Defragmenting Daniel: The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by Jason Werbeloff

  “Arms!” cried Margaret and pulled with all her strength on Bob Stanton’s left. Something popped. Something cracked. But the arm remained fixed to its shoulder.

  Margaret glanced up. Blood had trickled down her fingers to her elbows. Spattered across her naked chest and stomach. Her eyes glowed at the sight of the knife in Daniel’s hand.

  “Margaret needs to cut,” she seethed, and grabbed it from him, blade-first.

  Daniel stood still. Immobile, as Margaret sawed off Bob’s arms. His eyes watched her, but he did not. His mind drifted to the gentle fronds of Autumn’s thoughts. The minty clouds of her desire. The way she’d looked at him, as though he were gentle too. Her eyes had been striking, even embedded in her yellow skin.

  Standing in the doorway of the Stanton’s trailer, seeing but unseeing, he understood Florenza. The way her unblinking eyes had found the ceiling as the Bubble soldiers had violated her. Accepting the violation as inevitable. He couldn’t forget the emptiness in her eyes. The resignation. Standing in that trailer, he understood now why she hadn’t fought back. She’d gone into that frozen state every cornered animal knows.

  He felt the butt of the knife in his hand again. Blinked. How long … how long had he stood there? He didn’t want to look. There was a prickly electrostatic calm in his head. A snowy tenderness behind his eyes. He wanted to return to that place. That snowy, numb place –

  He blinked. Margaret stood in front of him. She cradled Bob’s arms in hers. Ben’s kidney. Bob’s lips.

  He wasn’t shaking anymore, as he moved to Ben’s side. He found the bronchus and the vessels that linked the lung to the chest. And severed them.

  Daniel’s head was cotton wool behind his eyes. He stepped over to Bob, and repeated the procedure. He carved the lung from the body.

  He held the two organs, weightless in his hands. The lungs might float away if he didn’t hold on to them. And if he didn’t concentrate, didn’t root himself to the ground, he wondered whether he too would drift away.

  “Margaret and Daniel should leave.”

  Daniel shook his head to clear the snow behind his eyes, although he didn’t want to.

  “Margaret and Daniel need to leave. Now.”

  Daniel’s attention snapped back into the trailer.

  Organs.

  He opened his satchel. Extracted the plastic bags he’d bought earlier at Phil’s Pharma. He folded Bob’s arms, and placed them together with Ben’s kidneys, in one bag. Bob’s lips into another. And dropped the lungs into a third. He filled each of the bags with Rejek. Sealed them, and packed them in the satchel.

  “You need to clean up,” said Daniel, pointing to Margaret’s blood-caked hands. “And clothes. You can’t walk out of here naked.”

  Margaret headed to the kitchen. Returned a minute later, clean. She selected a dress from the floor – there were a number of them lying around – and stepped into it slowly, checking to see that Daniel watched. Like an actress on a soap opera. Did she wink?

  Daniel took one last look at the trailer before he headed out the door. So. Much. Blood.

  The android followed. “Margaret has lips now,” she said, and did something Daniel had never seen her do.

  Margaret laughed.

  Daniel’s veins turned to slush. What’s funny about this, he wanted to growl. What in Gods’ names was funny about this?

  Instead, he counted to seven. Slowed his breath. This wasn’t the time to confront her.

  The grass felt too spongey under his feet as he walked. The glare of the mall’s halogens too bright. The night air pricked his shoulders. He felt the weight of it. The leagues of air above him.

  He’d never thought about it before. So much air pressing down. He’d learned during the education classes at the Organ Farm that pressure increased the deeper you dived in the ocean. Very quickly, the water’s crushing weight became intolerable.

  He felt that pressure now. The atmosphere above him. His failed duty to stop Margaret from harming Ben and Bob. He was the cause of their deaths. Sure, Margaret had actually killed them. But Margaret was a machine. Could she really be responsible for anything? Margaret was a weapon. He’d used her like a loaded gun. He’d included her in his plans. And although he didn’t fire it intentionally, the gun had gone off. Because of his myopia, the Stanton brothers were dead.

  Daniel wandered toward the stage. Climbed down onto the lawn. He couldn’t allow this to continue. He had to stop her. Like a dog that developed the taste for blood, Margaret had to be put down.

