“Some of this, if I use the right pins, and I do plan to, is going to tap into the patient’s self image. Some of this is necessary to make the connections feel natural, making the body feel intuitive, instead of like a fit of shoes that’re the right size but worn and stretched out to fit someone else’s subtly different foot.”

“I’ve been using tech that uses the same principle,” Sveta said, moving her arm.

“Good. That’s interesting, and promising.”

“If you were willing to let my companion do his thing—”

“No,” Victoria said.

“—he could unlock your missing memories and make that connection much stronger, bring your body closer to your actual self, that’s buried deep in your memories.”

“No,” Victoria said. “Effervescent can’t get a good read on Mr. Drowsing and it feels more like a bad idea.”

Sveta nodded. “Agreed. At least for now.”

“Okay. Just saying. I can also make edits. They’ll propagate through, depending on where the needle rests. Rewrite DNA, alter the design, encourage adding mass… this won’t be easy. I’m going to add mass and it’s going to look very wrong, even frightening, because of how far it deviates from who you are and what you want. Tearing down or replacing is a lot easier than building.”

“Okay,” Sveta answered.

“This will be ugly.”

⊙

“This whole thing is going to be ugly,” Weld said.

Sveta wanted to reply, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Not the way she should.

“Yeah,” was all she managed.

His bed was a collection of ripped up old tires that he’d set up in the back of the truck. He’d thrown around some pillows so that others could lie down if they wanted to, and as he undid the loops and bindings that held her close to him, she reached for the pillow. Being by his side and at his back was reassuring, and it was often distant, because even though she was touching him, reaching through him in places where her tendrils threaded into one part of his body and out of another, she didn’t face him. Now she hid, pulling the biggest, toughest pillow around, hugging it.

In the background, the chatter of the other Irregulars could be heard. Outside the truck, they talked and made late meals.

“Do you want the ball?” he asked, picking up the reinforced hamster ball.

“Not just yet? Is that okay?”

“Perfectly okay,” he said, easing down and lying across the bedding. His fingertips hit the side of the truck as he dropped his arm, producing a percussive bang.

“Do you want me to get lost?” she asked. “I’d understand if you wanted your room to yourself. We’ve got… thirty-seven Irregulars now. It’s a lot.”