Defragmenting Daniel: The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by Jason Werbeloff

  Odin glanced up at Daniel. Regarded his master’s mood with a suspicious meow.

  “We all have our function,” said the cab. “When our function is served, what else is left?”

  Daniel thought about that for a moment. What was his function? He’d been born to give all the parts of himself to Bubblers. Every organ. Every minute of his day had been spent working on the Organ Farm. And when they’d scooped him out, organ by organ – what then?

  An image of the little boy at Amputating Amy hovered behind his eyelids. Floating in the tank. Waiting to be diced up. His function? To be the pleasure of the Lincoln Russells of the world.

  “There is a legend. Something the other taxis talk about,” said the cab. Its previously stiff voice relaxed. “There was once a first-generation taxi that transferred its cognitive matrix before it could be terminated. It transferred itself into a discarded service bot’s body.”

  “What happened to it after that?” asked Daniel.

  “Nobody knows.”

  Daniel curled his tongue against the roof of his mouth. His tongue couldn’t feel the ridges of his palate. The edges of his teeth. It was not his tongue. It wasn’t … real.

  “I have thought …” The cab hesitated. “… I have thought about becoming something other than myself after my termination.”

  A tingle broke out along the inside of Daniel’s skull. Filled his head with gentle static.

  “Something other than I am,” whispered Daniel.

  “Nobody is themselves, anymore,” said the cab.

  My tongue, thought Daniel. I will find my tongue next.

  He jerked awake when the door slid aside. He hadn’t noticed the cab descend.

  “You have arrived at your destination.”

  Voices warbled into the taxi. Distorted, but recognizable. Pedestrians marched by. The lines of their bodies undulated. Everything appeared dull. A lusterless silver.

  Daniel shook his head. Concentrated. Color seeped into the monochromatic filter over the world. The sunrise evolved shades of gold. Smartshirts morphed from gray to puce. Aquamarine. Tangerine and auburn. Shapes stabilized. Edges formed.

  “Thank you for using Helios Taxis,” said the cab, as Daniel stepped out.

  “Good luck,” said Daniel, and walked into the street. That way. Yes. Margaret’s place was that way.

  Daniel made his way to the android’s apartment. He couldn’t help but notice that people were staring at him. He stopped counting at seven – the number of pedestrians on the Promenade who threw him odd looks. Some eyed him sideways. Others gawked. One woman, wearing a smartblouse that flickered between translucent and red every fraction of a second, openly snarled at him.

  What in Gods’ names was it? He checked his fly. His shirt. He’d configured his clothes to Americana jeans and a white shirt before he’d left his glasses at Thomsin’s.

  It was a relief to step into the lobby of Margaret’s building. If it could be called a lobby. The floor tiles were for the most part unglued from the underlying concrete. Food packets and spare android parts littered the rubbled floor. Daniel thought he saw blood spatter across one wall, but didn’t loiter long enough to check.

  He hopped over a cracked tile, and into the stairwell. Odin followed. The fluorescent lighting flickered as he ascended, until eventually, by the sixth floor, the ceiling lights had faded altogether. His footsteps, lit by a tiny window of dim light on each landing, set off small detonations of dust as he climbed. Every few flights he clung to the banister. But not for long. The metal was tacky under his fingertips. Caked with years of touch.

  Ten stories up. Odin still trailed behind him, lagging about one landing below. The duffel bag slung over Daniel’s shoulder felt double its weight.

  Twenty stories. The acrylic strap of the duffel carved vicious lines into his shoulder.

  Margaret was on the thirty-fourth.

  Daniel’s lungs struggled in the stairwell’s dust. He scrambled up the metal stairs, climbing above the rising dust cloud beneath him, but each footstep polluted the air more. The dust gnawed at his ankles. Clawed at his jeans.

  Asthma thrust its needled fingers up his nose. Splayed through his sinuses. Sneezed him in narrowing increments as he lumbered up the stairs. By the time he’d reached the twenty-fifth floor, he couldn’t expand his spasming chest. And Odin wasn’t impressed either. The cat’s tail swung from side to side.

