Frost glazed the granite crenellations of the Citadel Keep before the sun had even cleared the eastern ridges. Giles leaned his forearms against the low roof wall. He watched the vast slate-roofed sprawl of Grey Crag wake beneath a ceiling of pale autumn mist.
Six months ago, this valley had been an ambitious riverport. Now it was a city of twenty-five thousand people.
Down along the rail yards, switch engines chuffed grey plumes into the cold air, shunting flatcars loaded with pig iron and space-folding lumber.
The foundries in the lower district roared day and night. Their small roof-dome stacks glowed dull cherry against the dawn.
In the machine shops, lathe belts slapped against overhead pulleys without pause.
It was an impressive colony-sim spreading. The test model engine had rendered every chimney, drainage ditch, and rail siding with terrifying fidelity.
Yet behind Giles’s eyes, the amber tracking data numbers told a very cold story.
A soft rustle of parchment sounded behind him.
