Defekt

by Nino Cipri

  They had cleared three rooms with no defekta when Derek’s INVENTERA gave a warbling trill. The room they were in was styled after a Victorian garden; Astroturf under their feet, faux-stone arches wound with heavy plastic flowers, wicker chairs, and a croquet set. Derek’s INVENTERA had been focused on a table made of glass and baroque wrought iron. Its legs curved toward the floor in elongated spirals, and the glass top of the table nestled into a wrought iron oval with stylized roses and ivy worked into a pattern.

  Derek looked closer at the readout—they really should have made the text bigger on the interface, especially since he didn’t have the enhanced vision that the rest of the group did.

  EXF-23301-01

  NAV: 2241

  GEN: 2.3.100

  STATUS: DEFEKT

  DISCONTINUE IMMEDIATELY

  Dirk’s head had snapped up at the sound. “Derek. Step back slowly.”

  Derek looked back at the table only to see it staring up at him. Some of the wrought iron roses along the side had blinked open, and half a dozen eyes with silvery irises were now focused on him.

  “Okay,” Derek said, remembering how the SVINLÅDA had been calm at first, so long as he was. He put up one of his hands, and a couple of the eyes followed it calmly. One of the legs unfurled curiously out to him, reaching for his hand as if it wanted to touch him.

  “Nothing to worry about, right?” he said. “We’re calm.”

  There was another warbling tune from behind him, and then that terrible, grating mosquito whine. Derek could feel it this time as well, a blistering heat that cut through the air inches from his palm. Dirk’s aim was impeccable, and the table’s outstretched leg shattered into sharp metal spikes and a spray of sky-blue liquid that Derek realized was probably blood. The table let out a ringing, metallic cry and staggered back on its three remaining legs. It tried to flee, knocking over wicker furniture and tearing into the Astroturf. Dirk walked up, unhurried but completely focused, aiming his INVENTERA at the table and squeezing off another shot. This one hit a second leg, and the table collapsed. Its cries grew shriller.

  Dirk shouldered him aside—not angrily, barely even cognizant of Derek standing there. Derek stumbled back.

  It gave him a perfect view as Dirk blew a third leg off the table. Its scream petered out, breaking into a series of hushed whimpers. The table tried desperately to pull itself away with its one remaining leg, the rest of its jagged stumps twitching in agony, sluggishly leaking bright blue blood into the Astroturf.

  Stop, Derek wanted to scream, but his teeth were clenched so hard that he heard the enamel squeak inside his skull. Stop hurting it.

  Dirk looked curiously over his shoulder at Derek. The fact that their faces were almost the same was horrible now; Dirk’s face was splashed with the thing’s blood, and his eyes held no remorse or consternation. The table gave another weak little cry, and Dirk’s face twitched in annoyance. He turned back and shot the table again, this time in the center of its glass top. It immediately went limp and collapsed. Some of the eyes looked around and found Derek, focusing on him. He couldn’t look away.

  There was no clear line between when the eyes belonged to a living thing, and when that life was extinguished. At some point, the silvery pupils stopped looking at him, and then looked at nothing, and then they contained nothing. It had died, and died horribly.

  Quarterly Performance Review

  Employee number: D - 64598 - 01 - 6 - 13 - 150

  Designation: Dirk

  Division and position: Inventera/Team Lead

  Description of role and responsibilities:

  I lead the remaining Inventera Team in LitenVärld’s ongoing efforts to contain and exterminate its defective products. During each shift, I decide our strategy and coordinate our actions, while also eliminating defekta. I motivate my team members, develop our strengths while also identifying areas of improvement, and mediate conflicts that arise both during stressful shifts and in our off time. I also work closely with my superiors at Resource Management to set goals and evaluate our team’s progress.

