Read Online Arachnodactyl by Danny Knestaut - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Danny Knestaut
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bloody nod at me?”
“No, s—Cross.”
Cross lifted an eyebrow. “You lying to me?”
“No.”
“Good,” he said into his cup. “I’ll have none of that rubbish. Get to work, then.”
Ikey blinked at Cross. He hadn’t a clue what the man meant.
Cross shook his head. “Oh, bloody Nora.” He jabbed a finger at the wall of shelves before Ikey. “Over there. Find me two coils like those in the tank, but with a larger gauge. Were you paying attention that time?”
“Yes,” Ikey mumbled as he slid off the stool. He had managed an awful start, but at least Cross hadn’t struck him yet. His dad would have knocked him clear of the stool for drifting off.
After he rounded the table, Ikey scanned the shelves for coils. Locating them quickly might regain some ground. None laid in the open, so he sifted through the various boxes, filling the shack with a metallic tumble as he dug around. Once he worked his way up to the eye-level shelves, Ikey pulled back one of the boxes. Before he turned away to set it on the table, his attention snagged on a series of rods and a hinge joint pushed against the wall. It resembled a mechanical arm.
Ikey placed the box on the table as Cross busied himself with disassembling the array attached to the tank lid. Ikey slid several boxes aside until he revealed a mechanical hand back in the shadows.
Ikey glanced back at Cross, who poured himself another drink.
On his tiptoes, Ikey grasped the arm. He lifted it over the boxes and gasped as he brought it into the dwindling daylight. Compared to the utilitarian and purposeful arm sported by Smith, this arm was a work of art. Smith’s arm offered power and a full range of function to the one who wore it. To achieve it, the designer had piled into it all sorts of gears and escapements and no end of hardware; each piece giving one unit of function to the overall system. The complications that went into the arm made it powerful and capable, but at the cost of diminished elegance and extra weight.
The arm in Ikey’s hands was stripped to essentials. Graceful. Instead of a dizzying array of interacting parts to dole out the arm’s movement, simple bands of rubber and lengths of dense twine ran along the rods and wrapped around pulleys. The pulleys turned small, delicate chains or tiny, thin cogwheels that wound springs.
Ingenious. Ikey twanged one of the rubber bands and imagined an entire mechanical man. One in which the twine and rubber bands ran into a chest to be manipulated by other tension-based systems timed on counterweights. It was unlike anything Ikey had ever thought of before.
He wiggled his index finger and thumb between a rubber band and a rod of steel. There he pinched a length of twine and gave it a slight tug.
In Smith’s hand, the shifting gears and escapements resulted in a jerking, mechanical quality of motion. This hand—Cross’s mechanical hand—clenched in a smooth, fluid motion regulated by rubber bands manipulating hand-rods mounted in ball-and-socket joints lined with felt. The hand’s movement was indistinguishable from real, human movement as the fingers closed across the palm, and kept closing until their tips touched the wrist.
Ikey released the twine. The fingers resumed their previous position. He imagined rubber bands stretching under skin. Felt-lined hinge joints curled under the tug of counterweights and pulleys as the hand picked up a knife and began to slice a carrot.
It didn’t feel proper to place the arm back where no one could admire such work.
He turned around and presented the arm. “Did you make this?”
Cross glanced up from his work. “Does that look like a bloody coil to you?”
The arm sank a few inches.
“I…” Ikey began.
“Goddamn it, man! Didn’t Daughton pick you up to be useful or something?”
Ikey looked at the arm. The elegance and grace of it demonstrated a brilliance that both shamed Ikey and his uncle and buoyed him with inspiration. Why hide the arm at the
“No, s—Cross.”
Cross lifted an eyebrow. “You lying to me?”
“No.”
“Good,” he said into his cup. “I’ll have none of that rubbish. Get to work, then.”
Ikey blinked at Cross. He hadn’t a clue what the man meant.
Cross shook his head. “Oh, bloody Nora.” He jabbed a finger at the wall of shelves before Ikey. “Over there. Find me two coils like those in the tank, but with a larger gauge. Were you paying attention that time?”
“Yes,” Ikey mumbled as he slid off the stool. He had managed an awful start, but at least Cross hadn’t struck him yet. His dad would have knocked him clear of the stool for drifting off.
After he rounded the table, Ikey scanned the shelves for coils. Locating them quickly might regain some ground. None laid in the open, so he sifted through the various boxes, filling the shack with a metallic tumble as he dug around. Once he worked his way up to the eye-level shelves, Ikey pulled back one of the boxes. Before he turned away to set it on the table, his attention snagged on a series of rods and a hinge joint pushed against the wall. It resembled a mechanical arm.
Ikey placed the box on the table as Cross busied himself with disassembling the array attached to the tank lid. Ikey slid several boxes aside until he revealed a mechanical hand back in the shadows.
Ikey glanced back at Cross, who poured himself another drink.
On his tiptoes, Ikey grasped the arm. He lifted it over the boxes and gasped as he brought it into the dwindling daylight. Compared to the utilitarian and purposeful arm sported by Smith, this arm was a work of art. Smith’s arm offered power and a full range of function to the one who wore it. To achieve it, the designer had piled into it all sorts of gears and escapements and no end of hardware; each piece giving one unit of function to the overall system. The complications that went into the arm made it powerful and capable, but at the cost of diminished elegance and extra weight.
The arm in Ikey’s hands was stripped to essentials. Graceful. Instead of a dizzying array of interacting parts to dole out the arm’s movement, simple bands of rubber and lengths of dense twine ran along the rods and wrapped around pulleys. The pulleys turned small, delicate chains or tiny, thin cogwheels that wound springs.
Ingenious. Ikey twanged one of the rubber bands and imagined an entire mechanical man. One in which the twine and rubber bands ran into a chest to be manipulated by other tension-based systems timed on counterweights. It was unlike anything Ikey had ever thought of before.
He wiggled his index finger and thumb between a rubber band and a rod of steel. There he pinched a length of twine and gave it a slight tug.
In Smith’s hand, the shifting gears and escapements resulted in a jerking, mechanical quality of motion. This hand—Cross’s mechanical hand—clenched in a smooth, fluid motion regulated by rubber bands manipulating hand-rods mounted in ball-and-socket joints lined with felt. The hand’s movement was indistinguishable from real, human movement as the fingers closed across the palm, and kept closing until their tips touched the wrist.
Ikey released the twine. The fingers resumed their previous position. He imagined rubber bands stretching under skin. Felt-lined hinge joints curled under the tug of counterweights and pulleys as the hand picked up a knife and began to slice a carrot.
It didn’t feel proper to place the arm back where no one could admire such work.
He turned around and presented the arm. “Did you make this?”
Cross glanced up from his work. “Does that look like a bloody coil to you?”
The arm sank a few inches.
“I…” Ikey began.
“Goddamn it, man! Didn’t Daughton pick you up to be useful or something?”
Ikey looked at the arm. The elegance and grace of it demonstrated a brilliance that both shamed Ikey and his uncle and buoyed him with inspiration. Why hide the arm at the
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