Defragmenting Daniel: The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by Jason Werbeloff

  “Why is Daniel smiling? Daniel doesn’t smile like that.”

  He leaned forward to reassure her. But his elbows and wrists touched down in a tacky liquid. He realized what it was. The entire tabletop was now hidden under a thin film of pus. Scratch marks scored the wooden surface. Margaret’s fingers were raw. He counted six nails missing.

  “The Stantons will be on in a few minutes. We need to get going.”

  Margaret wouldn’t look at him. She swirled her fingers in violent arcs through the putrefying fluid.

  “Where was Daniel?”

  He flinched.

  Margaret’s voice had never carried tone. Everything she’d ever said carried the same monotonic deadpan that was Margaret Evans. At least, that was, everything Margaret had ever said until now. Daniel could swear there was venom in her voice.

  The smile passed from his lips. The touch of Autumn’s laughter faded against his cheeks. The lightness in him grew dark.

  It’s none of your business, he almost said, when something in the corner of his eye stopped him short.

  “That’s the Detective,” he whispered.

  Margaret’s head pivoted a full hundred and eighty degrees. She didn’t seem to care about the skin she’d inherited from Daggy Munch. Angry purple stretch marks appeared along her neck.

  A malevolent click sounded in Margaret’s chest. “The threat to Daniel should be eliminated,” she said, and made to stand.

  “Whoa. Where you going?”

  Margaret paused. “Daniel is Margaret’s Project Beta. The Detective is a threat to Project Beta.”

  He didn’t know whether to feel flattered or afraid.

  “The Detective only knows me by my old face. We’re safe. Relax.”

  He placed a hand on hers. Regretted it immediately. Cold. Angular. Like the blade of a scythe. Margaret possessed none of Autumn’s warmth.

  She sat. “Agreed. Project Alpha. Margaret wants her lips. Margaret gets what Margaret wants.” She seemed to settle as she repeated the mantra quietly. Then quieter still. “Margaret gets what Margaret wants. Margaret gets what Margaret wants.”

  The Detective stood up. Daniel’s pounding heart clipped up a notch. But Kage Jackson wasn’t looking at him. He was laughing. Arm in arm with a raven-haired woman. Tall. Taller than he – although that wasn’t difficult.

  The Detective followed her out the ice cream bar. A grin on his face like the grins in the Stantons’ crowd. Even attached to the woman’s arm, he walked strangely. A loping, shuffling strut.

  Margaret continued to mouth her mantra. “Margaret gets what Margaret wants.”

  There are Moments in life. Forks in the road. At eighteen, Daniel had never experienced one before. Until now, everything he’d done had been clear. He’d needed to work in the Organ Farm to survive. He’d needed to find his mother. He’d needed to become whole again. He’d needed his organs.

  But this was a Moment. He could stop this right now. Abandon Margaret at this pus-laden table. Forget his lungs. His liver. Amygdala. Never look back. Twist the dial on his chest up to 7049, and run away with her. Live in Autumn.

  But … he remembered his face in the jar. He couldn’t live without his face. And to retrieve his face, he had no choice but to continue with his plan.

  Daniel sighed. “Come,” he said. “We’re going to find Margaret a pair of lips.”

  Margaret smiled.

  There are Moments in life. We believe we can choose. And we do. But although we step onto one path, a piece of us drifts down the other.

  Butter Avocados

  “Helios Taxis reminds its customers that all activities in its cabs are recorded.”

  Una, sitting astride Kage, didn’t falter. “Bet the assholes who watch these videos will enjoy this,” she said, and unbuttoned her blouse.

  A voice in the recess of Kage’s brain screamed out for her to stop. For he and Una both to stop. But that wasn’t happening.

  He licked her neck. Tasted the faint tang of her perfume on his lips.

  “Under provision 864.08, taxis are considered public areas. As such, Helio–”

  “Shutup,” said Una.

  The taxi complied.

  Her breasts were the size and texture of butter avocados. Similar to Kage’s, back when he’d been Kassandra. Una’s nipples stretched through the gossamer bra. With strong, Russian hands, Una thrust Kage’s face into her cleavage. Her sweat dotted his nose. Ran down his cheeks.

