“So who would you recommend?”
“How long have we known each other, Kage?”
“A few years.”
Kage climbed down the stage, onto the lawn. Loped to the Bacchus Mall exit. He knew he shouldn’t be leaving the crime scene without an officer to replace him. If questioned, he’d say he’d found a lead he couldn’t ignore.
“Years,” repeated Yaron reverently. “You can trust me, Kage.”
“Yes. That’s why I’m calling you.”
“Trust is so important,” said the dealer. “So important.”
Kage sighed.
“You’ll want to go to this address. Three fifty-seven Main Street, Newtown. Ask for –”
“Newtown? That’s the Gutter.” Kage was almost at the end of the grass now. Approaching the exit. Beyond him the strip of restaurants and bars shimmered behind a fuzzy gray curtain. He adjusted his phase modulator to 2300, and they clarified.
“Don’t finish it, baby,” whispered Yaron. “Listen, you want discretion, right?”
Kage waited.
“Ask for Geppetto. Tell him the Israeli sent you. He’ll know what to do.”
Kage ignored the high-pitched giggle on the other side of the phone line. “Thanks, got it.”
“By the way, I’ve got some A-grade premium testosterone that just came in th–”
Kage cut the call.
Geppetto. The name tickled a memory of a memory of a thought. The scent of blood. Meat. Geppetto.
Three men dressed in white lab coats stepped into his path. A retinue of hover-luggage trailed in their wake.
Forensics.
“Crime scene is that way.” He pointed behind the stage. “Trailer about fifty yards further.”
He waited for one of them to say something about him leaving the crime scene.
But they didn’t.
A minute later, Kage stepped out of Bacchus Mall. “Taxi,” he whispered.
Kage didn’t feel the ice in the refuse bag. Didn’t see the adverts playing across his vision, as the taxi whisked him back to the southern border of the Bubble. He didn’t feel anything. Couldn’t think anything, but one thought.
I’m doing this.
He couldn’t believe it. They couldn’t have been his hands that had dug into Ben Stanton’s groin. Not his strength that had sawed off his arms. Couldn’t be.
The cold, black bag lying to his left on the taxi seat quietly reminded him otherwise.
If he looked inside, would he see a penis and two arms? Would he?
He almost did it. Right there in the taxi, under the watchful gaze of Helios Taxis. He almost looked inside the bag.
Fuck, Kage. Get a hold of yourself.
“You have arrived at your destination,” sang the cab. “Have a nice morning.”
Kage stumbled through customs. Flashed his PI badge at a border official with dead eyes. She waved him through without looking up. Didn’t even check his biometrics. Fuck knows what he would have done if she’d asked to look inside the refuse bag.
In a haze of self-doubt, Kage lurched over the crest of Main Street. Every footfall echoed through the silent thoroughfare. At 4 a.m., not a soul loitered in the Gutter.
Lightning slashed the sky overhead, lancing the Gutter with shards of blue light.
How long had it been? It didn’t rain in the Bubble. How long had it been since he’d last seen a thunderstorm?
The first droplets dotted his face. Ten steps later, and the drops had turned to blobs. And then to falling miniature ponds. The water pelted his head. Ran under his collar.
He stopped. Stared into the broiling sky.
The weight of the plastic refuse bag stung his hands. “I did it,” he said to the broiling sky. “I did it.”
He dared not relax his grip on the bag now. Dared not rest. It had been decades since he’d wandered this far into the Gutter, but he thought he remembered the place Yaron had sent him. ‘BLAM’, they’d called it as children. The Butcher-Launderette-Massage. Just a few blocks from here.
He shivered under his leather jacket. Raised the collar to protect his neck against the lashing rain. Little good it did.
There it was. 357 Main Street. BLAM.
Kage knocked against the broken glass in the front door. Thunder ploughed the sky.
“Hello!”
He knocked again, careful not to worsen the web of cracks.
A light. Faint. It glowed through the rain-streaked pane. Had it been there a moment earlier? He peered through the water-logged glass. The light grew, and a moment later, the door creaked open.
An old man looked down at Kage. Sharp, kind eyes. A green welt swallowed one cheek.