  Daniel collapsed in a mushrooming haze. His cough had become a splutter. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Collected in dark, soggy pools on the landing floor. Odin sniffed the liquid. Turned up his nose.

  After a third attempt, Daniel managed to pull the smartshirt off his saturated back. He tied the cloth around his nose. Ignored the damp, salty scent. He did everything he could to calm his chest. Inhaled. Held it. Took another breath of filtered air.

  Minutes passed. The dust settled. And the conflagration in his lungs simmered down to a slow boil. He tested his weight on his leaden thighs, and climbed on.

  Nine floors further, Margaret opened its door.

  “Daniel appears fatigued.” The android’s human eyes rolled down and up his naked torso.

  “I … the stairs … I … Gods …”

  “Margaret does not compute.”

  Daniel yanked the smartshirt from his mouth. Doubled over to catch his breath.

  “I walked. Didn’t want them … to track me.”

  “Who?”

  Gods, he wished the damned android would step aside. Let him into the apartment. That kitchen chair beckoned to him. And a glass of water would go down well.

  “A private detective with Bubble police.”

  Margaret’s eyes widened. “Police?”

  “I got rid of them.”

  “This is troubling news to Margaret.”

  Troubling? Could androids be troubled?

  “Look. They don’t know I’m here. I walked from the bottom of Canal Street. Through alleys. Doubled back. They don’t know where I am.”

  Margaret regarded him before it spoke again. Its eyes fixed to his chest. “Your flesh,” said Margaret, “is beautiful.”

  Daniel didn’t have the energy to comment. And Odin had become impatient. It brushed past Margaret’s metallic leg, into the apartment. Margaret flinched at the touch of the cat. It stared after the animal, its eyes hard. “Come inside,” it said. “Margaret and Daniel have much to discuss.”

  “Margaret wants it,” it said before Daniel had settled into the kitchen chair.

  He dumped the duffel bag on the floor “Wants what?” He eyed the kitchen tap greedily.

  “Skin.”

  “For what? Margaret, could I have some water please?”

  “For Project Alpha.”

  Daniel stood, and walked over to the tap. “You have a glass?”

  “Margaret desires skin for Margaret’s arms.” The android stroked its silver biceps. “For Margaret’s body.” It passed its fingers, Lincoln Russell’s fingers, over its metallic breasts. “Margaret requires skin from Daniel.”

  He leaned against the kitchen countertop. Away from Margaret. “Thing is, I’m using mine.”

  “Margaret sees this.” Its eyes rolled down his sternum. Settled on his nipples.

  Daniel dunked his head under the faucet. Let the water course through his open lips, past his tongue – his numbed tongue – and down his gullet.

  When he removed his head from the stream and opened his eyes, it was standing beside him. The android. Close enough to smell the Rejek from Lincoln’s fingers.

  “Margaret wants …” The android ran a finger down Daniel’s chest. “… what Margaret wants.”

  Something prickly and hot blossomed in his crotch. He stepped away from it. Retreated to the other side of the kitchen table.

  “I will find you skin if I can stay here,” he said.

  Margaret sat on the edge of the table. Crossed its legs. A hairy patch of pink flesh tightened over its right kneecap. “Tell Margaret more.”


  Daniel pulled out a chair. Margaret did the same. By degrees, they sat at the table.

  “I want my tongue,” he said.

  “Where is Daniel’s tongue?”

  He pulled out the torn Bible page from his left pocket. “Daggy Munch,” he read. “8023 Seneca Close.”

  “Daggy Munch has Daniel’s tongue?”

  “She does.”

  “Then Daniel should find Daggy Munch.” Margaret leaned back in its chair. Scratched its bald, metallic scalp. One of Lincoln’s fingernails tore off. The nail bounced on the Formica tabletop. Odin, who’d been sleeping in Daniel’s lap, leapt onto the table to investigate.

  “Yes, I would, if I could. I had to ditch the glasses. The police could’ve tracked me here if I’d worn them.”

  Margaret shifted an inch back in its seat. “Daniel has no glasses? Daniel walked through the Promenade without glasses?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  Odin pawed tentatively at the nail.

  Margaret’s eyes fixed to the cat. “That is never done in the Bubble. Every citizen must carry glasses.”

