When James thought of the word ‘city’, many things came to mind. Akritan cities were efficient as they were aesthetic, a luxury afforded to them by virtue of bureaucratic efficiency and large-scale automated maintenance systems.
Any ‘city boy’ expected towering high-rises, efficient mass transportation systems, careful industrial planning and a general propensity to go build vertically rather than horizontally. City real estate was expensive.
None of that applied to the nascent capital of the Akritan Duchy. Cradleton’s tallest building, the headquarters of the dynasty’s civilian government, was a measly four stories tall -barely twenty meters-. The average apartment building was even shorter at three stories, while the outskirts were filled with single-story warehouses, workshops and such.
Considering the low population density -just thirty thousand- mass transits systems would remain limited to a number of buses and trams for several months to come. The roads were hardly busy, though the handful of vehicles on the road made up for it with colorful decorations.
Amidst the civilian traffic, the obviously military convoy of four-by-fours carrying James and Chief Grey were dully noted by the passing pedestrians who waved by. Had he been fifteen years younger, James would’ve asked for the cars’ windows to be lowered to wave right back. Nowadays, he was fine with following most security protocols his bodyguards proposed. He was no longer a mere heir; he was the duke.
…
Arriving at the government headquarters, the convoy was ushered into an underground parking lot where the passengers disembarked.
“I will be heading to my office. It was a pleasure to speak with Your Grace.” Alfonso bid his goodbyes, bowing lightly before making for an elevator alongside his bodyguard.
James and four members of his detail also entered an elevator, though this time one of his bodyguards took out a complex key which he inserted into a hole on the button pannel. The elevator went straight to the top floor without stopping for other passengers.
The security protocols were to be followed to perfection, even in the extremely safe environment of Cradleton. His bodyguards, members of the elite 101st Marine Regiment, were focused solely on his safety. Had he been willing to follow every single one of their more outlandish suggestions, he would’ve been leading his dynasty from the safety of his flagship until the day he died.
A mellow ‘ting’ announced the elevators arrival. The doors opened to reveal a largely plain hall with a number of wooden doors. At the end, a secretary focused on her small work console guarded the farthest door.
As James and his bodyguards approached, the secretary looked up. Her eyes widened and she nearly jumped up.
“W-Welcome, Your Grace.” She stuttered, bowing lowly.
“Good morning, miss.” James smiled, gesturing to the door behind her. “I believe Governor Moore is waiting for me.”
“Your Grace w-would be correct.” The secretary acknowledged, pressing a button on her desk. “His Grace has arrived, Governor.” She said through the intercom.
The secretary quickly moved to the door, opening it and bowing down as James and his people passed. Two of his guards split off to guard the entrance, while another two followed him into the room.
Inside, James was welcomed by two men whom he hadn’t met in months.
“Cain, Constantine, it’s good to see you two.” He smiled as the pair bowed lightly with eager smiles.
“It pleases me to hear Your Grace is in good health and spirits.” Cain Moore, the Governor of Domusec, said.
“This one is most happy to see you, Your Grace.” Jean-Constantine Saint-Germaine, the President of the dynasty’s one and only agricultural corporation, said.
The three of them sat down in synth-leather chairs around a short-legged table. Cain’s secretary came in shortly thereafter with a kettle, three glasses and some golden viscous liquid in a jar.
“Is that…honey?” James noted, incredulously.
“Quite.” Constantine nodded, grinning.
“I…how? I am certain we brought no honey over during the exodus.”
“You’d be correct. This honey was not brought over from the Old World. I assume Your Grace are aware the office of terraforming has introduced bees to Domusec?”
James stared at the man, realization striking him like a thunderbolt. “You…cultivated this? On Domusec?” The mere idea brought a smile to his lips.
“The first bee colonies had to be placed under strict observation, but that does not mean they did not make honey. The team Chief Grey assigned was…inexperienced with running an apiary, but the Saint-Germaine Group has the expertise to run such an operation.”
“This is…excellent. Yes, truly excellent.” James nodded as he tested the honey’s taste.
“This particular batch was made with lavender and chamomile flowers, which have proved capable of not only surviving but thriving in the cold climate.”
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“So…we have colonized Domusec. Really colonized it.”
Cain chuckled at James’ words. “Your Grace, the farm-to-own doctrine is hardly the only metric. Twenty-four thousand akritan citizens call Cradleton their home, and we have as many as five thousand polarii workers and their dependents asking for permanent residence permits.”
“I know.” James smiled, focused on the honey. “But there is a certain…appeal to the imperial colonization doctrine.” He shook his head. “Yet that is in the past now. Please, Cain, tell me more about recent developments.”
The governor nodded in understanding; two years ago merely considering a life outside the Imperium would’ve been impossible. Now…they were living in it.
“Of course. As I previously mentioned, Cradleton now has a population of roughly thirty thousand, though this number is growing each week as we decant more colonists. The relative freedom to grow our population when we need to has allowed us to make a good city plan. We’ve been aided by Nikolai Johnson, a polarii civil engineer.”
Pausing for a moment, Cain grabbed a roll of thick paper from his desk and laid it out on the coffee table. It showed the plans of the entire city, according to the latest reports from the construction and planning teams.