“Uhyes? How can help you?”
A distant childhood memory kindled in his heart. His mother had brought him here. That’s right. She’d shopped for meat here.
“I’m looking for Geppetto.” Kage tried not to shiver. Rain streaked under his smartshirt, down his nipples. “The Israeli sent me.”
The man regarded Kage. Measured him. “I told him. We arre out of the business.”
“Please,” said Kage. He swatted a stray bead of moisture from his eye. “I’ve come a long way.”
The old man softened. “You look … how you say … familiarr. You arre from here, Signorre …?”
“Kage.”
The old man stepped aside. Swung open the door.
“I Geppetto. Come inside.”
Kage dashed under cover. Shimmied out of his waterlogged jacket.
“You need warrm. Have caffè with me, Signorre Kage.”
He led the Detective through a dark room, into a kitchen. A lonely candle flickered on the table. A girl with breasts bigger than Keki’s shifted against the light. She lit the gas stove. Filled a rusted kettle.
How did you know? he wanted to ask to the old shopkeeper. How did you know I’m from the Gutter?
The kitchen was warm, the soft light of the candle hypnotizing.
Heat. Decomp. Shit.
“Sir, you’re very kind. But please, I must ask for your help with something now. It’s urgent.” He lifted the wet refuse bag onto the tabletop. Opened its mouth.
The tangy scent of iron suffused the kitchen.
Geppetto’s eyes narrowed. The girl peered over the lip of the bag.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” she snapped, and seized Kage by the wrist, ready to lead him outside.
“Signorre Kage is one of us,” said Geppetto. “Signorre Kage needs help.”
“But Uncle –”
“Florrenza, what arre we if we do not help the man?”
The girl sighed. Released Kage’s wrist. “This way,” she said, and lumbered up a staircase at the back of the kitchen.
“Bring the bag,” she called.
The old man’s breath was heavy in the narrow stairwell. He slurped and spluttered the humid air. Kage helped Geppetto up the final two steps.
Florenza marched ahead. Unbolted a door at the far end of the passage. Kage’s wet shoes sighed on the floorboards. The gentle rhythm of rain played against a tin roof. “The Gods’ laughter,” his mother had called that sound. Strange. He’d forgotten how the Gutters liked to talk about God in the plural. His mother had laughed when she’d said it. She’d always laughed when it rained.
Florenza ushered Kage through a cracked door. The hinges had been replaced recently.
A fluorescent light flickered in the ceiling, then glowed to a persistent hum. Flickered again when an arc of lightning lit the opposite window. There were scuff marks on the wall just below that window frame. Out of place in a room otherwise so tidy.
“Something happened here,” said Kage.
Florenza’s eyes dropped to her shoes. Geppetto touched the welt on his cheek.
“Come,” said the old man. “Let me help –”
Florenza placed a hand on the old shopkeeper’s. “Uncle, wait.” She eyed Kage. “How much you got?”
“How much do you want?”
“Hundrred and forrty crredits.”
“Uncle, that’s not en–”
“He one of us,” said Geppetto.
“How do you know?” asked Kage.
“Yourr eyes. You look arround … how you say … you do not belongg anywherre. Bubblerrs – Bubblerrs belongg everrywherre.”
Florenza shook her head. But she took Kage’s card. Swiped it.
“Get onto table, please.”
Kage handed Florenza the plastic bag.
“Going to be a long operation,” she said. “Cocks take forever. And arms aren’t easy neither.”
“I don’t want the whole arms, though. Just the muscles. Biceps and forearms.”
“Okay,” said Geppetto.
“He needs to pay more. A hundred and forty for a penis and arm implants is nothing. Uncle, we –”
Geppetto held up a wrinkled hand. “We starrt.”
The lights flickered as a roll of thunder barreled through the tin roof. Kage resisted the urge to jump.
Geppetto snapped on a pair of gloves. “It won’t hurrt a bit. Florrenza …”
The girl nestled a mask over Kage’s face. The smell of acrylic and used plastic became his world.
Hisssss
He knew that smell. Didn’t want to remember. Long nights with Sarah painting their nails. Before.
