Cultwick: The Sweeper Bot Plague
Read Cultwick: The Sweeper Bot Plague Online
Authors: J. Stone
Cultwick:
The Sweeper
Bot Plague
By J. Stone
Text copyright © 2013 J. Stone
All Rights Reserved
For my mother, father, and sister.
You know who you are.
Chapter 1. Ryn the Lottery Winner
Chapter 4. Alice the Operative
Chapter 5. Rowland the Tonic Salesman
Chapter 6. Fiona the Experiment
Chapter 9. Vincent the Bounty Hunter
Chapter 10. Fiona the Cannibal
Chapter 12. Rowland the Gambler
Chapter 16. Fiona the Stowaway
Chapter 17. Vincent the Bank Robber
Chapter 18. Ryn the Safecracker
Chapter 19. Alice the Detective
Chapter 20. Rowland the Scientist
Chapter 23. Alice the Inquisitor
Chapter 24. Vincent the Husband
Chapter 27. Vincent the Anti-Hero
Cultwick, a sprawling empire with an eponymous capitol at its heart, is scientifically advanced, imperialistic, and utterly ruthless in all its endeavors. Ruled by a long line of emperors and empresses, Cultwick is currently under the reign of Empress Mary Elizabeth Arkmast IV. Advising and guiding her rule is a council of five appointed and prominent
members of the empire that operate out of the capitol building, the Sovereign Tower. Enforcing the empire’s laws are the militaristic corpsmen as well as the more precise and elite operatives. Empress Mary Elizabeth herself lives on the top level of the capitol building, along with her daughter Viola Arkmast II, overlooking the city from the soaring tower.
The Cultwick Empire reaches from the Horizons Ocean across to the recently settled western frontier. The western region was long considered uninhabitable and unimportant, but within the past several decades, valuable resources have been found and towns settled to gather them. As the cities grew, many Cultwick citizens migrated west to escape the domineering control of the empire. Due to their recent development, much of the west still operates outside the confines of Cultwick’s laws, and the wild landscape’s law enforcement has in part turned to help from bounty hunters and mercenaries to bring bandits and murderers to justice.
Also included as part of the Cultwick Empire are the desert lands of Ankalara, which lie across the ocean. Cultwick claimed the foreign lands after a long and bloody war, that brought them a plethora of new resources and citizens. To the south of the empire lies the independent island nation of Targeaux, which Cultwick has long since used as a source of slave labor. Many other nations are scattered across the world, and the empire intends to unite all the disparate groups into one global imperium.
There are two major areas of study and advancement within the Cultwick Empire. The Church of Biosynthesis is responsible for bringing forth the science of gene transcription, cloning, and all manner of biological experimentation. With biosynthesis, injections, serums, and radiation therapies are developed that allow their recipient
s to develop abilities beyond that of a mere human. The heights of biosynthesis have been genetically engineered creatures, lab grown clones, cures to deadly diseases, and near-superhuman abilities in certain subjects - all conceived through their complicated chemical amalgamations.
Alternatively, there is the mechanical technology that is collectively known as chromesmithing. With it, a varied amount of mechanical creations are constructed including automatons, vehicles, weaponry, and any number of other useful contraptions and gadgets. The technology is leveraged by the more advanced cities in the Cultwick Empire to provide electricity, transportation, as well as many of the machines by which biosynthesis is allowed to function. Upon its initial creation, chromesmithing devices were inhibitively expensive, preventing most people from obtaining them, but in more recent years, due to the western frontier being settled and bringing in new resources, the machines have become more readily available.
Though chromesmithing and biosynthesis have often had a symbiotic relationship, chromesmithing is generally viewed as a lesser form of science than biosynthesis. Biosynthesis came into prominence after the original emperor, Nero Arkmast, united the various city-states of the region to found the Cultwick Empire. After the fighting ended and the emperor's corpsmen returned home, Nero and his wife, Selina, conceived a daughter that they named Beatrice, but the infant girl developed a severe condition that limited her ability to breathe.
Nero and Selina called for assistance from the brightest minds of Cultwick to assist in saving their young daughter and ridding her of the life-threatening malady. Representatives from both chromesmithing and biosynthesis came forth and presented possible solutions to her problem. Biosynthesis was represented by its major proponent of the day, Solomon Lyons, while the most famous chromesmith of their time, Dahlia Burton, lobbied for her profession. Both sides developed a means for the girl to overcome her condition; Solomon presented a pair of clone-grown organs, while Dahlia demonstrated to the Arkmasts a mechanically constructed device that simulated the function of lungs. Both creations appeared to work correctly, but ultimately the metal contraption was selected.