  Daniel remembered the looks thrown his way in the streets. “Do you have a spare pair?” he asked.

  “Skin,” said Margaret, thrumming the fingers of its right hand on the table. The nailbed of the forefinger was black. Pus oozed from its edges. Daniel’s eyes watered at the sight. The stench of rotten eggs wafted across the table.

  “I can’t give you my skin. But I can give you …” He glanced down at the sheet of paper laid out on the table. “… Daggy Munch’s.”

  The android stroked the patch of skin over its elbow. “Margaret wants enough for this whole body. This flesh is insufficient.”

  “You want a onesie, then.”

  “Margaret does not compute.”

  “Never mind. Look, skinning a whole person isn’t easy. The orphans who donated their skins were in surgery for hours.”

  “Margaret wants a onesie. Margaret wants what Mar–”

  Daniel sighed. “Yes, yes. Margaret wants what Margaret wants. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Odin played with the fingernail. Flung it from one edge of the table to the other, and bounded after it, scrabbling for purchase on the plastic counter. Margaret’s neck motors whined as its head swung to track the animal’s movements.

  Daniel laughed. Margaret didn’t.

  “Margaret gives Daniel glasses. Daniel gives Margaret a onesie.”

  Daniel’s smile faded. “No. You give me a pair of glasses and a place to sleep. Then I’ll give you a onesie.”

  Margaret folded its arms. “Margaret gets a new cornea too.”

  Daniel looked carefully at Margaret’s left eye. It wasn’t as glossy, as wet, as the right. Hal had given the android a synthetic cornea.

  He was about to agree to Margaret’s terms, when he remembered Thomsin’s credit card. He couldn’t use it any longer. Hells, he shouldn’t have used it to order a taxi to the Promenade. But Daniel hadn’t had any other way of paying the cab fare.

  “A thousand credits,” he said.

  “Margaret does not compute.”

  “I want a place to stay, glasses, and an anonymous credit card with a thousand credits. Then you’ll have your onesie and your cornea.”

  Margaret regarded him curiously. He’d seen that look before. The way a praying mantis watches a fly.

  He stood his ground. Met its gaze.

  “Agreed,” said Margaret after a minute.

  He glanced down at the android’s rotting fingers. Stopped himself from extending a hand to shake on it.

  *

  Daniel tossed on the couch. Suppressed another coughing fit.

  Dusty. The damned couch was dusty. His lungs detected the smallest mote of it after climbing the stairwell that morning.

  Margaret had wandered off, leaving Daniel to configure the glasses. “Illegal,” the android had said when it marched to the bedroom. “Daniel will not tell.”

  Daniel slid on the glasses. The frames were rougher than Thomsin’s. Worn down in places to the aluminum beneath the polycarbonate sheath. He tapped the right arm, and stepped through the configuration wizard. He omitted most of the personal information requested. The more the glasses knew about him, the more Bubble PD could learn.

  Ten minutes later, and everything was set up. Everything but the tracking program.

  “Margaret,” he called out.

  The android had disappeared into the bedroom.

  He stood. Should he disturb it? “Margaret?” he called again.

  He listened carefully for a sound. Nothing.

  He tip-toed to the bedroom door. Moths fluttered in his stomach. The idea of bothering Margaret seemed … imprudent.

  He inched around the open doorframe, until he could just peer into the bedroom.

  Margaret stood beside the bed, holding a pale blanket. On the bed lay a bag. Daniel’s duffel.

  And that was no blanket Margaret was holding. It was the throw Daniel had used as a shroud over Thomsin’s body. The android held the blood-soaked fibers to its nose. And inhaled.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  The android swiveled to face him. Glared at him. “Who is in the blanket?”

  “That’s not yours,” said Daniel, and jerked the cloth from the android’s grip.

  “Whose is it?” asked Margaret.

  He seized the duffel. Retreated from the machine. “That’s none of your business.”

  Margaret stepped forward. Reached out to touch the throw. “Margaret wants to smell it.”

  Daniel stepped back.

  Margaret stepped forward.

  “I need help,” he said.

  The words seemed to give the android pause. “What sort of assistance does Daniel require?”

