by J. Stone
There was, however, one other town in the western frontier, Gulch Hollow. Not technically considered a part of the empire, it had claimed sovereignty and the right to rule itself. The settlement was fairly new, and Viola was certain that Mary Elizabeth had intended to teach the lawless city the error of their way, but she had simply run out of time. Viola herself was not yet concerned with their existence. If they chose to separate themselves from Cultwick, so be it.
Then there were, of course, all the cities that had been there for the creation of the Cultwick Empire. In the north was Breywood, Grefford, and Tybury, governed by Jonah Shinick, Daphne Blake, and Wendy Hess respectively. Each of their mayors were seated directly to the side of those from the west. The northern cities were largely known for their food output. None of them were vast, sprawling metropolises, as they had been reaped by their own empire for generations. There were mandatory export quotas that each city was required to meet on a quarterly basis, which left little for the inhabitants to rely upon afterward. The more Viola had learned about the running of the empire when she was growing up, the more she came to realize that everything and everyone was sacrificed in order to keep her own family comfortable and in control. The excess had gone on too long, and she’d swore to right these wrongs.
The eastern cities were not much better off in what was demanded of them. Bayfield was governed by a young woman named Elle Cornelius. She was one of the few that had been elected properly and somehow managed to hold onto the position. Then there was Minsterdale and Sheahill, represented by Oswald Thompson and Elliot Rhodes respectively.
Bayfield had become a fairly large part of the empire. This eastern city didn’t quite rival Cultwick in terms of population or size, but it had become a major producer of various goods, particularly quality textiles. The city had even gained recognition in regards to the education system they had set up there. Students traveling from Cultwick to Bayfield for further education had become less and less uncommon in recent years. Minsterdale on the other hand was a small fishing community that was reaped similarly to the farming villages, while Sheahill generally consisted of hunters and trappers that produced furs and meat. These two settlements had never truly recovered or advanced from the war that had eventually created the empire in the first place.
Lastly, there were four additional cities to the south, Glenstrom, Heathmoore, Syrion, and Yanthorp. These had been the cities with which Cultwick had battled to gain supremacy over the region. The other cities largely posed no real threat at the time and were simply swallowed in the confusion. These cities had also been the most tightly governed following the empire’s establishment, fearing that they would eventually try to rise up and break free from their bonds. Each city had a large military fort built to hold the Cultwick Corps troops that were deployed there. They were still large, sprawling cities, but under the constant thumb of the empire’s oppression, their population had never swelled. Each had fallen somewhat into a state of disrepair over the years, becoming grittier and dirtier than even the grime-filled capital. After generations of constant oppression, the cities had finally been let up on slightly. During her last few years as empress, Mary Elizabeth had stopped meddling in the affairs of who was selected as their mayors. Now, their people dutifully selected them all. From Glenstrom, there was Artemis Warren, in Heathmoore was Theodore Land, governing Syrion was Laszlo Bolan, and for Yanthorp was Kristen McCullough. Glenstrom was the city of greatest note. The original source of chromite in the region, it had served as the birthplace of chromesmithing, though it now was nothing compared to what it had once been or could have been.
At the center of all these cities was the heart of the empire, Cultwick itself. Though the capital certainly had a mayor, the position was largely honorary and in title only, as the rule was typically left to the empress and her council. For years, Phoebe Robins had served in the position. A close friend of Mary Elizabeth, Phoebe had ridden the coattails of the Arkmast’s as long as Viola had known her. Phoebe had contributed nothing of value, as far as Viola was concerned, and there would be no reason to keep her on past the next election.
Viola was eager to get through the ceremony, as the wound in her hand was growing ever worse and more painful. She was careful to ensure that the bandages were concealed by the stocking over her arm, as it would have raised far too many questions if she had allowed people to see her injured. She had a plan to mend herself, and despite being risky, she knew it could work, though it was still out of her reach for the time being.
One by one, each of the mayors was called to the center of the stage, joining Viola, where they would bow to her and recite the age-old oath of loyalty to their new empress and the empire itself. Time seemed to drag on as they proceeded, and when Phoebe, the last of the mayors, took the vows, Viola was exhausted with the process. After Phoebe finished and returned to her seat, Viola was expected to make a speech of her own. She was to address the people of her empire, and tell them what they might expect from her.
She approached the podium that was connected to a microphone broadcasting her message through the city. “The night the Carrier Plague ended. I made proclamations that are no less true now than they were when I made them. Some, I have even begun to work on in earnest. The lottery, which I promised to dismantle, has already been shut down. No longer will my people be used as experiments in the name of science.” An audible cheer from the crowd looking on.
“The Church of Biosynthesis’ tenants will not be used as a driving force in my rule. That was my mother’s religion; it is not mine. In the empire I seek to rebuild, your religious choices will be your own. There will be no beneficial treatment nor any negative consequences to choosing a specific dogma.” Another cheer. She had known for some time that many people practiced other religions, but out of fear of violent reprisal from the government that had focused on biosynthesis, they kept it to themselves.