  Discuss areas of excellence in your work:

  I am an excellent leader. I lead by example. I get things done. I’m not afraid to do what it takes to succeed. I have high expectations and don’t hesitate to tell people when they fall short of them. I thrive under pressure, and I perform very well in stressful situations. I’m not afraid to speak my mind. I am extremely loyal to LitenVärld and grateful that I’ve been given the opportunity to elevate myself to something better.

  Discuss areas to improve:

  After talking with Reagan, I understand that I need to work on my listening and communication skills.

  Comments from reviewer:

  Dirk has proven to be the shake-up that the Inventera Division needed! His team has been smashing through every goal we set for them and exceeding all their quotas, which proves his skill at motivating others. He’s also a delight to work with: quick, responsive, and a real go-getter. We discussed developing a more open communication style with his team, and he was very receptive to feedback. I’ll be talking with the rest of his team about strategies to collectively resolve conflict, rather than needing managers to intervene over every little thing. Overall, Dirk’s been an amazing addition!

  —Reagan

  From LitenVärld’s Employee Files, Inventera Division

  Chapter 6: There Is No Escape . . . From Fun!

  It took a while for Derek to become aware of Dirk snapping his fingers in his face. Derek jerked away, gasping harshly.

  “Hey, you back with me?” Dirk asked.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Defekta.” Dirk said it without any kind of inflection or emotion. “You can’t just wait for them to attack you. You have to show initiative.”

  Derek had a flashback to watching Tricia train new temps on engaging with customers: You can’t just wait for them to notice you. You have to show initiative and approach them first.

  Derek shook his head. “Wh . . . What happened to the INVENTERA targeting the mutagenic gene and rendering it inert?”

  Dirk looked over his shoulder at the dead, shattered table. “Looks pretty inert to me.”

  Rage and adrenaline flooded through him, and Derek balled up his fists, wanting to smash them into Dirk’s face, which now looked monstrous to him, all the more so because it shared Derek’s features. Dirk looked back at him calmly, commanding and unconcerned.

  “This is the job we were given,” Dirk said, gazing unblinkingly into Derek’s eyes. “This is the purpose we were made for. You going to fight against that?”

  Derek wanted to, at least for a second. Then he realized how futile it would be; fighting Dirk would be like fighting a better, cooler, and crueler version of himself. And fighting LitenVärld? It seemed more than impossible; it was unthinkable.

  Derek dropped his gaze and bit down on the answer (yes, I will fight it, I must) that threatened to erupt out of him. Pain tore through his throat again, so sudden and wrenching that he choked, tears springing to his eyes.

  “Wow, they really did a number on your generation, huh?” Dirk said, disgust and disappointment edging into his voice. “I’d heard they were trying to make the sevens empathetic or something, but it looks like they went too far. I hope you’re good for more than calming down suburbanites, otherwise this is going to be a long night for both of us.”

  He stood up, stretching. “I’m here to work, you know? Not babysit. I take my job very seriously.”

  There was a chime from Derek’s earpiece.

  “I heard screaming,” Delilah said, her voice tinny in the speaker. “Do you guys need help?”

  Dirk sighed and unmuted his earpiece. “Derek met his first defekta. Well, his second, I guess. It got a little messy, but we’re okay.”

  “Derek?” Delilah said. “What’s your status?”

  Derek could feel the ache settle back into his throat. He could feel Dirk staring down at him, waiting to see how he
’d react. He tried to clear his throat. “I’m okay. Just . . . it was a lot.”

  The silence in his earpiece was hard to read. “Are you good to keep going?” Delilah asked.

  “Of cour—” Derek tried to say, but felt something squirm rebelliously in his throat, worse than it had been since he called in sick. He tried to cover it with a cough, still aware of Dirk’s scrutiny and hesitant to let him down. “Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” Delilah said. “Dex and I cleared our quadrant. We’ll keep going.”

  “Got it, so will we.” Dirk muted his earpiece and looked expectantly at Derek. His finger was still around the trigger of the INVENTERA. “Well? Are you good?”

