Here, offices of the Pan-Galactic Commercial Association and attached bureaus would be garrisoned—processing all transport and trade matters.
There were also temporary leisure and amenity zones so travelers could rest while handling paperwork—high-yield retail acreage in their own right.
Shopfronts and ad façades in the core fetched premium prices, offsetting a slice of the port's operating costs.
Every zone was threaded by dense capillary lines of lifts, subways, and tracelines, making the interior of the port—and its interface with the surface—seamless.
By departmental estimates, tens of millions would be permanently employed here, with far more transiting daily.
And Dawn City planned to raise one hundred and thirty such Redemption Spaceports—arteries that would become the beating heart of logistics for the Webway trade-city and, in time, the Imperium itself.
This was why Dawn City devoured such titanic resources: beyond the Holy Spire, there were ports, harbours, and transit hearts beyond counting to build.
All to keep a city spread across several sector's worth of land area moving freely.
Of course, no one could finish that expanse at once. Dumping the Imperium's entire resource stockpile into the foundations wouldn't be enough.
So the initial works would cover only about a few dozen worlds' worth of ground, with expansions staged thereafter.
"The old saying holds—if you want to be rich, build roads."
Eeden smiled to himself.
The Imperium today was like a chain of isolated mountain valleys—its provinces barely spoke, sometimes going tens, hundreds, even thousands of years without contact.
Only the long-lived—high adepts and Astartes—could even think of crossing regions to see another sky.
A common Guardsman might tramp between warzones in-sector. But the distances meant many would never set foot on their birth-world again.
As for ordinary citizens—most would live and die without leaving their home star.
His job, as the Savior, was to build roads—using Dawn City's Webway spines and port-hubs to stitch a high-speed arterial network across the Imperium.
So that the realm's resources—and its war-strength—could cycle faster than ever.
He dropped his gaze to the desk and kept working through the remaining files.
If this city was his, he needed to know it.
Raising a super-city like Dawn City meant handling more districts and details than any one mind could hold.
A truly efficient and enduring galactic trade capital had to be designed around three cores: Transit, Commerce, and Life-Support.
You couldn't just slap a coat of paint on the Drukhari's old Commorragh and call it a day. The whole thing needed deep, total reconstruction.
Transit first.
Beyond keystone hubs like Redemption Spaceports, the city seeded countless ground-level terminals and corridors that meshed into the existing Webway.
Through those spines, you achieved the effect of express translation across vast distances.
The route-matrices were too complex for human brains or flat charts to hold. They required a dedicated, real-time cartographic engine under the Machine God's control.
To meet broader needs, the system would ingest the Imperium's entire extant map corpus—and keep enriching it live.
Richer data. Truer routes.
Depending on clearance, the software would ship in military and civil editions, accessed entirely through the psynet.
Its name: Imperial Star Atlas.
From sector-scale starmaps and interstellar routes down to city street-plans, all bundled in—and updated with live hazard markers.
Within any psynet-satellite footprint, it could even provide real-time navigation.
It put the Imperium's old map systems to shame.
With Phase I transit laid, the trade districts were now rising.
Trade was zoned by commodity class, with layered exchanges, exhibition halls, macro-malls, and storage belts.
This was the city's commercial core—handling paperwork and guarantees—linked directly into the mega-ports.
Close a deal here, and freight could route out immediately.
Dawn City's trade system itself was a new form: it pegged currency to Blackstone as a value anchor, used Thronecoin as the main unit, and embedded the Savior's credit ladder.
This framework would roll out realm-wide—ending the chaos of hundreds of currencies, barter, and misaligned value norms—by establishing consensus around Blackstone parity.
For any given good, the Pan-Galactic Commercial Association would define a value band, convert to a Thronecoin invoice, and the trade would clear.
Of course, this wasn't laissez-faire. The Savior's hand would steer the market—channeling subsidies and concessions to the most afflicted provinces.