  “Maybe we should wait,” he said, muffled by her chest.

  “Your skin is the color of sin,” she said, and grinded against his crotch.

  He raised an eyebrow internally. Let it go. The distant call of a stirring whispered in his pants.

  He reached behind her, brushing the silk of her triceps, and unhooked her bra in one smooth motion. Guess there are some advantages to being a trans man, he thought.

  The gossamer crinkled around her breasts as the tension in its fibers relaxed. Half a nipple, oxblood in the shadowy interior of the cab, beckoned above the top lace.

  Una laughed a throaty chortle. Flung the bra against the side window.

  “Sanitation fee levied,” chimed the cab.

  He took her nipple in his mouth. Raw flesh. Like the taste after biting his cheek.

  “Helios reminds its patrons that it reserves the right …” Una licked his earlobe. The sound of the ocean. “… to sell any video footage obtained in the …” Una unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. Faltered on the third. “… course of its ordinary business pr–”

  “Fuck off,” said Una.

  The cab complied.

  Third button. Fourth.

  Her hand reached inside. Scratched his smooth chest with her partially bitten fingernails. Did she linger on his scar?

  Fifth button.

  Una’s grin was a disco of lights from the hovercars darting past. Shadows snagged against her wrinkles. Reflections burrowed into the cracks around her mouth. Kage was lost in the crow’s feet locked on her eyes. She was an abomination. She was majestic. She was Una.

  Sixth button.

  Her fingers traced the outline of his abdominals.

  “Fuck me,” she whispered, and bit his nipple. Tugged at his belt.

  “You have arrived at your destination,” said the cab. “Get out.”

  Kage slid out from under her. Opened the cab door, and stepped into Una’s apartment. The carpet under his shoes was so plush, he fell off balance for a moment. When he’d regained his footing, he drank in the sight.

  The detective in Kage had seen many rooms. Everything from Bubble Central chic, to Amputating Amy’s basement. Almost nothing surprised him.

  But Kage was taken aback by this apartment.

  For one, it wasn’t anything like Una. No cigarette stains on the walls or ceiling. No ashtrays. Not a single hoverscreen. No tech. Even the 3d printer had been hidden in a recess somewhere. Plush white carpet. Bone white walls. Stark, square hovercouches. Not a hint of gray, never mind black.

  This wasn’t like Una at all.

  Had the cab taken them to the wrong address?

  He glanced back at the taxi, to see Una, half-nude, stretching for the far side.

  “Got it,” she called, and backed out of the taxi, buttocks first. She held up her bra triumphantly. She didn’t look even slightly embarrassed by her milky-white breasts gleaming under the high-temperature LEDs.

  A forcefield slid across the missing panel in the glass wall where the taxi had deposited Una and Kage.

  The apartment was silent.

  Una swung the bra above her head in slow arcs. Padded forward, teeth gleaming, to Kage. He could do nothing but wait for the attack.

  “I want you,” said Una. She tapped her glasses, and the lights dimmed. Transformed to a lustrous incandescent glow. Candlelight setting.

  Una was unpredictable at the best of times. Not for the first time that night, Kage wondered whether she might be high.

  Suddenly, this seemed like a very b
ad idea. If she was on something, and Kage slept with her, would she regret it in the morning? Knowing Una, she would. This wasn’t a good idea at all.

  The faux candlelight wrapped around her breasts. Tickled the perfect geometry of her stomach. Soaked her black hair in an iridescent sheen.

  “Una,” he said, regretting what he was about to say, “let’s do this another time.”

  Una scowled. “You don’t like the apartment?” Even in the charitable light, he couldn’t mistake the storm that gathered on her features.

  It wasn’t the apartment, of course. This was prime real estate. Bubble Central. The center of Bubble Central. He peered out the window. The view was gobsmacking. Well above the traffic lanes, taller than almost all the other towers, the panorama of the city from Una’s apartment was unsurpassed.

  “No, it’s not th–”

  Una tapped the phase modulator on her chest. Gestured to Kage’s device on his own chest. “Hike it up to 4132.”

  As the LED numbers flickered higher, the room warbled into something entirely different. Black walls. Black light. A dildo chandelier.