  Derek recognized his tone as the one he used on strangers, new coworkers and customers. It was cheerful, smooth, and gave absolutely nothing away. He smiled back at Dirk, ignored the swelling ache in his throat, and replied with the same. “Yeah, I’m just gonna, you know. Shake it off and get ready for the next one.”

  Dirk’s smile curved up into something a little realer. “Good, Derek. That’s good to hear.”

  * * *

  Derek knew about praying. Several of his Muslim coworkers scheduled their breaks around daily prayers. The store attracted its share of evangelical customers who asked about his relationship with his personal savior, inquiring into the state of his soul. His answers unnerved them enough that his coworkers had taken to calling him over to handle anyone attempting to debate Zahra about her hijab.

  He had never prayed himself, never given any thought to gods. There was already a higher power in his life, and it was LitenVärld. Any and all acts of devotion were for its favor, rather than an intangible presence that he couldn’t comprehend.

  Now, though, he found himself swallowing a litany of pleas: Please let this room be empty, please let me not find another defekta, please let them stay hidden, please get them out of here. He prayed that the defekta would sense Dirk’s menace, the violence that lurked beneath his placid face, and make their way to other rooms.

  Derek’s throat throbbed with all the words he didn’t dare say.

  Maybe his prayers were heard. They went through showroom after showroom, from a dining room styled like a pseudo-Asian teahouse to a minimalist urban loft with fake exposed brick, but each of them was clear of defekta. There were empty spaces where Derek knew furnishings had been; the arc lamp that hung over the black oak desk in the minimalist loft was no longer there, and a green-felted mahjong table was missing from the teahouse. Dirk kicked the tiles that had been left scattered across the ground with suspicion, but Derek could only shrug.

  “The closing crews aren’t reliable,” he said. “You saw the dirty mugs in the breakroom sink.”

  They had nearly finished the second quadrant when Derek heard a familiar scraping noise, and felt the bottom fall out of his stomach.

  Dirk held up a fist, signaling Derek to stop. He swiveled his head, trying to pinpoint the noise, while Derek prayed, again, Don’t move, stop moving, please.

  “Shut up, Derek!” Dirk said. “Quit fucking muttering to yourself!”

  Derek went silent. Even his thoughts cut out, the babbling monologue that he had somehow unintentionally given voice. He very carefully kept his mind clear as he followed Dirk into the room—an open-floor living room and kitchen combo with a mid-aughts’s kawaii aesthetic: pastels, a plum-colored couch decorated with throw pillows in the shapes of strawberries and cartoony cat plushies, stoneware featuring popular anime characters.

  The upside-down wicker basket stood out starkly to Derek’s eye, but he busied himself looking everywhere else. He turned his INVENTERA on the kitchenette first, keeping Dirk in the corner of his eye.

  Dirk was scanning methodically through the living room. The lack of action over the previous hour seemed to have worn on his nerves; he was no longer being careful to leave the room in customer-ready shape. Instead he threw items onto the ground after he scanned them, leaving a trail of plushie fruit and baked goods. Derek edged closer to the wicker basket, trying to keep his head utterly empty of words, casually scanning items to look busy. LYKKE chair, LYKKE chair, sloth-shaped fruit bowl, table runner embroidered with fat cats—

  Derek froze when his INVENTERA warbled again. In his peripheral vision, he could see Dirk pivot toward him, INVENTERA raised and finger cocked on its trigger.

  He barely had time to react before the table runner leapt at him. It wrapped itself around his arm—the tassels on each end were tipped in curved, needle-thin claws, and Derek could feel them pricking into his uniform.

  He felt the INVENTERA’s whine this time, felt the pulse of energy impact the table runner and then, horribly, pass through it. The energy was as invasive as its sound, and it hurt far worse than the claws, burning his skin under his uniform.

  The table runner was still trying to squeeze weakly around his wrist, as if for comfort. He could taste something thick and coppery in his mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” he said—sobbed, really.