Not only basic life-support materiel. There would be "ruralization" incentives for arms, heavy weapons, and armoured transports—
—to strengthen the war-torn marches.
Third core: Life-Support—energy grids, sky-ground defense rings, and, most vital of all, habitation.
Especially housing.
Given Dawn City's special position, real estate would become a pillar industry.
Half the hab-zones would be standard social housing—key-worker units and low-rent stock—to secure livable conditions for the city's builders.
Families who came to raise the city would have decent homes and breathing room.
Most were one-bedroom family micro-suites, with other footprints available by need.
Compared with Holy Terra and many Imperial hives, this was decades ahead.
They would have warm sunlight, clean air, ample water, steady food, and public spaces.
They might even visit a public garden-park monthly—a low-spec taste of a garden world's green.
With such perks, any Imperial citizen who could work in Dawn City counted it a blessing.
Those in the Savior's own demesne wanted it most—chasing higher wages and clearer ladders up.
It got messy for a while.
In the end, the Interior Ministry and its peers ruled that—aside from certain honour-citizens, honour-houses, and top-tier talent—
—most slots would be assigned by lottery. Not only in the Savior's territory; every controllable Imperial region would receive quotas.
Later, refugees from reconquered zones would also have chances to settle here.
In short, most of the Imperium's people would have a shot at this destiny-shift—living and working in Dawn City.
Strict protocols would keep jobs fluid, and residential titles remained public, preventing long-term seizure by any clique.
A modicum of class mobility—by design.
That was Eden's will.
Because as Dawn City kept growing, its status would soon equal—or surpass—Holy Terra.
Some organs even proposed moving Imperial administration here—or, failing that, pulling Terra herself into the Webway.
Like the suns that lit Dawn City.
With Dawn City's advent, Humanity would have two hearts to defend. If Terra dwelt within these walls, then the Imperium would guard one citadel instead of two.
Safer.
In time, Dawn City's station would be extraordinary—and its citizens would become true "high citizens under the palace eaves."
After all, the Emperor Himself sat in the Throne Palace at the city's very center.
So Eden wanted to limit the rise of entrenched castes that could warp the Imperium.
The city belonged to the Savior—but forever to the whole of Imperial citizenry.
The other half of the hab-zones would be developed as commercial real estate—bait for nobles and the wealthy from every quarter.
Their fortunes would then flow into the Savior's hands.
Real estate formed a vast industrial stack—touching innumerable trades and supply chains—and it would spawn countless niches.
It would stand as one of Dawn City's pillars—feeding its growth without end.
The city's builds alone—and the jobs they birthed—could change the lives of trillions of households, and jolt the Imperium awake.
Eeden signed off on the Dawn City commercial real-estate approvals just as a bridge-chime sounded. The Dreamweaver had docked at the spaceport—
—time to disembark.
He and the Khan took a dedicated orbital elevator straight to the surface.
They were meeting Guilliman.
Vrrrrm—
The White Scar primarch opened the throttle on the Pale Eagle along a high-speed corridor; the Savior lounged on the pillion.
They wanted to take in the city's face.
Roads wound through frantic work-sites; trade complexes, megaplazas, and gardens were rising everywhere.
Gargantuan Savior statues loomed—and ad-boards flashed.
One board hawked True Fuel—a black-and-red can—fronted by Kaul, the Grand Sage of Black-Mechanics, his great augmetic face filling the screen.
The tagline:
"True Fuel—OMNISSIAH APPROVED."
"What did Kaul slip Webby to land that endorsement?"
Eden glanced at the ad, smirking. "And why didn't that oaf put Webby on the spot instead? Would've sold twice as well."
This galactic trade hub had fully embraced advertisements; the skyline would grow into a modernist canvas of art with a light sacral touch—
—not the old Imperium's perpetual gothic gloom.
Call it Imperial post-modern futurism—with just a hint of Savior-style autocracy.
Modern Imperial lines and amenities, wreathed in sanctity—overlooked by the Savior's solemn statues.
