Iron Seas 03 - Riveted

I?”
    “Of course.”
    He sensed her touch there, too—the warm slide of her skin over steel, the soft pressure of her palm against his. She gasped softly when he interlaced his fingers with hers.
    “It’s so marvelous,” she breathed. “Can you feel anything?”
    “Temperature, pressure, some textures.” All dull, compared to his other hand, yet a miracle that he could feel anything at all. “It’s not the same. The sensation is clear, but less intense. Muffled.”
    “I have always wondered. None of the crew is infected, and although we have had a few passengers, I could never ask. But Iwondered what they felt, and if it was the same for you. And your legs, too? Oh, but you are so tall. Would you have been so tall?”
    “The Blacksmith took measurements and compared them to men of similar size,” he said. “Perhaps I might have been an inch shorter or taller, but this is near to my natural height.”
    “And both your father and mother were tall. Your mother in particular. I always felt quite the little girl next to her.” With a sigh, she squeezed his hand. “Well, let us sit. There’s a biscuit left, if you’d like to have it, though we’ll eat dinner within the hour. I’ve drank all the coffee, but I can put on more. Or, I have a lovely bottle of—Oh, where is it?”
    David pulled out a chair, that sense of familiarity descending again as she began opening cupboards at random, muttering as she searched. Dinner notwithstanding, he helped himself to the biscuit, a sugary confection that crumbled down the front of his jacket. He hastily brushed the wool clean before she turned around.
    Yes, some things never changed.
    “Here we are! On your left, those glasses on the shelf? Ah, yes.” Lucia grinned as he set the two goblets on the table. “I know nothing of good wine, but after I lanced a boil that was giving one of our passengers—a French count, no less—horrible fits every time he tightened his corset, Captain Vashon gave this to me. It must be worth something; for months, our chief engineer sent envious glares and made hints to share it. Oh, it’s quite dusty, isn’t it? I should find a rag—”
    “We don’t plan to lick the bottle,” David said.
    “No, we don’t.” She poured the deep burgundy liquid almost to the rim. “We shall see how distinguished our palates are.”
    Not very. David rolled the wine around on his tongue, and wished he had another biscuit, instead. Pure sugar would have been less sweet.
    “Oh, my.” Lucia set her glass aside. “I should find a funnel and pour it back in before giving it to the chief. If I don’t tell Leroux, he will enjoy it just as well. And you?”
    “He can have mine, too.”
    “It’s a pity. Oh, but—I have heard, David, that the infected are more susceptible to drink. Will you be all right?”
    “Some are more susceptible than others. I need more than one sip for it to affect me…but I also save money in the taverns.”
    She smiled at him, resting her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her palms. “It is simply all so incredible. You heal more quickly, is that true?” At his nod, she wondered, “Did it heal your eye, then?”
    “No. That damage is permanent.” Just as the nanoagents couldn’t regrow his arm or his legs or erase his scars, the bugs couldn’t repair an eye that had been mutilated years before the infection. “But where I could only see light and dark on that side, the nanoagents use different lenses and focus for me. There is a bulging lens behind the shield, in fact. I use it like a microscope.”
    “And your hand is so intricate, like an anatomical sculpture. Is it better than the hook?”
    No question of that. “Yes.”
    “And worth selling your father’s shop to pay for them?”
    That wasn’t so easy to answer. David hadn’t just sold the velocipedal shop and the house where he and his father had lived in the years following the Inoka Mountain disaster; by infecting himself, he’d also made it impossible to ever live among his father’s people. There were days when David was absolutely sure he’d done the right thing—and he thought that Lucia hoped this was one of those days. But the unequivocal “yes” wouldn’t come.
    “Oh, David.” Her voice gentled. “Was there anything for you in that town?”
    That was easier to answer. “No.”
    No job. He couldn’t have continued his father’s work. No status, no future, and no desire to stay.
    “Then you’ve done what your