Age of Transport - Blue Marble is a transport and logistics simulation played on the whole Earth at 1:4 scale — 35 million km², more than 70,000 real cities, real mountain passes and rivers, all installed with the game.

There is no money in it. You don't buy a locomotive, you build it, from ore you hauled, in a shop that's busy until Thursday. Trains are dispatched rather than assigned to routes, yards hump and sort, and track is rail, sleepers, fastenings and ballast — your line is only as good as the worst of the four.

You build the mines, the factories, the power stations and the schools, and the railways, ships and aircraft that connect them, because nothing moves unless you move it. Twelve eras from the 1830s to today, more than 2,500 vehicles, and one persistent world that is never wiped — playable entirely alone, or shared with up to 255 companies.

Age of Transport - Blue Marble began as a love letter to railroad history. Trains are dispatched, not assigned to routes. Consists arrive on the receiving tracks, go over the hump, and are sorted through the bowl into new trains. Branch lines are built like branch lines, not like mains. Every locomotive in the game was built by someone, somewhere, for a reason — and it still has the reason in it.

What we wanted was for all of that to matter. In every tycoon game ever made, the railroad is how you earn money, which means the operation itself is decoration: replace the yard with a number and nothing changes but the animation. So we took the money out. Now the railroad isn't how you earn — it's how a world works.

The map is the actual Earth at 1:4, with more than 70,000 real cities full of people who need things that are somewhere else. Cost is work: a locomotive costs what it takes to make it, all the way down to the ore, and you feel that cost as a shop occupied and a queue you're waiting on. You site the factories and build the chains that feed them — 199 goods, chains as deep as nine steps — plus the power stations and grid that keep them running. Your railway hauls coal, and your railway burns coal.

The world is real in the way that matters most: things are where they actually are. Cryolite means Greenland, which is what makes an Arctic route worth an appalling cost to build. Rare earths mean Asia. A computer depends on three continents at once, and that isn't a balancing rule — it's just where the ore is.

Every mode has real physical limits. Nothing but a ship crosses an ocean. Only a seaplane reaches a place with no runway — which is why flying boats and floatplanes sit at the centre of the aviation roster rather than off to one side. Until cabin pressurisation arrives in the late 1930s, no aircraft can fly over a mountain range at all.

Cities are people, not points. They need food, then comfort, then medicine. You zone them and build their schools, and an educated city is the only place your high-tech factories can go. A city you've supplied starts supplying you back: deliver cars and trucks, and twelve to eighteen years later they become scrap. A large motorised city is an ore body.

Twelve eras run from the 1830s to the present day in one continuous game. You don't restart between them, you inherit: the route that was a triumph in 1880 is the bottleneck of 1950. You get one world of your own, persistent and never wiped, and one company. Play it entirely alone for as long as you want, or share the planet with up to 255 companies on a world that keeps running whether you're logged in or not — where the other players become your customers, because past a certain point nobody is self-sufficient.

There is no DLC, there are no microtransactions, and there never will be: every world is a shared world, so everyone in it runs exactly the same game.

The whole Earth, at 1:4 scale. 35 million km², more than 70,000 real cities, real mountain passes and rivers. Installed with the game — no streaming, no network required.

There is no money. Cost is work. You don't buy a locomotive, you build it — from ore you hauled, in a shop that's busy until Thursday.

Real railroading. Trains are dispatched, not assigned to routes. Yards hump and sort. Track is rail, sleepers, fastenings and ballast, and your line is only as good as the worst of the four.

You build the industry as well. Mines, factories, production chains nine steps deep, and the power stations and grid that keep them running.

Your network feeds itself. Steam wants water towers, electrics want catenary, ships want bunkers, aircraft want fuel on the apron.

Cities are people, not points. Food, then comfort, then medicine. Educate a city and it becomes the only place your high-tech factories can go.

More than 2,500 rail vehicles, before the ships and the aircraft — and the tech tree unlocks capabilities rather than catalogue entries.

Every mode has real physical limits. Nothing but a ship crosses an ocean. Only a seaplane reaches a place with no runway.

Twelve eras, the 1830s to today. You inherit every decision you ever made.

One world of your own, and only one. Persistent, cloud-synced, never wiped — and playable entirely alone for as long as you want.

Or share the planet with hundreds of people. Up to 255 companies in one running world, and it keeps running whether you are logged in or not.

No DLC. No microtransactions. Not ever. Every world is a shared world, so everyone in it runs exactly the same game.