Iron Seas 03 - Riveted

of woven short pants and boots.
    In the twenty years since David had last seen him, Paolo di Fiore had lost most of his dark hair. A faint brown tattoo wound from the top of his head to the nape of his neck, resembling the twisting figure of a branching tree.
    “Father!”
    Though he frowned, Paolo didn’t look up. He lifted the helmet to look inside the steel dome. Much like a diving helmet, David thought, except that it wasn’t brass. Lorenzo had mentioned a suit, too. David glanced up, saw it hanging on a metal frame that stood beside a glass chamber in the corner. Unlike a canvas diving suit, it appeared to be made from the same metal fabric used to make airtight envelopes for balloons and airships.
    He glanced back at Paolo as the man set the helmet into his lap again. Oh, good God. Pity roiled heavy and sick in his gut. Two short metal posts protruded from the top of his skull. At first glance, David had thought the posts belonged to something behind the man, but when Paolo had moved, he saw that they had been attached to his head. Screwed into the bone.
    Jesus. And so that wasn’t a tattoo, either, but a scar. He’d heardof such things—the electric shocks applied to the residents of insanitariums. But they’d always seemed too cruel to believe, more like the fear-driven rumors that often spread about the Horde.
    Lorenzo placed a coat over his father’s shoulders. Paolo gave an irritated shrug, looked up. “Eh? What is it?”
    “Your clothes, Father.”
    Paolo glanced down. His irritation smoothed into a laugh. “Ah, yes. I put on the æther suit, but I was so eager to make the adjustments, I forgot to dress again. Thank you, son.”
    Concern creased Lorenzo’s brow. “Where did you wear the suit?”
    Paolo pointed to the corner of the laboratory. The glass chamber, David realized. Sealed at the edges and taller than a man, it possessed a single small door. A pipe led into the back wall, originating from somewhere outside the laboratory. Dead mice lay on the floor.
    “I already tested the suit, Father.”
    “Yes, but until there is something else in that chamber to prove that the gas is inside, we can’t be certain it works. We can’t smell the gas. We can’t see it. We can’t know if it’s there unless something else perishes. It will be the same when the gas is æther, instead. And that is why I went in.”
    Lorenzo shook his head. “I made certain, Father. With better examples than mice.”
    Heimaey , David realized. He’d tested the suit on Heimaey.
    Hot rage pushed through his chest. Lorenzo met David’s gaze, a cold warning. David clenched his jaw.
    “Dogs are not better than mice,” Paolo muttered, buckling his coat.
    “They’re larger and they were out in the open, just as you will be. I wouldn’t risk your life, Father, by only testing on mice in that chamber. The gas is cold when it comes in from the balloon outside;it’s heavier. You could be breathing good air up top while the mice die below.”
    “That is why I lay on the floor while I was inside.” The older man stood, spotted David. His body stilled like a startled deer’s. He offered a faint, hesitant smile, then an uncertain glance at his son.
    “This is David Kentewess. Stone Kentewess’s son.”
    “Oh.” Friendly curiosity suffused his expression, but he walked almost sideways as he approached, as if keeping open the option to race the other way. “I see the scars. But Kentewess’s boy wouldn’t walk again.”
    “Show him your hand, Kentewess.”
    Pity competed with anger—but David had no interest in hurting this man. He held up his hand, spreading his fingers. “My legs, too.”
    But he’d be damned before putting the rest of himself on display.
    Paolo’s mouth opened on an O of wonder. “How marvelous it is,” he breathed softly. His gaze rose to David’s again. Deep lines settled in his face. “But I’m so very sorry for it.”
    “He has no hard feelings, Father.”
    “It’s true,” David confirmed. He felt them for the son instead. “We are well met.”
    “And he’s a vulcanologist. He has come to help.”
    Paolo’s eyes rounded, delight pushing his face into a smile. He suddenly started toward the drafting table, gesturing for him to follow. “Oh, come then! Has Lorenzo told you? I’ve calculated the amount of ice necessary to propel the capsule, the rate of melting and conversion to steam after it reaches the magma. But how do I trigger the eruption? I’ve thought to collapse