  The satchel swung against his side as he walked. If he listened, he could hear the Rejek sloshing in the plastic bags inside.

  What was that?

  He stopped dead where he stood. Placed his hand against the side of the satchel.

  “Margaret and Daniel must leave.”

  “Shhhh.” He brought his ear to the side of the bag.

  There. Gods, now he was sure of it.

  Something inside had moved.

  His hands tingled. Every instinct in him shouted at him to fling the strap off his shoulder. Put as much space between him and that … whatever it was.

  He forced himself not to panic. Lowered the satchel to the ground slow enough so that whatever was inside wouldn’t scare.

  “What is Daniel doing?”

  Daniel raised a hand to quiet her.

  He unzipped the top of the bag. Took half a step back, and with an outstretched hand, flung open the cover.

  Nothing shot out and grabbed him. Nothing hissed. No light glowed from the aperture. Nothing.

  He inched forward. Peered through the top of the satchel. There were the three plastic packets, bulky with their contents. There was the knife. There were his gloves. He couldn’t see anything else.

  He sifted through the contents with electrified fingers, ready to withdraw them at a nanosecond’s notice.

  Daniel got such a fright, he almost screamed. Almost howled his shock to the abandoned Bacchus Mall.

  In the largest plastic bag, the bag that contained Bob Stanton’s arms, something moved. Brushed against his own hand through the cold, green plastic.

  Bob’s hand had moved.

  “The Wikipedia entry on body composition states that body parts may spasm for some time after death,” said Margaret, peering inside. “It is the last of the body’s nerve impulses dying.”

  Daniel’s vision grew cloudy. The lawn around him swam in eddies of liquid jade and emerald –

  “… feeling unwell?”

  Margaret’s face was a miasma above him. Her nose morphed into her eyes. Into her lipless mouth.

  “…niel. Daniel.”

  Daniel sat up slowly. The back of his head was leaden. Blood thumped in his ears.

  “Daniel lost consciousness,” said Margaret. “Margaret will carry Daniel.”

  Goosebumps erupted on his arm where she touched him. “No,” he said, and stood. He shook the fuzz from his head. “Let’s go.”

  They twisted the dials on their chests. Returned to default Bubble phase – 2300. The transition made Daniel nauseous at the best of times, but now he almost lost his dinner.

  It was 3 a.m., and the strip of restaurants and bars was closed for the most part. A lonely pizza joint flashed its neon siren call to late-night revelers.

  Margaret had marched to the exit of Bacchus Mall before Daniel could find his bearings. He caught up with her as she passed through the shimmering velvet curtain.

  The Bubble night bit into his smartshirt.

  “Switch to long sleeves?” prompted his glasses.

  He was about to confirm, when Margaret stopped short in front of him. With his woolly head, he almost collided with her titanium rear.

  He’d never heard her whisper. The sound was like wind through broken glass. “Threat to Daniel. Threat to Project Beta.”

  She was right. There, standing with his back to them, was none other than Detective Kage Jackson. And to make matters worse, he stood beside what could easily be a police
officer. Actually, yes, definitely a police officer. That was a squad car. The officer had a shotgun slung over his shoulder.

  Daniel froze in place. As if they wouldn’t notice him if he stood absolutely still. They don’t know my face, he reminded himself. But his feet wouldn’t move.

  Margaret had other ideas. Although it wasn’t easy to detect a smile on a lipless android, Daniel had come to know her expressions. She smiled now, as she marched toward the two officers.

  Gods, no.

  Daniel hurried, as inconspicuously as possible, to catch up to her. He cleared his throat. Took her by an unyielding elbow, and steered her away from the two men.

  “No police,” he hissed. “You need to leave the police alone.”

  Margaret looked disappointed. “Margaret wants –”

  “Not now,” snapped Daniel.

  Just as they stepped onto Canal Street, something caught the corner of Daniel’s eye. A van descended. Parked beside the police car.

  Half a dozen SWAT officers filed onto the cobblestone pavement.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Daniel.

  “Daniel and Margaret go to Halliberry?”

  The satchel’s strap gnawed into Daniel’s shoulder. He thought about its contents.