“And I told you that I would end slavery in our home. I have done so. When my mother was empress, there were many slaves working within the Sovereign Temple. Now, all have been freed. Those that have stayed on to work in our capital building are being paid for their efforts. In the west, any such slavery has also been abolished, but it may take time for law enforcement to catch up to this new edict. For far too long, we have used the people from the island nation of Targeaux as merely a source of slave labor. Their people will no longer be treated like cattle. I have extended their people an invitation to join our empire, not out of any desire to control them, but rather to protect their way of life. The same can be said for the cities in Ankalara. In the coming days, I will be giving control back to their people so that they can govern themselves. Their lands will still be part of the Cultwick Empire, but they will not be subservient to our demands here.
“Above all, my goal is to improve the quality of life within the empire. I want to promote peace, prosperity, and personal freedoms. These are my vows to you, the people.”
Chapter 8. Alice’s Orders
Days of waiting in that hospital room had only served to fuel Alice’s desire to get out there and do something about what she had been hearing of the changes in the empire. Her empress, Mary Elizabeth, had been taken by the Carrier Plague and was replaced by her young daughter, Viola. The woman had grown up outside the teaching of the Church of Biosynthesis, and she was proving herself simply unfit to lead the empire. Her talk of separating from the church was a step too far. Alice knew that there had to be a way to remove her from power, and get things back on the right path.
During her time in the private hospital, the doctors and surgeons had attempted to get her body back into a functioning state. To her own observations, the only thing that had truly made any headway was the Hart Serum that Crowley had given her and allowed her to regain consciousness. Ever since her injection, Alice had feared that the effects would wear off again, and she would begin to fall apart once more. If she were to have any hope of a life worth living, she would need to get her hands on more
of the Hart Serum. As far as she was aware though, Crowley was the only one who seemed to have access to it. The other doctors were unable to acquire any for the operative, relying on more conventional methods for her treatment.
Despite their efforts to help her, her condition was not improving like she would’ve liked. She needed to be out there. In the city. Working to fix the church. To find god’s path for her. He allowed her to return for a reason. She would not rest until his work had been finished. The more she heard of her new empress, the more she suspected that Viola would have a role to play in his plans. The empress had quickly proven herself an enemy of the Church of Biosynthesis, but empress or not, Alice would not let her stand in the way of the faith. Correcting the state of the empire would not be easy, and it would not be without its costs, but there was a natural order to things. Viola could not be allowed to break it.
Just sitting there was too much to bear. She had to start her work. Alice removed the tubes leading into her arms, tossing them aside. Swinging her legs to the side of the bed, she attempted to stand. Her limbs felt heavy and standing caused her eyes to only see in tunnel vision. To keep from stumbling, she grabbed the post at the foot of the bed. The operative took several breaths and then walked toward the door. She was forced to steady herself against the wall next to the exit and take a momentary pause. Clearly, her body was not yet up to her previous standards. While she recuperated from her short journey, the door beside her swung open. There stood the physically imposing councilor, Desmond Crowley, once again.
“Going somewhere, Operative Page?” he asked simply.
He walked into the room holding a small black bag in one hand. Behind him was a young attendant that carried with her a dress. Alice instantly recognized it as one of her own. Draped from a metal hanger was the long, pink garment with a wide skirt and black midsection that stretched from the waist to just below the chest. Also on the hanger was a black, fur shawl that she had frequently worn in the colder season. In the attendant’s other hand was a pair of black, thick-heeled boots.
“I have… work to do… sir,” she eventually replied through labored breaths.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Crowley said. He gestured to the attendant to leave the clothes on the bed. She did so, and then the councilor similarly instructed her to exit the room. He placed the black bag on the bed as well and continued, “I have an assignment for you, but it seems you are not yet well again.”
“I’m fine,” she disputed. Even as the words left her mouth, they felt hollow and false.
“I think not,” he said. “Though I have the means to correct that. The Hart Serum.” He unzipped the bag and pulled it open, revealing a series of vials strapped into a black, leather band. He removed them from the bag, laying the belt out on the bed atop the dress. They looked to her not unlike a band of bullets strapped into some of the chromesmithing guns maintained by the corps. “A gift for you.” Pulling a glassless syringe from the bag, he slid one of the vials into it and handed the liquid to Alice.
“It looks different than I remember,” she said, taking the syringe. She was right. The serum she had once injected into her own veins had been a crimson red color. The liquid contained within the glass she held was instead a purplish hue.
“That’s because it is a purer strain,” Crowley explained. “I had to make a few modifications to Hart’s design in her absence.”
“Is it safe?” Alice asked.
“Has that ever stopped you before?” the councilor asked with a raised eyebrow. “The operative I remember took any advantage she was offered. Has death weakened you? I’m not sure you’re the agent I need if so.”
Alice knew that he was right. She had always been willing to augment her own body if it could mean advancing her causes. Surely, this was a gift from god. She would not turn it down in such crucial times. Flipping the syringe around in her hand, she parted the bottom of her hospital gown, exposing the skin of her thigh. She injected the needle deep into her skin and pressed down on the plunger. The serum was warmer than it had previously been, but it did feel stronger too. Crowley’s variation on the concoction quickly allowed her to catch her breath, and the heaviness in her limbs vanished. Alice stepped away from the wall, allowing herself to stand on her own. She was restored. Stronger. Better.