  Una flopped down on a leather couch. “I call this phase, ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’. He hasn’t seen it, though.”

  Kage sat down beside her. His buttocks slid along the polished leather. He did his level best to overlook the vibrator lying on the side table. In the black light, it was difficult to ignore the glowing tip.

  “This is all, uh, impressive,” he said.

  “So I’ve been meaning to ask,” said her bare breasts, “what was the transition like?”

  Kage folded his legs in the most manly way possible. Leaned back, and splayed his arms along the top ridge of the couch. He’d watched a video once about how confident body language bred actual confidence. “It’s not a big deal. I switch phases all the time.” Was his voice an octave lower?

  Una laughed. “No, I meant the transition to becoming … you know … becoming a man?”

  His shoulders felt tight. His pants stretched across his knees. His belt bit into his waist.

  “Uh, I was always a man,” he said softly.

  “Of course, yes.”

  Una was abrasive. But this was uncharacteristic, even for her. He peered into her eyes. He was sure of it now. Her pupils were dilated.

  He felt more comfortable immediately. Leaned forward. All detective. “Are you on something, Una?”

  “What if I am?”

  Kage deflated. That was a reasonable response. Since the legalization of all narcotics under President Viez a decade ago, Una was entitled to take anything she liked. Maybe he was old-fashioned, but something about heavy stimulants sat badly with Kage.

  Una stood. “Who d’you think you are?”

  Assuming she was about to send him on his way, he stood too.

  “No, I was just … interested,” he stuttered. All his bravado, all his cultivated masculinity, evaporated under her scorching glare. Basking in the glow of the dildo chandelier, fury swamped her face. Una was the image of Kali, the goddess of destruction. Plant a sword in her hand, and the likeness would be complete.

  It was gone. As quickly as it had appeared, Una’s ferocity dissipated.

  She kicked off her shoes, toppling the vibrator with her left. Her toes sunk into the thick pile of the carpet as she approached him. She grabbed his waist. Her nails dug into his flesh even through the smartshirt. “You thirsty, Kage?”

  He swallowed dust at the back of his tongue.

  “This way,” she said, and gripped his hand hard enough to crack a knuckle.

  She led him to what Kage assumed was a bedroom in phase 2300. In 4132, it had no bed. No pillows, duvet, or carpet.

  A sling hung from the ceiling. Its chains tinkled as they entered, the way wind chimes sing to the breeze.

  “I moved the food printer to the domination room,” said Una. She tapped an interface on the wall beside a shelf of whips and straps. “Thought it would be more convenient here for marathon sessions.” She looked his way. “Hope you’re into BDSM?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Sure.”

  He could leave now. Go directly to Hooplah Diaz, the Organ Sales consultant. Grill her on the call from Thomsin’s apartment. Find the answers he needed.

  Una smiled. A dizzying, venomous grin. Her teeth glowed a devilish white in the black light. She unbuttoned her jeans. Peeled them down her creamy thighs. Toned calves. Her breasts were larger in the half-light of the domination room.

  Kage knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

  He unhooked his belt buckle. Almost lost his balance as he inched out of his moccasins. His white socks shone absurdly bright in ultraviolet. He hurried to remove them.

  “How about some tonic water?” she asked, and tapped a button on the wall. A crystal glass materialized mid-air. It hovered there for a moment, until Una grabbed it. The sloshing blue liquid was an ocean of color in her hand.

  “Drink,” said her carnivorous teeth. “You’ll like it.”

  She works for Bubble PD, Kage reminded himself. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of recreation on the side. So she’s a little rough around the edges. No diamond had ever been found burnished.

  There’s nothing in the drink, he told himself, as he sipped.

  “Good boy,” she said, and took the glass from him. Placed it on a stool. “Now why don’t you get a little more comfortable … That’s it … You can give those to me.”

  She folded his pants over a hanger to one side of the whips.

  “Lie down,” she said. “Yes, over there.”

  It may have been summer in the Bubble, but it was always winter in Una’s apartment. The cold leather gnashed at his legs as he lay back in the sling.

  “Now,” she said, surveying the shelf, “where should we start?”