Soon they merged into the core. Phantoms of red-and-gold guide-ribbons lit the highway; towers speared the heavens.
It felt like riding through a fortified sci-fi labyrinth—with roads threading directly through the architecture.
Thankfully, the nav kept them straight.
Suddenly, the lane opened—and there, at the city's heart, a golden sun rose beside a colossal Savior statue. Thirteen saints knelt around it, both hands lifted to brow in offering.
The holy figure shed a gentle aureole. White-pinned seraph-automata and flocks of doves circled it in quiet orbits.
Around the statue, a vast Central Park spread in waterfalls and rivers spilling from the saints' upheld hands, a harmony of water and green.
Above, the golden sun housed the Throne Palace.
Using consummate craft, the Savior's Works Corps had refitted and hidden the alien black throne left by Asdrubael Vect, building the golden sun and Savior statue around it—
—so the Drukhari grotesquerie wouldn't mar the city's grace.
Beep!
The Khan twisted the grip for more speed—then a gentle nav-voice cut in:
"Speed limit 300 ahead. Please reduce speed. Violations will be recorded by Sky-Eye and reported to the Department of Transit for sanction."
"…?"
"What?"
The primarch blinked—then eased the Pale Eagle down from supersonic to the posted 300. It felt like crawling.
"Looks like the traffic-control module went live," Eden said. "Different city zones will post limits to keep the flow safe."
Necessary. Otherwise, like any other Imperial hive, every maniac would be drag-racing through the boulevards—and this city bore unprecedented footfall.
Whoever came in—even the White Scars' speed-demons—would obey the lights.
If not, the city's restraint systems and civil forces would educate them.
"This is so slow…" the Khan grumbled as he rolled to a halt at a red—bored enough to grind his teeth. For a soul raised on speed?
Agony.
"If this rattles you, wait until plate quotas and entry permits go active," Eden teased.
He knew the pattern by heart: as space and population tightened, governance would follow.
At least the trade belts lay outside the core, so throughput wouldn't suffer.
VIPs like Eden and the Khan would have dedicated express lanes for urgent transits, of course.
Today they'd chosen the common lanes—just to feel the Webway city's pulse.
Before long, Eden and the Khan met Guilliman at a rise, looking out over a vast cleared plane.
Webway wars had razed this district; the Works Corps had scraped it level—thousands of square kilometres—about a small city's span. One of the slated residential tracts.
"Brother Eden, why bring me to stare at dirt?"
Guilliman eyed the expanse and the booming engineering Titans graying the air with dust—baffled.
So was the Khan.
"I'm putting up some mansions for us. This will be our principal residential quarter."
Eden spun up a holosheet in midair—dense with high-end facilities.
He pointed to the core. "This is my residence. This one's yours, old Roboute. That one's Khan's. I even left one for the Lion.
"And of course, Father has one—in the center."
Each "villa" was a petit palace.
"Father?"
Guilliman went a little numb. The Emperor… move in? He doubted the Golden Throne would ever let Him stroll out to a cul-de-sac.
Eden caught the look and waved it away.
"Whether Father can visit is irrelevant. It needs to exist. This will be the most exclusive residential district in the galaxy."
He grinned. "Guess how much one of these will cost?"
Guilliman knew Terra's asset prices. A single manse could equal a hive on a middling world.
He named a number—astronomical.
"Too low. Terra's dilapidated bricks can't touch Dawn City.
"Look around—the center of the galaxy, heart of the Imperium, under the palace sun, lake and hill at your doorstep, primarchs for neighbours…"
Eden gestured toward the golden sun and the Savior statue. From here, you could see it in full, even feel the Central Park's breeze.
From now on, Dawn City would be the Imperium's first heart. Because the Savior said so.
Then he spoke a figure so outrageous that both the Lord of Ultramar and the Great Khan stared—struck dumb.
What?!
(End of Chapter)
(End of Chapter)
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