Beatrice underwent surgery to have the new device implanted within her small frame, and at first she appeared to take to the ingenious apparatus quite well. Over the course of several weeks, however, Beatrice began to fall fatally ill. After the infant’s premature death, the blame was placed squarely on the head of Dahlia Burton and her chromesmithing invention. Dahlia was charged for the death of the baby girl, tried, and publicly executed, casting a pall over chromesmiths and their constructs.
Solomon, meanwhile, approached the emperor and empress with a solution. He successfully managed to restore the child to life and implanted within her a new set of organic lungs that allowed her to breathe normally and healthily. Following the
miraculous resurrection, Solomon began to be seen as an almost god-like being, and he developed the Church of Biosynthesis, promising that his syringe would bring his followers closer to god. To present day, the church manages to pervade almost every aspect of life in Cultwick.
Over the generations since the death and resurrection of Beatrice Arkmast, not much has changed regarding the disposition toward biosynthesis or chromesmithing. In recent years, however, a plague was unleashed on the people of Cultwick, yet again shining a negative light on chromesmiths. The so-called Sweeper Bot Plague, said to have been bred in the filth collected by the street-cleaning contraptions, spread across the empire, infecting and killing thousands over its decades long outbreak.
To help combat the plague, the empire instituted a new practice known as the Lottery. In this program, citizens of the empire would be occasionally selected and taken to the government-run Center for Empirical Research, where they would serve as test subjects in the development of a cure to the Sweeper Bot Plague. Despite years of ongoing research through the Lottery, however, the scientists seem no closer to finding and developing a cure to the outbreak and ridding the people of Cultwick of the deadly malady.
Chapter 1. Ryn the Lottery Winner
Erynn worked in the corner of her shared lab on an alteration to the rifle she had been building and upgrading since she was a teenager. After years of work, her rifle had become a double-barreled amalgamation of whizzing dials, welded-on contraptions, and multi-sighted lenses for its increased precision.
Li
beral use of gunpowder and more than a few unexpected blasts had blackened her face and hands. Her ruby red hair was a mess of tangles tied behind her head and bunched up under the rubbery leather straps of her goggles.
The sleeves of her white shirt and bottom hem of her skirt were both stained with grease and oils she had used to lubricate the barrels and cogs. The only items that appeared to escape the grime of her work were the black corset she wore outside
her shirt and the thick, dark boots that reached up to her knees - though this was more due to their dark color than her level of cleanliness. Even her black and white striped leg and arm stockings were tarnished to black and gray stripes.
Behind her Professor Maxwell Rowland came into the lab complaining of the shortsighted students he taught, aiming the tirade somewhat at his part-time teacher’s assistant, part-time butler, Germ, but mostly at the emptiness around him.
The professor unbuttoned and took off his long, stained lab coat, revealing his dirty, unkempt brown clothes underneath.
The chain of his pocket watch drooped out as he leaned forward, struggling to get the coat over the shiny chrome gauntlet completely covering his left hand and forearm. Rowland continued to mutter through his custom-made respirator the whole time, adjusting the settings on his also extremely custom-made lenses
to see his opponent - the sleeve.
Erynn completely focused on her task and
didn’t even hear when Germ approached her, “Your mail, Madam Clover.”
Germ was a creature like none other - a man-sized rat with more care to his appearance than either Erynn or Rowland whom he faithfully served. His fur was off white, and he wore a pristine white button-up shirt underneath a black vest and coat with matching pants.
His feet, much to his own bereft, were bare, as he had never managed to find a pair that comfortably fit his rodent paws. Germ’s tail peeked out the back of his pants, neatly coming out just between the separations of the tailcoats of his jacket.
“Mmm,” she uttered, not seeming to really notice. Her tongue
peeked out and pressed against her upper lip, as she worked tirelessly on her creation.
Behind her, Rowland continued his rant, “The fault lies with the Church of Biosynthesis, I say! Encouraging scientific experiments on unwilling
participants... If you are not inclined to test your concoctions on yourself, why would you subject anyone else to it?”