  Kage swallowed.

  She lifted a strap-on from the shelf. Rubbed its head with what could be mistaken for tenderness.

  “Could we, uh …” Kage’s eyes darted through the assorted toys. At least half looked like they could draw blood. “Do you think we could cuddle a little?”

  He could almost hear Una’s smile shatter.

  “Sure,” she said, with about as much warmth as a Siberian winter.

  He sidled over in the bowl of the sling best he could. She climbed in. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her knee connecting with his crotch.

  “Nothing,” he said, determined not to ball into a fetal position.

  She nestled under his armpit (fuck, he hoped the Deo-Killer worked). Rested her silken hair against his ear. Swung one leg over his briefs.

  He wondered whether she could tell he was soft.

  “This is nice,” he said.

  “Uhuh.”

  He shut his eyes. Tried to remember the Una in the Cave at Bubble PD. The brilliant techie who’d shown him the time of day. Who’d told Shoulders to go fuck himself on Kage’s behalf. He remembered her smile. Her cigarette.

  This was Una. Who was he to judge if she showed him her wild side? Granted, it was a little sudden. But he was in no position to complain – he’d broken her nose on the last date. This was Una. And he’d make this work. Dammit, he had to. He hadn’t orgasmed in … there had been that one time he’d come close. But if he had to be completely honest, if he didn’t count the tingles and the throbs, he hadn’t orgasmed … ever.

  He was conservative. How could he not be? He wasn’t experienced enough to know about this sort of thing. He glanced at the strap-on. Suppressed a shudder.

  No, he could do this. He was going to do this. And he was going to enjoy it.

  He exhaled. Rolled over in the sling, and kissed her.

  That was all the prompt she needed. Una mounted him. Bit his chest. Sucked on his neck till he thought his carotid would pop out. And she grinded. Grinded against him. She was dripping. Soaking his underwear through her negligée.

  It felt good. He was sure it did. Her eyes clamped shut. Pleasure crept across her face like a colony of bacteria.
>
  What would Hooplah Diaz say when Kage confronted her? Maybe she knew the killer. She might protect him. Refuse to give his information to Kage.

  “It’s time,” she said. She whipped off his underwear with jagged nails, scouring deep cuts along his hips.

  Well that just happened, he thought, and braced himself.

  “But …” Una leaned closer. “… it’s white?”

  He shrugged, chafing against the sling. “All I could afford.”

  “Does it work?” she asked, fingering the flaccid tissue.

  In a show of machismo, Kage lifted her up and under him. Pinned her to the sling. Plunged his tongue between her lips.

  Una groaned.

  He felt it. Oh yes. A pulsing.

  He peered down at himself.

  Flaccid. Soft as a cloud.

  He lifted her ankles above his ears. Dove nose-first into her wetness.

  “Yes,” she sighed.

  She clamped her thighs around his ears as he worked her. And for a moment, he could swear he heard the sea.

  She reached down with a blind hand for the hardness he didn’t have, but he pinned her back.

  “Oh, yes …”

  He checked his organ. Stroked it. Pumped it.

  “Oh, Kass-Kage. Wow, that’s … whew. Yes … there.”

  He massaged himself. Rubbed. Nothing. Not a twitch. Not a throb. He was soft. Maybe smaller than usual.

  Una shut her legs. Pushed him off her. “Your turn,” she said. A ravenous smile framed her glowing incisors.

  Kage’s heart was a hummingbird trapped in treacle.

  “Soft?” she said quietly, holding his manhood.

  Kage did everything he could to remain impassive. He wanted to throw a retort at her. Maybe mock her.

  But he didn’t. A tear, thick as mud, oozed down his cheek.

  “I have just the thing,” said Una, her voice suddenly tender.

  His glasses pinged. “Allow application, Sense Swap, administrator access?”

  Kage sniffed. “What is it?”

  “A little something I’ve been working on. Trust me?”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  The application expanded across his vision. “Sense swap in 3 … 2 …” Una sauntered over to the shelf. Reached for the strap on. “1 …”

  Kage wasn’t in the sling any longer. Wasn’t lying down. Didn’t feel the cold chaff of the leather on his buttocks.