  He heard it this time; the other voice, his other voice, repeating the same words. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

  Dirk yanked the table runner out of his hand, threw it on the ground, and shot it again. Then he turned to stare at Derek.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded. His tone was lower than Derek’s, who tended to pitch his voice high and obsequious. Dirk’s tone was angry, its authority absolute.

  Derek folded under it like wet cardboard. “I just, it startled me, and I didn’t, I couldn’t aim without hitting myself—”

  “No, what’s wrong with you,” Dirk repeated. He was still holding the INVENTERA out, and it was not pointed at the crumpled, stained table runner on the ground. It was pointed at Derek.

  Derek tried to keep that blankness at the forefront of his mind, thick enough to gag the other voice that kept speaking through him, and slowly raised his hands.

  There was a chime in his earpiece, and then Darkness’s voice. “Dirk, Derek, what the hell is happening? Why the fuck—”

  Dirk impatiently unmuted himself: “Would you shut up for once in your life, I’m trying to do my job, unlike the rest of you.”

  Then he yanked off the earpiece, still staring daggers at Derek.

  Derek could hear Darkness in his ear, cursing at Dirk. He didn’t dare move his hands to unmute himself, or give any sign that he could hear them. “Derek, if you can still hear me—fuck. Try and calm him down, okay? Keep him talking until one of us can get there. He’s dangerous, even if the INVENTERA can’t hurt you.”

  Derek swallowed. The INVENTERA could hurt him; the pulsing sheet of pain on his wrists told him that much. Dirk must have realized it as well.

  Derek had dealt with angry customers before. None of them had ever pointed a weapon at him, but he’d been trained to handle emergencies. Well, he’d sat through a video. Parts of one, anyway, before Tricia had told him he was needed out on the sales floor.

  Derek licked his lips, tried not to cringe at the thick, coppery blood that had been sprayed up into his face, and thought very hard.

  A human touch in their time of need. What did Dirk need? Dirk needed to be understood, Derek thought. No, he needed to be respected.

  “I can see that you’re frustrated with my performance, Dirk, and I understand that—”

  “Shut up, Derek. I know what you’re doing,” he said. “I am literally you, an earlier version of you. You’re not going to customer-service your way out of this.”

  Dirk was so focused on Derek that he didn’t notice the wicker basket inching closer to him. Derek tried to stop noticing it as well.

  “What do you think this is then, Dirk?” It was important to use customers’ names, if they gave them—it made them feel heard and recognized. Where had Derek learned that? Had it been in a training video? Had it been during orientation, which he had no real memory of? “Tell me what’s wrong. Talk to me. I’m just trying to understand so I can
do better.”

  “Something is wrong with you,” Dirk said. “I thought you were just weak at first, that there was a flaw in your design that could be corrected. But it’s not that, is it? You’re like them.”

  Dirk gestured at the crumpled table runner on the ground between them.

  “They’re not even really alive. They’re just . . . flukes. Accidents. Defectives. They’re bugs that sneak into the system, and if we don’t fix them, the system is in danger of breaking down.”

  Derek nodded mindlessly along with Dirk’s bullshit, trying not to watch the wicker basket sneaking closer. “Dirk, thank you for telling me that, and I want you to know that I hear you. But have you considered that letting the defekta go wouldn’t be a total disaster?”

  Dirk’s expression shifted, from anger into sharp exasperation, like he couldn’t believe Derek was that stupid.

  Derek could feel his voice threatening to break again. Words were thrumming in his throat: Keep talking to me, Dirk. “I just think that maybe you’re catastrophizing a little—”

  “You have no idea, do you?” Dirk said. “The only way for someone—for something like us to get ahead is to stand out. To be the best at what we’re created to do. We were made to follow orders and anticipate needs, to know what had to be done before the orders were even conceived. If I stay ahead of that curve, then I . . .”