World Creation Part 3: Oh oh, it’s technology, you know…

This is the third post of the World Creation series. In case you’re looking for the bathroom, go to the first post in the series, take a right, then continue down the second post in the series until you hit the large potted plant.

Last week, on World Creation, I pledged to get my fingernails dirty taking a closer look at our little magnum opus. Today, I follow through on my promise, thus vanquishing the precedent set by the amusing little nuclear device code incident a few years ago (for the record, the FBI was a good sport about it).

First, since it features fairly heavily in the flavor of the period, let’s take a look at the technology.

I envision this world containing what I call Magical Technology. This doesn’t literally mean that magic and technology have been fused into some sort of freakish hybrid, such as in the Eberron setting. Instead, it means that technology is presented as being, within reason, able to do things that it probably shouldn’t be able to do. For example: clockwork robots.

The important thing when using this kind of exaggerated tech is to always make it seem fairly plausible, given the basic assumptions the reader takes into the setting. By this, I mean that the technology, while being fanciful and exaggerated, appears to at least have some sort of very basic connection to the laws of physics as we know them. Robots that have memories store these memories somehow, flying machines have some very visible and proportionally powerful means of propulsion, everything runs on some sort of power source that looks basically sustainable.

Why is this important? In the first post, I talk about why technology can invoke more wonder than magic if done properly. Essential to this provocation of amazement is the sense that not only is something unbelievable happening, we can sort of see how it’s happening—instead of vague swirls of energy, we can see gears, steam, and springs, all working together to visibly produce some end. If this process appears vague or implausible, then one might as well be using magic—all one sees is cryptic, opaque nonsense somehow producing a result.

With these ideas in mind, let’s take a look at how tech should function in the world.

Freewrite Brainstorm Minddump Mode: ON.

It’s called steampunk for a reason—in this type of setting, steam power is king. Typically, steam power is produced by heating wood and coal, which would help emphasize the need for the two resources in this economic landscape. Remember how this world is united by sharing resources? When missing a coal shipment means life as you know it stops, sharing the wealth is suddenly important, now isn’t it? Also, now that I think of it, it gives a good reason for the technologist government to take power—by uniting the cities under one banner, it can centralize the resources necessary for it to continue creating and inventing.

Despite its costliness in terms of resources, technology should pervade the world. Cities would be largely made of stone, a common enough resource, but gadgets and artifices of metal would pervade the cities. Fountains, clocktowers, water dispensers, monorails, etc. Perhaps, to reinforce the theme of centralization, each device would be connected by tubes, pistons, etc. to a central power source, a great boiler somewhere in the city where the fires are always lit. This is an appealing aesthetic decision—envision cities of grey stone, almost gothic, with black and gold metal webs stretched across, pipes running across rooftops, to fuel a great elevator, half-submerged gear systems rising up to power an animated statue. At night, the whole tableau would be painted with dull reds and oranges, illuminated by the great fires visible from the windows to the Boiler Chamber.

Transportation, both of resources and people, should be done by airship. Makes sense—honestly, airships would probably be more common today if it weren’t for a few tiny hiccups early on (Hindenburg? Never heard of it).

Communication: now there’s an important question. When you think about it, communication is one of the driving forces in any society. The ability to relay information, requests, and orders quickly can quickly decide the fate of even the greatest of civilizations. It may be hard for the average person to comprehend, but the bloody Battle of New Orleans, probably the most famous of the War of 1812, was fought some time after the war had ended—the troops just didn’t hear about it in time to stop the offensive.

So how well (that is to say, how quickly) does the government, who I really need to come up with a name for already, communicate with itself?

The answer, I’ve decided, is that it relies on telegraphs. This allows messages to be conveyed with relative speed, but still is dependent somewhat on land lines and is prone to occasional malfunction. Also, it is imperfect—not quite as useful as a telephone, in most ways, and difficult to hold a direct conversation with. The end result is a system that can allow the government to plausibly communicate efficiently while still being occasionally subject to failure, at the whim of the storyteller.

Weapons. For the standard fare (weapons of soldiers and guards), I’d just use World War I-era weaponry, more or less unadulterated. This is gear that is just advanced enough to be recognizably lethal, while still retaining a little bit of old-fashioned flavor. Also, World War I was where the interesting (read: horrifying) stuff came to the forefront: aerial combat, blind shelling, gas weaponry, flamethrowers, machine guns, etc.

I’m going to go ahead and resist the inclination to use giant mechanical exoskeletons in combat. Sure, they’re awesome. Unfortunately, they are also awesomely impractical. The exoskeleton design has practically no advantage in man-to-man combat, and a whole lot of drawbacks including: limited power supply, difficult balance, extremely heavy with not much weight distribution (read: going to sink like a stone in any soil softer than, say, adamantium), it’s a massive loud walking bull’s-eye, and any strength enhancement is pretty much offset by lack of precision. At best, I can see them as mobile weapons platforms, a function better served by the average wheelbarrow.

Instead, I would see exoskeletons having a cultural, civilian application. Artificers who are skilled enough to create works of “high art” (read: magical technology) create massive, personalized walkers that are loaded with tools, blast shielding, and hydraulics for heavy lifting.

What, you didn’t think I was going to get rid of them completely, did you? It’s not steampunk without giant mecha.

Next week: we look at the cultural makeup, including the role of robots, religion, and…magic?