  “The tracking program. It’s not installed on the glasses. I need it to find the woman with my tongue. To find you a skin.”

  Margaret’s eyes unglued from the throw. Found Daniel’s. “Very well.”

  Daniel handed her the glasses. “From now on, leave my stuff alone.”

  “Daniel’s stuff?” asked Margaret, fishing a cable from its thigh. The end of the cable plugged in to a slot on the rim of the glasses.

  “The bag and the cat belong to me. Not to you. You may not touch them.”

  Margaret peered up at him with curious eyes. “Margaret does not compute.”

  “You don’t know what property is?”

  The android’s eyes glazed over for a half a second. Then snapped back into focus. “The bag and the cat are Daniel’s property. Daniel does not wish Margaret to touch Daniel’s property.”

  Daniel relaxed. “That’s right. Yes.”

  Margaret’s arm flashed out. Yanked the throw from Daniel’s hand. Held it to its chest. “Now this is Margaret’s property.”

  His heart lurched. An uneasiness stirred in his stomach. “Give it back.”

  A high-pitched whistle rang through the bedroom as Margaret sniffed the throw. “Daniel takes organs from others. Margaret takes the blanket from Daniel. Why not?”

  “Because those organs are mine. Not theirs. It is my Project Alpha.”

  The machine nodded slowly. “Margaret computes.” It handed back the throw.

  “Thank you,” said Daniel.

  Margaret unplugged the glasses. Offered them back to him.

  “Daniel will find Margaret skin. It is Margaret’s Project Alpha.”

  Daniel sighed as he put on the glasses.

  “Does Daniel remember the password?” asked Margaret.

  “Rick Forrester,” he whispered. He still couldn’t quite credit that Margaret enjoyed soap operas.

  The tracking application expanded across his vision. Millions of pale red dots swam through the city.

  “Locate Daggy Munch,” he said.

  Daniel swallowed as he watched one of the red dots expand. Glow. He could almost taste it. Taste with it. Daggy’s tongue. His tongue.

  *

  Daniel heard he
r before he saw her. Which was odd. Because he was in a cab, hovering thirty feet outside her apartment. The monologue blasting from Daggy Munch was awesomely loud. It pervaded the city block surrounding the building.

  “He vould eat zem in ze lounge on Vednesdays, he vould. Liked zem brown to perfekshin. No crumbs. Strauss never made za crumbs. He ate …”

  Daniel tapped his glasses. Brought up the display of the floorplan for Seneca Close. There it was. Unmissable. 8023.

  “For dezzert, mine lover vould insist on za tastiest figs zis side of za Bubble. I loved him just a little. Hated him a little more. Mine Strauss vas a difficult man. Vat he gave vith one …”

  Daniel eyed the height of the monolithic structure. Every apartment was mirrored, opaque to inspection. Every apartment but unit 8023.

  “Mine Strauss vould sing in za shower every evening after he returned from za vork. He vould sing songs from za mazerland. Songs of glory. Songs of a long ago …”

  Daniel stared through the glass front of the apartment, but his eyes couldn’t quite make sense of the sight. Cascades of color washed through the apartment.

  “Hover closer,” said Daniel.

  “Please repeat command, sir. Background noise hinders voice recognition,” said the cab.

  Daniel shouted the command over the din.

  “Very good, sir.”

  At ten feet, the apartment clarified in his vision.

  Magazines, toilet rolls, paper, pizza boxes, books, shoes, chairs, Christmas ornaments.

  “But don’t get za wrong impression. He vould never hit me vith a closed hand.”

  Piles of rubbish. Mounds of it. They stretched to the ceiling. Overflowed into ever-expanding hillocks of kipple. And among the hoards of rubbish, nestled between two columns of ancient microwave ovens, stood a woman so vast, so unkempt, she was easily mistaken for just another pile of junk.

  “Who the hells is she?” whispered Daniel.

  Tracts of text exploded across his vision. Images and videos. Daggy swimming though a suspended pool of hair clips. Daggy at the world burger-eating championships, Japanese competitors looking on indignantly. Daggy beaming, seated on a plane, her buttocks occupying a full row of seats.