  Lungs.

  He inhaled the Bubble night. Allowed its molecules to suffuse him. Enter him. He fought the urge to cough. Ignored the narrowing of his alveoli. What would it be like to breathe again with his own lungs? To shed his asthma? He’d know soon enough. His lungs were in that bag.

  He pointed in the direction of Hal’s apartment block. “Let’s go.”

  “Lips,” muttered Margaret as they walked. “Margaret wants lips. Margaret wants lips. Margaret wants …”

  *

  “Nice hands,” said Hal. She lifted Bob Stanton’s arms from the Rejek-filled packet. Examined the nails. She looked to Margaret, who was staring down the dog. “Want them? As a thank you for bringing me the kidneys.”

  Margaret appeared surprised. “Margaret likes Margaret’s hands.”

  She was missing four nails now. And two wouldn’t last much longer. Most of the fingers had swelled to the size of cucumbers. Puke-green with the occasional purulent discharge.

  “Suit yourself,” said Hal, and tossed Bob’s arms in the waste bin.

  Daniel balked. “You’re not going to use the arms?”

  “You’re right,” said Hal, fishing them out the trash. “Roger likes fingers.”

  The dog perked up at the sound of his name. Moseyed over to Hal’s side, tail wagging. He sat. Drool inched down his chin, and stretched to the floor.

  “No, I meant, aren’t you going to use the arms for a person? Doesn’t someone need arms?”

  “Arms are hard to store,” said Hal. She dangled the fingertips above Roger’s patient snout. “Must be kept well below freezing. And my freezer is full.”

  Roger whined.

  Tears welled in Daniel’s eyes. Those hands had been wrapped around a didgeridoo just hours earlier. “So why did you ask me to bring them to you?”

  “Had a client in the other day who needed arms, but he found a pair … Fetch!” Hal lobbed one of the arms across the room. Roger bounded after it, paws slipping on the floor tiles. He ploughed through a box of prosthetic eyes, and a carefully balanced pile of gauze.

  “Love that dog,” said Hal. “Anyway, what can I do for you two?”

  “Margaret wants lips,” she shouted.

  Hal emptied the bag of lips onto the operating table. “Uhuh … let’s see what we have here. Nice texture. A little thin for a woman, but we could plump them up. Won’t charge you much for that, deary. And … uhuh. We’ll just chop away that cheek. Yes, I think these will do nicely. We’ll have you smiling in no time, deary.”

  A loud crack snapped through the room. Roger looked up proudly from his meal, a pinky finger clamped between his teeth. “Isn’t he a gorgeous animal?” asked Hal.

  Daniel looked away.

  “And I’m assuming …” Hal hurled the lungs onto the operating table. The metal rang out with a wet cathlunk-cathlunk. “… that these are for you?” Rejek spattered Daniel’s chin.

  He nodded.

  Hal wiped her hands on her frock. “Well then, there’s just the small matter of payment.”

  Margaret handed over a credit card. “This is for the lips.”

  “How much for the lung implants?” asked Daniel.

  The fan on Hal’s head whirred to life as she swiped Margaret’s card. “Lungs are a complicated business, you know. Big incision required for the surgery. Life support. Anesthesia. It won’t be cheap, deary.”

  Roger growled contentedly, really committing himself to ripping off a thumb.

  “How much?” asked Daniel.

  “A thousand credits.”

  Daniel tapped his glasses. Six hundred credits left on the card.

  “Only got five hundred,” he said.

  “I could do one of the lungs for five hundred?”

  “No, I need both.”

  “Tell you what. You pay me five hundred now, bring me a pair of feet after the surgery, and we’ll call it even …” She held up a hand to delay Daniel’s reply. “… if I can do the surgery without the anesthesia.”

  Daniel felt the blood drain from his cheeks. “You want to open up my chest. Remove my lungs. Without an anesthetic?”

  “I’ll inject the epidural into your spine.” She placed a cold hand on Daniel’s knee. “You won’t feel a thing with the spinal, deary. General anesthetic is expensive. And this is a long operation. You can’t afford it otherwise.”

  Daniel glared at the dog. “And the feet? You want them for Roger?”