“Well?” Crowley asked. “How does it feel?”
“Powerful,” she answered, clenching her hand into a fist.
“Excellent,” he said. “Then I have a mission for you. Get dressed and meet me in my office. We have much to discuss.” The councilor then left without waiting for a response from Alice.
Feeling revitalized, Alice approached the foot of the bed and held up the series of serum vials in the belt-like strap. She ejected the empty vial, tossing it into a nearby trash bin and hooked the unloaded syringe through an unused hoop. Placing that aside, she removed the hospital gown and prepared to dress in the clothing Crowley had brought her. Instead, she decided that it was finally time to examine what the doctors had been able to piece back together.
Alice walked to the adjoining bathroom and peered into the mirror, trying to find herself in the reflection. Her formerly blue eyes were dead and white, a scar ran across one side of her face, and her platinum blonde hair fell scattered to her shoulders. She traced a finger across the large scar that ran from the left side of her mouth nearly to her ear, giving her the appearance of a half-smile, as she stared into the unfamiliar reflection peering back at her. Then there was what remained of her horribly disfigured body. She wondered how many pieces that train had severed her into and how much work, the scientists had spent to piece back together her inanimate body, because the scarring where the stitches had once been ran the course of her entire body. The clover tattoo patch of skin that she’d taken from Erynn during her interrogation and later stitched into her own flesh was missing, presumably gone forever. In addition to the scars running the course of her body, entire chunks of her flesh and muscle were missing, leaving indents where there should be none and misshapen contours of her form.
A straight razor had been left in the cabinet beside the mirror. She picked it up, flipping the blade out. Alice traced the blade along her finger and watched as the blood dripped out. The liquid was warm, but she hardly even felt the pain. She could barely feel anything. Staring at her arm, her eyes traced the blue veins down her pale white skin. The prospect of death didn’t seem so unappealing after seeing what had happened to the empire she loved. Everything had changed. Viola was going to destroy everything that Mary Elizabeth and her predecessors had built. Curiosity struck her. Alice placed the tip of the blade to her wrist. Digging it in, she tore back the razor, stripping the flesh from her arm. She pulled it all the way from her wrist to the nook of her elbow, as warm blood spilled out over her skin.
The injury wouldn’t last, however. The serum in her veins set to work repairing her ripped flesh. The skin stitched itself back together. Maybe she couldn’t die even if she wanted to. Maybe that’s what god wanted for her.
After rinsing the blood from the razor and from her arms, Alice instead began slicing at what remained of her hair. Holding out long strands, she hacked at them, allowing what was cut to fall to the ground. By the time she was satisfied, her feet were covered in the remnants of her once long platinum blonde hair. Turning on the faucet, she washed her hands clean of the scraps of hair and then ran her fingers through what was left on her head. Her short hair was left somewhat spiky, uneven, and chaotic. The style was wilder than she’d previously kept it and looked more like how she felt. Using a towel, she wiped the fallen hair from her shoulders, back, and midsection before returning to the other room.
Her hair in order, Alice walked to the bed and slipped into the dress. Under the separate black midsection of the body, she strapped the series of serums concealing it from sight. Sitting in a small chair at the corner of the room, she lifted up the hem of her skirt, worked her feet into her black boots, and laced them up. Standing upright,
she allowed the frills of the skirt to fall back down and cover the boots. Lastly, she grabbed the black shawl and swung it over her bare shoulders. Feeling more like herself in her own clothes, Alice was ready to meet with Crowley to discuss the job he had lined up for her.
Leaving the small hospital room, the operative checked herself out of the private medical center. She walked through its halls, finding the central elevators and made her way to the twentieth floor, where Crowley’s office was located. The lift moved clunkily upwards through the darkened shaft, until she arrived at her destination. Pulling back on the lever, she forced the pair of doors to part and allowed her to pass through. Closing the doors back with another lever on the outside, Alice continued through the dimly lit halls of the council’s floor.
Having been on the floor many times, the operative knew her way around. Reporting to the council was one of the duties required of her, and they frequently gave orders that superseded those delivered by the head of the Reclamation Bureau. Her last report had been regarding the heretic, Erynn Clover, and recovering her after her escape from the Center for Empirical Research.
Crowley had warned her against failing him and the empress before she left. Alice felt as though that was exactly what happened though. Due to her failure to retrieve a simple chromesmith, Mary Elizabeth had died, and truths of the empire’s actions regarding the Sweeper Bot Plague were made public. Councilor Crowley had not earned a reputation of forgiveness, and so the operative was naturally curious as to why he would so openly assist her. Alice had already been informed of what happened to her former partner, Edwin Hollow, when he returned to Cultwick, that his neck had been snapped by the councilor himself. Why was she special? Why had she avoided his wrath? Arriving at the councilor’s office, she hoped to uncover more. She rapped her knuckles against the hard wood of his door and waited for a response from within.
