Mardock Scramble

by Ubukata, Tow

  “I’ve made inquiries.”

  Shell floated a laugh and nodded. The man in front of him wasn’t the sort to commit an oversight. Boiled was much tougher and smarter than any bodyguard Shell had ever hired, and because of his effectiveness and broad remit his salary was also in a different league than his predecessors’.

  During the war Boiled had been part of the elite Airborne Division and had participated in the invasion of the enemy’s land across the sea as part of the Commonwealth’s front line of troops. Whereas Shell had avoided conscription due to his mental disorder and had no experience of war. So Shell was extremely pleased with Boiled’s past as a former soldier. Boiled was able to wipe away Shell’s inferiority complex at not having been able to take part in the war and for this reason was seen by Shell as a most distinguished, talented man.

  But at this point Boiled’s face revealed a strange expression. An expression Shell had not yet seen. You could have even called it a troubled expression. Face the same, he spoke the PI’s name:

  “Oeufcoque-Penteano.”

  “An unusual name. Is he from the Continent? Did he defect over here during the war?”

  “No, well—it’s likely that the person who gave him his name did. But you couldn’t really say that he’s from anywhere.”

  “You know him, do you, this PI?”

  “We were on the same team, a while ago.”

  Shell’s expression turned to one of astonishment. But Boiled would go into no further detail.

  “He can obtain legal clearance for all territories within a day. He’s going to be exploiting his authority as a Trustee to the absolute fullest, gathering information on us. He may even have already sniffed out the details of this deal that you’re working on.”

  “Or, equally, he may have taken an interest in this girl’s case just so that he could get to me, right?” Shell said.

  “A distinct possibility. I’m worried about the fact that this chatterbox of a mouse is suddenly so silent.”

  “Huh, calling your old partner a mouse. The partnership must have really ended badly.”

  Shell seemed somewhat amused. Boiled shook his head slowly and said, “No, he’s a very professional mouse.”

  His face was serious.

  Shell shrugged his shoulders. “I see.”

  He ordered a third glass of gin and murmured jackpot before taking a sip.

  “This is my game. I won’t let anyone interfere. A Life Preservation Program, you say? Well, if the program isn’t adopted then I’m guessing the PIs will lose their jurisdiction to interfere?”

  “Indeed. If the person concerned were to die or otherwise disappear, the case would close unresolved; that would be quickest,” Boiled informed him blandly, and Shell smiled a satisfied smile at him before draining his gin.

  “I’m relying on you. And it’s fairly certain that the doctors in question aren’t keen on the possibility that there are people other than me involved in the jackpot. You understand what I’m saying?”

  “Sure.”

  “You’re the ace in my sleeve, Boiled.”

  Shell smiled a thin smile and rose from his seat. He moved with such composure that you would never know he had a PI on his heels. His eyes hid an air of decisiveness as he stared into the air.

  Then Boiled said to Shell, with emphasis, “I need to hire. I need money.”

  “Can’t you manage on your own? We’re talking about a girl who’s been cooked through and is now at death’s door in an ICU somewhere, right?”

  Boiled shook his head at a surprised Shell. As if he were gently pacifying him.

  “I need someone disposable. Like your past. Each time you discard your past you become sharper, like a razor. This is the same. I want to be absolutely sure.”

  Shell made a broad gesture.

  “Use one of our nest eggs. I’ll give you the key code later. I’ll be looking forward to receiving good news.”

  And then, out of nowhere…

  “It’s strange.”

  Shell became serious and looked at one of his hands.

  “When I was looking at the article, one of my fingers started throbbing—even though I couldn’t remember the girl. I must have been planning on wearing the girl on it. A new Blue Diamond. And yet…”

  He rubbed the ring finger on his left hand,

  “Was she really such a special girl that I was planning on wearing her on this finger? So special that I wanted to turn her into an engagement ring? Or was it just a passing fancy with no particular reason behind it?” he asked himself in a low voice. Boiled couldn’t answer. It wasn’t a question that anyone could answer.