  “No, no. Feet are smaller than arms. Easier to store. You bring me a nice pair of feet, and I promise they’ll find a good home.”

  Daniel handed over his credit card.

  A light in Hal’s eyes winked on. “Right. Lips for Margaret. Lungs for Daniel. Let’s begin. Who’s going first?”

  Raw Facts

  Kage was surprised how difficult it was to remove a penis.

  He’d read somewhere that penile tissue extended well inside the body. So he cut deep, scooping out the flesh around the pubic bone. His glasses overlaid an anatomical guide over his vision. But the paring knife he’d found in the kitchen drawer of the trailer wasn’t precise or sharp enough for this sort of work. It slipped more than once, and Kage very nearly cut himself through his leather gloves. He’d have a hard time explaining that one to Forensics if they found his DNA on the body.

  Eventually, he managed to scoop out the organ, complete with its scrotum. He hadn’t been prepared for the river of blood that poured out the dissected end. So far as he knew, dead men don’t bleed. But penises, it seemed, were an exception. Most likely because Ben Stanton had been erect on death. Not any longer, though.

  Kage washed his gloves in the trailer’s kitchen sink. Found an evidence bag in his jacket pocket, and dropped the alarmingly gray penis inside. He didn’t have Rejek to preserve it, and he knew it wouldn’t take long before decomposition kicked in.

  He tapped on the 3D printer in the kitchen. Interfaced with his glasses, and requested a mound of ice. That would slow decomp.

  He glanced back at Ben’s mutilated corpse. While he’d been cutting into him, Ben hadn’t been a ‘him’. He’d been an anatomical problem. A challenge that needed solving. The technicalities involved in extracting the penis had kept Kage’s mind away from the fact that Ben had been a human being. A person.

  Nausea assailed Kage. Spilled up his gut. Singed his esophagus.

  With steel-clad will, he swallowed his disgust. Suppressed the bile. Averted his eyes from Ben Stanton. He hushed the voice in his head telling him he was no better than Daniel Mendez, and hurried to the door of the trailer.

  Kage tucked the evidence bag into the inside pocket of his jacket. Ice against his chest. He was about to exit, onto the grass, down the stage, and out of the hole that was Bacchus
Mall, when he stopped himself.

  Arms.

  Ben Stanton still had his arms. Muscled arms, by the looks of it. And Kage needed muscle.

  Yes, he was getting greedy. Yes, it was morally repugnant. Yes, yes. Yes.

  But the raw fact of the matter was that the same reasons that justified taking the penis, justified taking Ben’s arms. Ben didn’t need the penis. He’d be buried or cremated. He wouldn’t miss it. The same went for his arms. And the police would never know Kage had taken the penis. The other killers had taken Bob’s arms and lips. Ben’s kidneys. And their lungs. Why not say the other killers had taken Ben’s arms and penis too?

  He pulled up a medical diagram on his overlay.

  Arms.

  *

  An hour later, a short, bony man emerged from the Stantons’ trailer. He carried a black refuse bag, slung over one shoulder. His brow was set in cold determination. His strides appeared purposeful, but … there … in the bend of his knee. In the tightness of his hips. In the shortness of his breath. There was the ghost of doubt.

  If you looked into his face, if you stared into his eyes, you would have seen an emptiness that no man can see in himself.

  He tapped his glasses. And if you watched his lips, you could almost hear him speak.

  *

  “Yaron.” Kage’s tongue was slow. Thick in his mouth. As though it refused to speak the words he needed to say. “I need a contact.”

  “Kage! My man. What can I do for you?”

  “I need a contact.”

  “Uhuh,” said the dealer. Even over the phone, Kage could tell Yaron was distracted. “What sort of contact is that?”

  “I need someone to implant an organ I’ve acquired.” He kept the term ‘organ’ to the singular. No need for Yaron to know his problem involved two arms and a penis.

  Yaron’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Sweety, you can use my straw.” Kage heard a faint slap. A giggle. Yaron’s voice returned to normal volume. “I refer my clients to Vista Clinic. Nobody complains.”

  He blinked away a memory of the vicious Thai masseuse standing over him. “No, I need somewhere a bit more …”

  “Ah.” Kage could almost hear Yaron perk up in his seat. “Discretion is my middle name.”