Deryn
Usually I wake quickly, my middie training letting me jerk into awareness as soon as I might be needed. But for some reason I can't do that. I feel like I'm swimming in darkness, struggling to surface an inch at a time, with everything trying to drag me down again, like a kraken's got its tentacles around me and is holding fast.
Sounds come back first, the low murmurs of indistinct voices. I force my eyes open, confused. Where am I? What's going on? Last I remember, I was on a Huxley, surveying incoming German planes. I should still be out there, doing my duty.
My vision clears. I see the hospital bay. Dr. Barlow and Alek are sitting next to me. Alek sees me watching him and smiles. "I think he's waking up."
Princes, I think. Always good for stating the barking obvious. I realize he's holding my hand, and want to focus all my mind on that, but other feelings are coming back. Painful feelings, centering on my left shoulder and side. I bite my lip, wondering where all the pain is coming from. Then I remember - a series of memories, motionless images like stills from a camera. Me in the Huxley. A new German weapon that spat fire. The hydrogen breather burning above me, the fire spreading. Looking down and realizing that my only choice is to jump. Falling, plummeting towards the Leviathan, my arm on fire, hoping against hope that the membrane is softer than it looks...
Oh. That explains the pain. I try to look over and survey the damage, but Dr. Barlow stops me, asking, "How are you feeling?"
"Barking awful," I grimace.
"Can you move your left arm?" the lady boffin asks.
"Sure." That's the hand Alek isn't holding. It's a bit odd, for a boy to hold the hand of who he must think is another boy, but I don't mind. I lift my arm easily, then make the mistake of looking over. A gasp of shock passes my lips.
"Dylan," Alek says urgently, "it's all right."
I don't listen to him. All that I can think is that I, Deryn Sharp, decorated member of the Royal Air Force, am part Clanker now.
They are never going to let me hear the end of this.
"We tried to make it as... normal as possible," Alek says, looking anxious.
I examine the mechanical arm, frowning. It moves like a normal arm, probably helped by the fabricated nerves that run its length and disappear into my shoulder. It's a strange mix of Clanker and Darwinist, like the Leviathan. Like me now. As
I look at it, I realize that surgery this intense would definitely require the removal of my uniform. Which means...
"You know, don't you?" I ask.
"Just me, Klopp, and Dr. Barlow," Alek replies. "And Count Volger, who seems to have known for a while."
"Aye, he's a clever boots." I don't ask what he thinks of this, what this means for the both of us. I know, eventually, Alek will have to leave our ship, enter a world of politics and intrigue where I cannot follow. But for now, he's still holding my hand. And that will have to be enough.