Iron Seas 03 - Riveted

himself as the person who loses.”
    Komlan nodded thoughtfully, sipping his drink. “Well, what of bringing in augmented buggers from England? We could put a man with a hammer against a man with spring legs, or a meat cleaver against a gaff-man. They’ll heal quickly, too. A man watching won’t see himself in them, won’t think of his pain and defeat the same way.”
    David unclenched his jaw. “I assure you, we do.”
    Both looked to him—di Fiore observing , Komlan frowning. “No need to be overly sensitive about it, son,” Komlan said. “Those Englishmen raised under the Horde think differently than you or I do. If they agree to fight, there’s no harm done.”
    Except that they would be asked to fight because they weren’t considered men. Because that difference made it easier to watch them draw each other’s blood.
    “Kentewess is right,” di Fiore said. “Men like him have had to fight harder than all of us, every day; so did those under the Horde. They’ve already felt enough pain, so why add more? It should be a lesson to the rest of us, to remember how our lives could be much more difficult. We need to be thankful for what we have—and we have these fighters.”
    Bludgeon all of that to hell. David didn’t want to be a hero, or a lesson. Just a goddamn man. People treating him like less or more than one made his life more difficult than losing his legs ever had.
    Cheers sounded again as the automaton fell. Beaten, broken inhalf, but easily repaired. David suspected that the two men at the table didn’t see him much differently.
    Annika did. And he would rather see her.
    He rose abruptly, gathered his coat. “I must take my leave. Thank you for the meal, and the conversation.”
    Di Fiore stood. “I hope we didn’t upset you? We didn’t mean to run you off.”
    “I’m not running.” But he didn’t see the sense of staying where he was. David fed that which made him happy, not angry. “I have plans to see a woman.”
    “Ah.” That fishhook smile appeared again. “I hope you have an answer for me.”
    David was waiting for an answer, too. Though he hoped to see Annika tonight, however, he wouldn’t ask her for it yet. “I must refuse. Your offer is generous, but I’m satisfied with my current situation.”
    “I urge you to reconsider. My father could use your help.”
    “I won’t change my mind.”
    Di Fiore nodded, held out his hand. “Until next time, then—when I’ll try harder to persuade you.”
    He could try all he liked. David took his leave, found Dooley drinking with a fisherman in the tap room. The older man took a single glance at his face. “So they got to you at the end?”
    “I’m done with it,” David said.
    “Go on, then. Svenson and I are trotting up to the next pub, where it’s a bit easier on the ears. I’ll see you when.”
    With a nod, David made his way outside. God, he could breathe again. A heavy clang sounded behind him. A mild tremor ran up his legs…and continued.
    That wasn’t the automatons.
    He rode through the minor quake, watching the houses, listening. Sheep bleated behind tall fences, but everything else remained quiet. Not strong enough to damage any of the buildings, thequake had either centered miles away, or hadn’t been that powerful to begin. Many of the townspeople likely hadn’t noticed it at all.
    David started off again. Two inches of snow had covered the street, making the going more treacherous now that he couldn’t spot the icy ruts as easily. Lamplight glowed in the windows of the houses, casting patches of gold over the white. Two women approached, each wearing thick coats with furred hoods, tapping through the snow ahead of their feet with wooden staffs, testing the ground. Heavy packs burdened their shoulders. He edged toward the right side of the street to give them more room.
    The first woman paused, staring at him through the dark. Damn it all. The last time he’d passed a woman on a darkened street, she’d screamed and run, and he’d spent the rest of the evening wavering between pissed off and guilty, in turns.
    His foul mood had just left him. Why this?
    “David Ingasson!”
    He stopped, shock rooting him in place. That accent. But she wasn’t Annika. His light-enhancing lens clicked into place, showed him a pale face and a silver nose beneath the shadow of a hood, and the softer version of that face a few steps ahead.
    Heart pounding, he found his voice. “Yes?”
    The older woman spoke. “You