“The city’s metropolitan area, which includes apartment complexes, office buildings and shops is roughly thirty-eight square kilometers in size. Factories, warehouses, storage areas and other industrial use spaces take up twenty-five more. Initially this was set up surrounding the city, but a month ago we begun construction on a dedicated industrial park roughly ten kilometers from the city proper.”
As he spoke, his fingers traced a number of lines passing along main streets and high-capacity roads.
“We currently operate some twenty-five transit buses, from a standard pre-exodus design adapted for hydrocarbon use. In lieu of automated systems, we’ve just trained and hired roughly sixty people who drive them in shifts. Many of the polarii construction workers have brought over families; by giving them work we eliminate unemployment, prevent the crime that would follow and decrease the cost of bus maintenance.”
“What about the spaceport? I saw quite a bit of infrastructure under construction.” James asked.
“Quite.” Cain smiled. “For now, we run both passenger and freight flights in the same tarmac, but we plan to separate the two as our need for capacity and efficiency grows. Interplanetary flights between Domusec and Polaris are managed by a polarii state corporation; those new shuttles they bought are being put to good use. Shipments of food, goods and raw materials are brought in via our own corporations’ heavy lift birds.”
“I know. There’s been a non-insignificant number of complaints about capacity overload.”
“That’s where the Saint-Germaine group comes in.” Cain motioned to the man standing next to him, who’d been enjoying his honeyed chai while the pair discussed city planning. “Constantine?”
“Yes, yes.” The man set down his cup, clearing his throat.
“As Your Grace put it, the need for food imports from orbit has put a significant strain on our transorbital transport. My firm is proposing to alleviate that by establishing farms on Domusec.”
The executive’s words were hardly surprising. Everybody knew their food stocks and limited aeroponics and hydroponics shipborne infrastructure couldn’t support a growing population measured in the hundreds of thousands. Humanity might’ve conquered the stars, but its most effective method of agriculture was still burying seeds in the soil like pre-industrial paleos.
“Elaborate.” James said.
Constantine took out a graphite pencil from a pocket, circling several dozen square kilometers to the east of the metropolitan area, beyond the Splitter river.
“Current bioengineering and agricultural knowledge allows us to fulfill a person’s needs for grains, vegetables and fruits for the entire year with point one to two acres of land.”
“And I suppose the variable is investment.” James surmised.
Constantine nodded. “Correct. A farm run using manual labor is only ten percent as efficient as a fully automated aeroponics facility of similar size, but is significantly cheaper to run and requires less knowledge to manage. Our current proposal is far less advanced compared to our best aeroponics facility, but the yield is still excellent.”
Grabbing his tablet from a nearby briefcase, he opened it and showed a simple rendering of an example farm. James had seen it before, so there was little surprise.
“Grains and hardy legumes will be cultivated in open-air farms and cared for using semi-automatic farming vehicles and optimized blends of pesticides, additives and fertilizers. Thanks to heavy orbital presence, as well as a couple of long-haul solar drones in the atmosphere, we can model weather patterns down to thirty-minute increments as far as two weeks from the present. More vulnerable crops like soft-skinned vegetables and fruits will be housed in rather basic greenhouses with automatic sprinkler systems.”
“And what’s the cost going to be?” James asked the most important question.
“As it stands now, feeding a person using our space-based aeroponics facilities for a year costs about twelve thousand marks. That’s for a limited diet that relies on faux meat and heavy additives to create a tasteful meal. With the model I am presenting you today, we can reduce that to about three and a half thousand marks. That’s about eighty percent cheaper.”
It was a good idea, economically and logistically. But James wasn’t merely satisfied with good.
“I’m not looking to feed my citizens soy paste and corn, Constantine, and you know that. So why don’t you tell me the full plan and the total cost, including the meat, dairy and animal products that we’ve yet to talk about.”
The executive grimaced, but nevertheless conceded.
“Raising cattle or pigs is highly inefficient the natural way, but synthetic growing methods are a mature and cheap option. Artificial cell growth facilities are on average a third more expensive to run compared to ranches with similar output, but because of their nature require significantly less space and do not impede on the supply of grains to the average citizen.”
Artificial cell growth technology was highly advanced in the Imperium compared to the other major polities of the known galaxy, as habitable worlds were rarer.
In an average ‘facility’ -because nobody liked to call it a factory- meat was grown in vats of nutrient solution under the careful observation of trained technicians. Different cuts and types took varying lengths of time and amounts of nutrient solution, with ground meat being the cheapest while ribs usually cost the most. Mass production facilities could churn out a literal tons of ground beef a day, but only a few hundred rib-eye steaks a week.
“Animal products can be created the natural way. Automated chicken coups and dairy farms require significantly less feedstock than a meat-producing ranch.”
“Good.” James nodded. “You will need to talk with my chief of staff about the specifics, but I approve of such a venture. Our goal is to ensure a good quality of life for everyone, and that means food on the table that keeps our citizens happy and healthy.”
With a few parting words, James left the government headquarters feeling satisfied with his visit. Governor Cain Moore could be trusted to see to the day-to-day affairs of the city, and the Saint-Germaine Group knew that following both the wording and spirit of their agreement would only lead to bigger profits.
‘In a year’s time, we’ll be able to export our surplus.’
James was a warlord at heart -after a decade of war, that was a certainty-, but he had no illusions about the power of the free market. Planets could be taken with force, but only full bellies and heavy wallets would keep the populace happy and loyal. Expansion necessitated economic strength, and James was very much pro-expansion.