  “The memory of a woman—that’s always the first thing to go. It’s always the thing that stresses me out the most,” Shell said. “Women try to destroy my mind. Why’s that? They’re just women, right?”

  Shell laughed as he spoke. A self-mocking laugh.

  “All it takes is a twenty-gram bullet and a person will die,” Boiled whispered in a low voice.

  Shell nodded and laughed sharply before putting his Chameleon Sunglasses on. The glasses that changed color with the passing of time were now a deep violet. Like the color of Shell’s pain. A forgetfulness that could never be undone. That sort of pain.

  “Send me the ring. I’m counting on you.”

  Shell finished speaking, then disappeared.

  Boiled stared silently at the newspaper cutting on the counter.

  “Looks like we’ll be meeting again, Oeufcoque,” he muttered in a subdued tone, out of Shell’s earshot.

  ≡

  The Doctor had just finished the last of his work on the display when Balot entered the office with Oeufcoque on her shoulder.

  “Can we put off Balot’s court appearance, do you think?” Oeufcoque asked in a surprisingly plain tone of voice.

  The Doctor, taken aback, replied, “You’re joking, right, Oeufcoque? You know what I’ve just done? Yes, of course, I’ve just finished transmitting the files of her conversation with the public prosecutor—along with the petition files—to the court secretariat. We’ve just had the preliminary courtroom proceedings over the monitor. That’s like asking to put the egg back into the shell after it’s broken.”

  “But the egg’s not been fried yet.”

  The Doctor gave a strangled groan.

  “Fine. So why not get the raw egg, the electronic data that’s just finished dashing full-speed ahead toward the government offices, and tell it that, oh, actually we haven’t decided how to cook you yet. Try doing that now at this late hour, eh?”

  At this point the Doctor stopped moving. He stared fixedly at Balot’s face.

  “Really? Just like that?”

  I don’t believe it, his body seemed to say, as he stooped over the display to check the data that he had just sent not a minute ago. The contents of the files were empty. Pure white. Not even a destination address. Right next to them was a new set of entirely different files. He opened them and found the data—that he was sure he had just sent—copied and preserved exactly. It was like magic.

  “The abilities that your snarc gives you are truly incredible.”

  The Doctor rose from his stooped posture and looked straight at Balot.

  “There’s no one I’ve known who’s been able to manipulate electricity at this level. Or perhaps I should say no one has ever existed. The velocity of the electricity usually blows one’s mind. In your case, even though almost your whole body is accelerated to such a high level, you’re completely unaffected and it’s working perfectly. Amazing. Still…”

  Balot wouldn’t raise her eyes. Her face was downcast, expressionless.

  “Will you explain to me if there’s any relation between the fact that, on the one hand, it’s less than three hundred hours since your operation and you’re defying the boundaries of your threshold of consciousness, and on the other hand you refuse to appear in court? Do you want to shut yourself away in this hideaway—this shell—forever?”

 
; Balot shook her head sideways. In small, repeated movements. And that was the extent of her answer.

  On her shoulder Oeufcoque looked at the Doctor with a troubled face.

  “She’s like a mascot, isn’t she, Oeufcoque?”

  The Doctor spoke in a severe tone of voice. Balot raised her eyes with a jolt. But in the corner of Balot’s field of vision Oeufcoque calmly shrugged his shoulders. He stood there as if to say that this was his job, to look like a charming little stuffed animal.

  The Doctor sighed, tired.

  “She’s nominated us as Trustees, with responsibility for this case. She has to give the courtroom a satisfactory account—and response—regarding what happened. Have you explained this to the girl properly? Unless we do this, we can’t take a step further, and all there is left to do is sit and wait for the enemy to send his assassins.”

  At that moment there was a pinging noise. The doorbell-like sound that signaled the arrival of an incoming data packet.

