Twisted Metal Heart - Eve Langlais Page 0,9
want proof?” She grabbed hold of his shirt in her gloved hand, pulled him out of his seat, and held him up. Kept smiling as he gaped. “I know what I’m talking about because I have a bionic arm.” She dropped him, and he hit the chair hard.
She rolled back her sleeve to show him the gleaming beauty of her limb. It started at her elbow and ended in a hand with four fingers and an articulated thumb.
“May I?” he asked, reaching for it but not touching.
“I’ve had it for a while now,” she remarked, holding it out.
Fabricated by her father after the accident, and not a moment too soon, given her mother would have abandoned her to the Wasteland. Despite the fact it worked better than a bio hand, the metal limb only served as a reminder of the imperfection to her mother. All the long gloves in the city couldn’t entirely hide it. Nor a mother’s dislike of her daughter.
She held out her hand. No glove, not anymore. He ran his fingers over it.
He looked at her. “It’s cold.”
“It’s metal. What did you expect?”
He frowned. “Machines are warm to the touch. How does it work? Does it require charging or a battery?”
“The body provides it with all the energy it needs. It’s not a piece you take on and off like shoes or clothes. It’s a part of you.” She showed him the demarcation line where the flesh of her upper arm ended in metal, the two intricately wound. Tearing it free would result in traumatic damage.
“And the leg would work just as well?”
“They’ll function like a flesh limb if the bond takes.”
“If? What bond?”
“Giving you the parts is only part of the process. Your body can still reject it.”
“Meaning?” he asked with a frown.
“Meaning you have a slight chance it will work as well as mine.” Very slight chance. “At worst, it barely functions at all.”
“Any way of knowing ahead of time how my body will take to it?”
“Do you carry the Deviant gene at all?”
He shook his head.
“Then expect minimal function.” She wouldn’t raise his hopes. “You will be able to walk after a fashion, probably not run. Grab things with practice but not manage fine motor skills.”
“In other words, I’ll be a cripple.”
“You’ll be alive, and you’ll adapt.”
His jaw tightened. “Way to sell the process. How many times have you done this before?”
“A few.” She didn’t mention most were minor upgrades for those with specific gene markers.
He eyed her metal hand.
She showed off her excellent control of her bionics by lifting just her middle finger.
He arched a brow and snorted. “Guess I don’t have much of a choice. When do we try?”
“As soon as they’re ready.”
“Which is when?” he asked, his query terse.
She smirked. “When I say so.” She spun from the table and strode for the door.
“Thank you for not letting me die.”
A glance over her shoulder showed him eating, expression intent on the bowl, but she still smiled as she left.
Only to lose it when she went to visit Alfred.
He wheeled adeptly around the lab. The sleek machine that was his lower body could tilt him in any direction required. It also stored his tools, which was why he kept refusing bionic legs. He said the wheels were more suited to him.
Other clients also had a tendency of not always choosing the most exact replacements. The gladiators often opted for the wrist cuff that allowed them to change the attachment on the end. Some installed extenders in their legs to give them a longer, faster stride.
Because their parts were made by hand—Alfred’s precise hand to be exact—it took time to make limbs. Due to the lengthy process, they kept a select stable of clients and charged generously per job. The costs involved in maintaining the citadel ate into the profit, but at least they now saw the profit, unlike when she lived in the dome and was left with nothing after the queen took her share.
Alfred leaned over the workbench, protective goggles on, deft fingers sculpting the metal into the pieces required. A furnace in the wall provided all the heat he needed to melt the raw ore to pour into molds.
Hundreds of the dishes hung on the wall and from the ceiling. They kept each and every custom dish created. How he could tell some of them apart, she couldn’t have said, but she only had to mention a name and he could find all their molds and create replacements. He even