Dawn broke over the outer rim of the First Supreme Heaven.
Golden light from the new mini-suns washed across the metallic hulls of twenty-four hundred planet-sized star-fortresses. Millions of small utility skiffs buzzed around the hulls like mechanical dragonflies.
On the central command deck of Fortress Frost-Zero, Lin Mo leaned over a holographic blueprint table.
Beside him stood General Tie Canghai, Master Lu Jian, Dr. Gu Qinghe, and a white-haired craftsman in leather overalls.
The craftsman was Elder Mo, the legendary forge master from the lower astral heavens. He wore heavy brass magnifying goggles pushed up on his wrinkled forehead, and his leather apron carried dozens of specialized cosmic chisels and calipers.
“Chairman Lin,” Tie Canghai said, rubbing the back of his neck with an iron gauntlet. “My eight million boys are getting restless. They spent three thousand years waking up to bugle calls and aiming cannons at shadows. If we leave eight million armed soldiers sitting idle in their bunks, they will start brawling out of sheer boredom.”
“A standing army with nothing to do is a financial disaster,” Lin Mo agreed, nodding mildly. “Back in Jiangcheng, whenever a construction project paused for two weeks, the workers started playing underground mahjong in the basement. Within three days, half the crew was broke and someone had thrown a wheelbarrow through the supervisor’s windshield. Idle manpower must be deployed into productive capital.”