  The data packet he had mailed a minute ago had just bounced back, target address unknown.

  The Doctor peered in at the display dubiously. And with his other hand he pushed his glasses up in surprise.

  –I have nobody, nowhere.

  The message floated up as a single line of text.

  This was Balot’s response. As if to say that this was the one thing she knew for certain.

  “You mean that you can’t trust us?”

  The Doctor’s voice was much gentler than before. Not ingratiating, but as if to say that at last he understood where she was coming from.

  Balot shook her head.

  Another ping.

  –I’m afraid.

  The Doctor was about to say something. Then another pinging sound.

  –I don’t want to be betrayed.

  The unaddressed mail had these messages, one by one.

  “By no means are we going to betray you. We’ll use all our power to help solve this case. That’s right, isn’t it, Oeufcoque? Whatever dangers we come across…”

  But Oeufcoque wouldn’t answer. He merely stood there, face deeply troubled.

  “Hey, say something, will you?”

  Another ping.

  –You were both peeping at me for ages.

  The Doctor opened his mouth in surprise. A further chime.

  –The two of you brought me back to life, then raped me.

  The Doctor read this with an astonished expression, then sat back down in the chair, drained of strength.

  “Raped?”

  Balot hung her head in shame. It wasn’t like she was trying to forcefully impart a message—more like words hidden away in the depths of her heart were suddenly revealed.

  “When I was accepted onto the government’s research team, I received a couple of hundred counseling sessions, and I started my research after having a profound respect for human rights bashed into me, along with a deep understanding of ethics and morality.”

  The Doctor spoke as if he were wringing out his voice.

  “Well, I drowned in that ocean of counseling and became completely impotent. As a result, I split up with my wife. Even now, I’m almost proud of my sexual inadequacy—it’s like a badge of honor. There are even times when I start feeling like I’ve become a saint or something—”

  “Erm, Doctor—”

  Oeufcoque tried to interrupt, but the Doctor was having none of it.

  “Very well. I’ll now give you a full account of what happened to you.”

  The voice now showed a hint of anger, and Balot’s shoulders flinched. But the Doctor was polite through to the end. You couldn’t say he was calm and collected, but he showed no sign of needing to resort to more than words.

  “In the first case, we made it our absolute priority to save your life. But there was no way of getting you from where you were to an emergency hospital. The enemy would have gotten wind of your whereabouts, and if you’d been in a hospital they would have come and finished you off. That’s where a quack like me comes in. As I diagnosed it, a normal skin graft wouldn’t have been anywhere near enough. You’d have met your maker long before your condition stabilized. And that’s where my craft comes in. On this point I think we’re in agreement, am I right?”

  Balot gave a little nod. The Doctor was using plain words—not the slang of whores, or the affected language of posh princesses, but simple, direct language that hit Balot with everything she needed to know.

  And that was good enough for Balot. The Doctor didn’t notice that this was one of the reasons that Balot was sad—it was good enough for the likes of her—he was, after all, the Doctor, and his mind was on other things.

  “In the second instance, in order to help you face up to the case that’s now confronting us, we needed to make sure you had the ability to resist. Now, shall we have Oeufcoque give his testimony at this point?”

  He pointed at Oeufcoque as if to say that he wasn’t the only villain in the piece.

  Oeufcoque raised his hands and with noticeable reluctance carried on with the Doctor’s explanation.

  “All right, Doc. My response. We could have handed you over to the care of the public bodies in charge of protection, but we wouldn’t have been able to tell if any assassins had infiltrated them. There are those within the police forces who almost look upon that sort of thing as a second job. And so we deemed it appropriate that we keep on guarding you while you developed your own powers of resistance.”

  A pinging sound.

  –Powers of resistance?

  “Yeah, well, fighting strength, as it were. Learn self-defense skills, how to use a gun, that sort of—”

  Another pinging sound.

