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“On this very table young Coverly drafted the design. Not one for words—that was all the rest—he’d complete schematics de novo using just technical pen. Mostly inscrutable except to the engineers, but when eventually I made my way over, even I saw. The Hermit would go to space: chrome and circuits, clockwork for steam; still figuring, more than figurehead, critical to the ship. Exposed in the brightdark entropic cold, Arcadia’s Byron code mutated…recombined. By then, blueprint long gone, I back in my spot, who to ask? Was it planned, consolation? Not sex, but solace? Was it art?”