The Dragon Man - Brian Stableford [68]
Sara watched the Dragon Man’s face very carefully. It had grown familiar by now. In spite of the seeming thinness and hardness of the natural flesh sandwiched between the smartsuit and the skull, the face no longer seemed in the slightest degree unhuman.
There was nothing really new in what the Dragon Man was telling her; she had heard it all from her parents as well as her teachers—but this time, it was coming from the source, from someone who had actually lived through it. Whether Frank Warburton had ever met her biological parents or not, he was of their world; when he spoke for them, he spoke with proper authority.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. “About the face....”
“That’s not important,” she assured him.
“Yes it is,” He told her. “It’s ugly, and it doesn’t need to be. I could use my smartsuit to form a mask indistinguishable from a normal face: a handsome face. Nowadays, somatic engineering gives everyone the opportunity to have a handsome face...and everybody takes the opportunity, except me. There are people older than me, you know, even in Lancashire—but they hide their wrinkles and patches. I don’t, even though I know it scares people. I owe you an explanation, if not for scaring you that time in Old Manchester, for pretending just now that there’s nothing unusual about me at all.”
Sara shook her head. “I’m an apprentice junkie,” she said. “Maybe I’ll never be a real one, like Father Stephen, but I know what they’re doing. They’re Preservers of the Heritage of the Lost World. That’s what you’re doing—showing the world something lost. I understand.”
The Dragon Man stared at her, seeming even more uncomfortable than he had before. “It’s not just age,” he murmured. “I had a bad accident once...two of them, in fact. The synthetic flesh they used in those days...but you’re right. This isn’t necessary. You do understand. I’m sorry. Sometimes, I forget just how far the world’s evolved while I’ve been watching it go by...well, thanks for giving me the opportunity to ramble on at you. That shadowbat did me a huge favor—which will add a welcome hint of dramatic irony if it turns out to be one of mine. Let’s see, shall we?”
He got up from his own stool and leaned over the bath in which he’d put the rolled-up fabric bearing the secondary trace. He peered at the faint, blurred lines that had appeared in the gel. Then he moved to a desktop whose screen was displaying an image of the surface, and began playing with the keypad. He was only typing with the fingers of his right hand, because his left was gripping the edge of the desk, supporting him in his standing position. He had been moving freely enough when he took the imprints of the shadowbats and set up his equipment, but his body seemed to have stiffened upon while he was perched on the stool. Eventually, he straightened up again.
“Well,” he said, after yielding a slight sigh. “I always figured that it would be my fault. No surprise there. See this?”
Sara could indeed see the part of the screen at his finger was pointing, but what it was pointing at she had no idea. She nodded her head anyway.
“It was only a little tweak,” he said. “Strictly speaking, the client should have reduced the apparatus he’d already fitted to his suit before adding sublimates to the mix, but you know what teenagers are like—teenagers a few years older than you, that is. They’ve always wanted more gadgets than synthetic flesh will readily bear. You’re sensible enough