  –No way. I don’t want to become like a soldier.

  Oeufcoque gave a little shrug of his shoulders. That was the last reply.

  The display was now buried in Balot’s words.

  The Doctor turned to the display and nimbly took the files one by one and collated them in a single file to be saved. Balot’s eyes followed the Doctor’s actions with a quick glance. She thought her words would be deleted, but the Doctor just carried on reading them.

  “While you were unconscious we brushed on the memories in your brain’s outer threshold of consciousness,” the Doctor said, face still turned to the display.

  “We’re not talking about tangible memories here, but rather your subconscious—we took all our technology and planning and threw it all together, and had the computer interrogate the mix. It’s one of the protocols used with patients in a vegetative state in order to decide whether or not to euthanize them. So we looked at the results after the prescribed six hours of interrogation, and then while you were asleep we conducted another six-hour interrogation. The results were the same on both occasions.” The Doctor wasn’t shouting now. He was informing her calmly, as if he were reciting a poem.

  “Your current body—and this situation—this is the result that you chose.”

  There was a short gap in the conversation, but before long there was another ping right before the Doctor’s eyes.

  –I know that excuse. You men are all the same. “It’s what you wanted, you were asking for it.” That’s what you always say.

  Balot stared nervously at the Doctor’s profile as she watched him read the sentence. Keenly. With the same expression as when she said that she didn’t want to be betrayed. Oeufcoque had placed a little paw on the base of Balot’s neck, as if to praise her for her bravery.

  “That counseling…like a tsunami…” the Doctor muttered without thinking. As if he were remembering anew what he had gained and what he had lost. The meaning of the phrase that he’d said to Balot, everything turned topsy-turvy.

  An almost diffident sound pinged before the Doctor’s eyes.

  –I also know that you people aren’t lying.

  The Doctor took this, and her earlier words, and stuck them into the file he had opened. As if he were scooping up her words. Then he turned back to Oeufcoque and said, “Now then, I
’ll leave this bit up to your heart, Oeufcoque. I’ve been doing the maintenance on your guts all these years, after all. We’ll use its beat as a barometer.”

  His facial expression was calm but also a little twisted.

  “I know what needs to be done, but I don’t know what we should do. In particular when it comes to rebuilding the body of a fifteen-year-old girl and getting her to stand in front of a court.”

  A pinging sound, and,

  –Rune-Balot.

  “Hmm. That’s your name. It’s been a while since we’ve called the person involved in a Scramble 09 case by their proper name. Rune-Balot. You’re competent enough to be able to give informed consent to your doctor. So, right now, what do you want to do?”

  Again Balot’s head was bowed, eyes downcast.

  The Doctor showed no particular sign of getting impatient but sat back in his chair and looked at Oeufcoque.

  “The clothes Balot just ordered online have arrived.”

  Oeufcoque answered in her place, meekly.

  The Doctor raised both hands as if to say so? Balot hesitantly tugged at the hem of the hospital robe that she’d been wearing since she emerged from the insulator.

  “And she wants to try them on and head outside. For lunch. And at the same time file a petition to have her manipulated ID canceled.”

  The Doctor’s mouth twisted.

  “So you weren’t particularly hiding away, then? Why didn’t you say so?”

  Balot cowered, but the Doctor was just looking to Oeufcoque for confirmation.

  “And I suppose you’re going with her, right? In an I’m your bulletproof armor kind of way? But take care, though. The preliminary report for the case is already out there. There’s a good chance the enemy will try something.”

  “Well, it’d be good to have an opponent she could try out her new powers on. In any case, she’s yet to experience my usefulness when it comes to dealing with Scramble 09 cases.”

  The Doctor shrugged his shoulders and stood up. He took out a card carrier from his back pocket.

  He chose a cash card and handed it to Balot.

  Balot had no idea what to do.

  She stared at the Doctor’s face before almost secretively taking it from his hand.