“Quite right, sir,” Germ answered indifferently, as he was too used to humoring the professor’s mutterings.
“Look at me for example, I experiment on myself whenever possible,” he went on. “I could practically be the Lord Reverend if I believed in all their nonsense... Plus! Hardly any mutations or side-effects!”
Germ paused at that, peering at the professor through
the monocle positioned over his left eye and firmly aside his snout, as the professor proceeded to jam a syringe of biojunk into his arm. The professor let out a sigh of relief, while the rat simply rolled his eyes.
In the
corner, Erynn continued her work. When necessary she employed herself as a chromesmith, which meant she worked with metals, gears, springs, and a varying array of engineering parts to create guns, clocks, automatons, and a slew of other items. The occupation was generally seen in a negative light, despite being useful, in demand, and well paying. The aristocracy saw it as an occupation that was beneath them.
Her home of Cultwick
City tended to prefer creations of a biological nature. The government and church had become obsessed with the science of genes and the power held within them. This was what the professor taught his students - to become gene transcribers, or biojunkers as some called them. They could make an almost infinite number of concoctions with their skill, and the morals for testing these creations were almost nonexistent.
Despite their difference in studies and interests, however, Rowland had always supported Erynn and her creations. She had helped construct him some of the machines he wore, including his special respirator, goggles, and even the strange gauntlet that covered his hand.
She had for the past few weeks been trying to find a way of increasing the capacity of her rifle, because the single shot and long reload time was simply not up to her standards. The Colby Pistols and Rifles Company had recently come out with a revolving rifle based on their pistol model, but it had many complications. Her plan involved loading in a ‘clip’ of bullets just behind the grip that could be easily reloaded and jammed back in without wasting too much time.
Bang!
Erynn spun around toward Rowland and Germ, her face freshly plastered with powder. “Rusty cogs! That didn’t work,” she said. “How was your lecture, Max? Convert any of the faithful to heretics and disbelievers today?”
“One can only hope, my dear. One can only hope,” he responded, brushing back the unattended graying hair from his face and throwing the lab
coat, he had finally freed himself from haphazardly at a coat rack. “And you,” he continued. “Finished your design?”
“I’m going to get it working today,” she explained. “Well, either that or I give up and console myself in a box of chocolates.”
“Yes, yes,” Rowland immediately responded. “Your cleverness is only outweighed by your stubbornness. I would expect nothing less from my ward! Also! Try Cane Confections. I understand they are having a sale this week.”
“Can I bring you anything,
Madam Clover?” inquired Germ, walking over to the professor’s coat, which lay some distance from the coat rack. “I’m just about to prepare the professor’s... tea... now.” He hung the coat properly on the rack and gave the professor a mild glare.
“I’m good, Germy,” she answered.
“Very well, ma’am,” Germ replied, shuffling off to the back room to cook up a batch of Rowland’s special home-brewed tea.
Erynn considered various tubes, bullet types, and amounts of gunpowder to use, as she fiddled with the components spread out on her workbench.
Ultimately, she picked out her pieces, and prepared the rifle for firing.
When it
didn’t immediately explode in her face again, she knew she was onto something. She continued by ramming a series of metallic balls into a container that she then loaded into the new slot under the rifle. Finally, she took aim at a test dummy that she had set up on the other side of the lab and cocked back the hammer.
Erynn pulled the trigger, which led to another loud bang, nearly causing Germ to drop the viscous-brown liquid he was bringing to the professor. The dummy practically exploded as two of the balls whizzed through its chest.
She cocked the hammer back again and pulled the trigger, with a second set of balls rushing through the dummy’s head. Bang! A third set shot across the room, knocking the last bits of stuffing out of the dummy’s shredded frame.
“Ha!” she exclaimed, quite pleased with her achievement.
“Excellent work, my dear,” exclaimed Rowland peering over the remains of the dummy scattered about his lab floor. “Does this mean you will not be going to get candy? I was rather hoping for something sweet.”
“Yes,
Madam Clover. Very impressive,” Germ chimed in, “however, couldn’t you do something about the awful noise?” He took out a broom from a nearby closet and began sweeping up the stuffing into neat piles.
“Oh, Germy,” smiled Erynn. “That’s how you know it works.”
“So what next, little Ryn?” inquired the professor.