Acetone. That was it. Condensed against his cheeks. Packed his nostrils.
“Rrelax signorre Kage. Rrela–”
Shapes of Autumn
Kha-khooo
He knew he shouldn’t feel anything. The epidural should see to that. He felt nothing below his neck. Except …
“Hang on a second,” said Hal. “I’ve got … uhuh … it looks like …” He heard steel drop to the floor. “Sorry about that. Yes, it definitely might be …” Something pneumatic strained – a servo motor in Hal’s hand? “Yup, almost got it deary. Hang on.”
Kha-khooo
Hal spoke to Daniel as though he could reply. But of course she knew he couldn’t. She’d paralyzed him from the neck down. The respirator coughed in his ear again.
Kha-khooo
Hal could be doing anything she liked down there, and he wouldn’t know. She’d hung what looked like a pee-stained blanket just below his chin. It smelt faintly of dog. Roger.
“Those ribs, you know. Sharp as Margaret’s wit when one chops them up wrong.”
Margaret looked over from her seat at the dressing table. She’d only sewed on half the lower lip so far. The other half dangled across her chin as she spoke. “Margaret does not compute.”
“Never you mind, dear. Just a little joke among friends.”
Margaret returned to the mirror. Drew the sewing needle in and out of her bottom lip just as Hal had instructed her.
Hal’s face appeared over the top of the blanket. “Going to have to chop off a few lobes before I can get the whole thing out. First generation printed lungs, you know. Nasty.”
Daniel guessed his chest was well open by now. The loud cracking had ceased a few minutes ago. He couldn’t feel anything. Anything except … cold. The Bubble air had found its way inside him. Had spread its calloused fingers through his yawning chest. Wrapped around his heart.
He could hear it. He swore he heard his heartbeat.
Da-doof … da-doof
A toothy whine suffused the room.
“This should cut right through that nasty Gutter wetware.”
The whine become a moan. Morphed into the screech of metal on metal.
“Uhuh … yup … almost done, deary. I’ll have that … uhuh!”
The sharp taste of blood pierced the air. Daniel felt dizzy as Hal dangled the crimson hunk of chrome above the blanket. That was his lung. Metallic. Printed, sure. But it was his lung.
“One down. One to –”
Daniel couldn’t breathe. He sucked, but his chest was paralyzed. No air. He slurped at the air. Oh Gods. Gods above. Nothing. He couldn’t –
“The smart tube connects to the … trachea,” sang Hal. “The bronchial artery connects to the …”
He inhaled. Gods, it tasted good on his tongue. Air! He didn’t care it was the Bubble. Didn’t care about anything. He could breathe.
“Just a few more connections … gotta love the smart tubes. Makes everything so much easier with you humans. How’s that feeling, deary? Better? Right. One more lung to go.”
Margaret stood up from the dressing table. Lips. Two of them. She smiled through the black catgut stitches. Through the swelling. Margaret was elated.
Hal walked over to Margaret. “Well look at you.” Hal held Margaret’s face at this angle and that, admiring her new lips in different lighting. “Don’t you look glamorous.”
“Margaret is glamorous,” repeated the android softly, and beamed a halogen smile.
“Won’t the boys be running after you,” said Hal.
Margaret swung her blinding smile on Daniel. She was humming that tune again. The theme song to The Bold and the Beautiful.
Hal bent down. Collected a pair of forceps from the floor. Snapped them shut. Opened them. Snapped them shut. “Let’s get to that second lung, shall we.”
*
The epidural wore off in concentric circles of agony. Daniel convinced Hal to sell him a week’s supply of analgesics for fifty credits.
Margaret helped him down the stairs to street level. He was walking easier by the time they’d reached the next block of apartments. The painkillers had taken hold. Cheap, but brutal, they serenaded his brain with enough endorphins to bring a cow to orgasm.
“Taxi,” said Margaret.
She hadn’t stopped smiling since they’d left Hal’s. The black catgut she’d used for stitching framed her lips in an ominous shadow. Same gut as on her necrotic fingers. From the looks of Hal’s apartment, Daniel doubted it was sterile. Didn’t bode well for those lips.