“Next
I do the pistol modification, of course,” she replied. “I can do better than a revolver. First, though, I need to eat... but not chocolate. Sorry, Max. I’ll see you both at home when you’ve finished your lectures for the day.”
She walked over to a locker near her
worktable, pulling out a somewhat squeezed-in top hat. Erynn removed her goggles, revealing bright green eyes and a single clean area on her face in the shape of the goggles. She then wrapped them around the brim of the hat for safekeeping and hung the hat back on a hook inside the locker door.
Having removed the goggles, she undid her hair letting it flow down past her shoulder in wavy
ruby-colored strands. She picked up a shiny emerald necklace from the top shelf of the locker, undid the clasp, then letting the gem fall gently on the skin of her chest, affixed the clasp back together behind her neck.
Grabbing
her hat back off the hook she placed it firmly on her head giving it a solid tap on top and slammed shut the locker. She took up a satchel that was dangling off the edge of her worktable and shoved the mail and various papers inside thoughtlessly.
“Don’t let him vivisect any more students, Germy,” she added, waving goodbye as she left the lab.
Erynn exited the university out the back doors, as the stodgy dean didn’t care for her spending so much time in the place, and she would rather avoid his attention if possible. Their interactions had never ended well for her.
Outside the university, she was met with the typical smog-filled day in Cultwick City.
Grime was caked onto nearly every surface and the odor of exhaust fumes mixed with greases, oils, and the smell of something burning. Series of sweeper machines whirred about, not seeming to make any negligible difference to the filth on the streets.
The Sweeper Bot Plague was said to have been initially spread and carried by the machines, giving it its namesake.
Lazy maintenance of the devices and all the muck and grime of the city localized into each and every one of the street-sweeping gizmos led to a myriad of diseases being combined into the virulent plague and then quickly dispersed throughout the city.
While Erynn was still a child, the plague had made its initial introduction, and she
couldn’t even remember a time before it. To her, the plague was a part of everyday life.
The huge, sprawling city’s seemingly endless black, soot-covered buildings were also all she had known. Whether in the markets, the slums, the factories, the churches, or the wealthier sections of town everything began to blur together in the city, and she
on more than one occasion had become hopelessly lost due to its labyrinthine layout. Above her, roaming through the clouds were several skyships flying from one location to another across the city. Passing along on the street were halftracks, motorcycles, buses, and varying other mechanized vehicles.
Erynn made her way to a nearby cafe and ordered a light meal. While sitting out on the veranda, she watched all the rich and important people go about their busy lives. The young chromesmith pondered how she could increase the bullet capacity in her revolver
similarly to the rifle, but came to no immediate decisions or revelations.
A young, unnaturally attractive woman with expensive, clean clothes walked by her table, with a mechanical parasol rolling alongside her to protect her apparently delicate skin from the mild brightness of the sun.
A young gentleman who was dressed similarly accompanied her. He had a leather strap reaching from his shoulder down to his waist and hanging from it was some form of revolving flintlock pistol. Probably never even fired, Erynn wagered to herself, looking at the level of sheen the metal held.
The woman gave one glance to Erynn and shuddered taking in her dirty, disheveled appearance. She turned to her companion, “Surely someone should escort that street urchin back to the slums she belongs in.”
Erynn looked away from the aristocratic couple and spotted a raven p
erched on a building across the street. It pecked at some small animal’s corpse on the ledge intently, occasionally cawing at the citizens passing it by on the streets below. It picked up a chunk of the meat it was pecking at and dropped it down to the cobbled street. The raven then flew off, passing over Erynn and the diner she sat at.
Remembering the mail Germ had delivered to her and wishing to forget the elitism of the aristocracy within the city, she pilfered through her disorganized bag finding the notes of paper. She pulled out three pieces and began opening them in no discernible order. First was a letter from the Colby Pistols and Rifles Company who she had written to about a flaw in one of their designs:
Dear
[Ms. Clover]
,
Thank you for your interest in the [Colby Revolving Pistol PK-21] on the [Sixth of Autumn’s Wane]. After reviewing your letter describing [the huge freaking fatal error in your design!], we have prioritized your concern and will look into it as we have time.
Thank you for your time and we wish you all the best. If you would like to know more about Colby Pistols and Rifles please reply with a single coin and include the phrase, Informational Pamphlet, in your letter.
Regards,
Samantha Jones
Director of Customer Relations