Through the analgesic haze, Daniel managed to find his way into the back of the taxi. He didn’t need Margaret’s help. Didn’t need it at all.
The Bubble was a wash of pink and gold as the sun crept above the eastern horizon. It could have been the drugs, but the sight made him teary.
Margaret’s head craned at a forty-five degree angle. “Daniel’s ocular organs are malfunctioning.”
“No.” He sniffed. “I’m fine.”
The sunrise caught the Bubble’s meniscus at just the right angle. Prismed a rainbow through the cab’s window. Margaret’s face lit up in a spray of color.
“Margaret does not compute.”
He couldn’t stand to see the rainbow touch her. The steel in her eyes. The bloating around her lips. Bob’s lips. The end of one of the catgut stitches crept up her nose.
She didn’t deserve it. The way the rainbow bathed her skin. Shifting and bubbling as the sun caught the micro-imperfections in the Bubble’s lens. Margaret didn’t deserve anything of beauty in this world.
But he knew who did.
The cab chimed. Hovered outside Margaret’s apartment. “You have arrived at your destination.”
Margaret slid open the door. Stepped into her apartment.
“Is Daniel not coming inside?”
“No. Taxi, new destination. Bacchus Mall.”
*
Daniel found Autumn leaning against the parapet at the top of the staircase. She stood with her back to him, looking out over the mall. Seemed not to have heard him climb the stairs.
And why should she have? Daniel could breathe now. He didn’t splutter. Didn’t cough, or hack. Didn’t wheeze as he’d climbed. He had his lungs back.
“Is it you, Daniel?” She turned to him. No matter how healthy his lungs, he couldn’t help but stop his breath. The morning light kindled her auburn hair. There was a tenderness in her eyes. A symmetry in her words that hung in a glittering cloud on the morning air.
He stepped closer to her. Whispered in her ear. “I missed you.”
He felt it then. The tubule formed between his shoulder blades. He watched it form on he
r back too. A filament of gold and blue. Connecting them.
“Do you feel it?” she asked.
“I do.”
She leaned into him, her breasts pert against his chest. He didn’t feel the tendril of pain as she pressed into the scar that ran the length of his sternum. Didn’t care for the ballet of materializing rubbish piles on the mall floor below. Didn’t hear the thoughts careening through his brain. All of him, every cell, every nerve-ending, balanced on the sight of her lower lip.
He kissed her. Deep and sure.
Until Autumn came up for air. “My shift just ended. You could … would you like to … I mean, I …” Her words were a swirl of iridescent indigo and jade. The tube connecting them pulsed. Expanded its girth.
“Yes,” he said.
She smiled. Even with her sallow cheeks, there was a joy in her that Margaret could never match.
Autumn led him down the stairs. They walked. Past the restaurants. Past the ice cream bar. Around the mounds of vomit and excrement that materialized from the lower phases. Through the entrance of Bacchus Mall. They walked. Through streets that were just like the streets he’d seen in phase 2300. The buildings were the same buildings. The same height. The same width.
But they were not the same.
Grime caked their walls. Their windows were cracked on lower floors, missing altogether on upper levels.
And the streets. They crawled with the inhabitants of phase 7049. Gone were the revelers of the Promenade – the technicolor teens who paraded its pavements. In their stead, street sweepers scoured the tar. They cobbled vast embankments of kipple onto shimmering hovercarts, and lugged them to great furnaces that flanked the street here and there.
This was a world of refuse. A world beneath a world.
“My place is just up here,” said Autumn. She opened a creaking glassless door. The lobby was darker than Margaret’s soul. Daniel could just make out the heaps of rubbish collecting in every corner.
Three floors up. Two doors down.
Autumn’s hand paused on the door handle.
“It’s nothing compared to where you’re from.”
Daniel placed a hand on hers. “I’m not from 2300.”
Autumn’s eyebrows arched in the dim light of the corridor. A baby cried in a distant room.
“It’s a long story,” he said.
Defragmenting Daniel: The Complete Trilogy Box Set Page 31