Mardock Scramble

by Ubukata, Tow

  –Will you explain to me why I need to appear at the trial?

  “Well, to be precise, nothing’s coming to trial as such, not just yet. What we’re doing right now is trying to establish that Shell is indeed the right suspect. Your appearance should be able to formally establish that we’re accusing the correct suspect—Shell—and at the same time will give us approval to progress the case further.”

  –In what way?

  “We want legal proof of the fact that, behind the scenes of your attempted murder, much bigger and more systematic wrongdoings are taking place. We’ll get a big reward from the Broilerhouse by solving this case.”

  –And if I’m not around you won’t be able to do that?

  “Exactly. If the concerned person in the case disappears then there’s nothing more that can be done. The Broilerhouse and the Hunters will just wrap things up as they see fit.”

  –That’s why you’re protecting me? Or making me protect myself? And what do I get from this bargain?

  “Let’s see. Your life, your dignity, closure, and money to live. Does that seem about right?”

  –Oeufcoque?

  “Yeah?”

  –Do you mind if I take a little drive?

  “Of course not. Do as you like. Let’s just get home before it gets too late.”

  Balot’s car headed from the East Side toward South Street. The air outside, glowing with the lights of the city, seemed to Balot like brittle glass that would break at the slightest touch.

  Balot switched the car heater on and attached the sleeves to her top. As if she were binding herself up.

  “If you wrap yourself up too tight you might break the equilibrium in your cortex as it tries to repair itself. It’ll also put strain on your internal organs.”

  –But I feel safer this way.

  So saying, she stared at the glove. Her eyes were more focused than before, and she perceived Oeufcoque’s existence more keenly than ever.

  –So you don’t think I’m crazy?

  “No, I don’t think you’re crazy.”

  –Hey, Oeufcoque?

  “Yeah?”

  –Have you ever seen a video? One with kids like me in it, I mean?

  “A few times. In experiments to determine my sex drive. I didn’t really get what all the fuss was about.”

  –Do you know what S&M is? And fetishes, that sort of thing?

  “A little, not in detail—what about them?”

  –One of the favorites at the house where I worked—she was called Queen Bee. She told me that I wasn’t suited for S&M. Clients who liked that sort of thing wanted their girls to be kicking and screaming, whereas my selling point was playing dead. I really liked that girl. Even though she was the cause of the last place I worked going bankrupt, no one had a bad word to say about her.

  “Hmm.”

  –Once I saw a Show where she appeared as the star. Alongside a number of M girls—masochists who received the punishment she dished out. She trussed them up, spanked them, whipped them, that sort of thing. Everyone in the Show was very pretty. One of the M girls liked needles, so she had these needles stuck crosswise through her nipples while she was tied up. “These are disposable syringes,” Queen Bee said. No one else had used them previously, so there was no chance of catching any diseases. Also, normal needles actually have quite serrated edges, so they’d be unnecessarily painful. That’s why disposable needles were best.

  “I see. And then?” Oeufcoque spoke in a serious tone that encouraged Balot to continue with her monologue.

  –After the needles were removed she was tied up tighter, with blood pouring from her nipples. She was such a pale-skinned girl that she looked incredibly beautiful just then, as if her nipples were weeping blood. I think the reason that it seemed so beautiful was that Queen Bee acted the way she did. The M girl said so too. As the M girl was bound tighter she said it was like being held by someone who loved her. No one else could make her feel that way, only Queen Bee. Queen Bee made the ropes feel like the arms of her mother and father. She didn’t like being tied up roughly by men, though, she told me after the Show. She said they didn’t understand.

  “And that’s why you wear your clothes so tight?”

  –Maybe. I remembered what the girl said back then at the Show. “It’s like being embraced.” Oh, by the way, she died in the end, that girl—some time after Queen Bee was arrested. The M girl was on drugs, getting paid to be tied up by this guy. He was high and strangled her to death. There was a trial then, too, even though they ended up deciding that the man hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “And were you there at that trial?”

  –Yup. The manager of the brothel—the woman who gave me my name—brought the prosecution, but in the end she lost her case. As a result the Broilerhouse put a mark on us, and the Hunters came and arrested all the clients on our books, that’s what she told me. Those people—and that shop—weren’t really that bad. There were plenty of places that were much worse. In particular the video work—there was a guy who could film it really well—and everyone was clean and gentle. I heard of plenty of places that were terrible, but no one the manager introduced us to was that bad. I was even told that if I could remember how to smile I could become a legitimate actress, a real star. Well, that production company went bankrupt, but still…and have you seen any of the videos that I was in?

  “No.”

  –Would you like to?

  “I’m not sure… I don’t really know. But let’s go back a little—you said arrested? Why was Queen Bee arrested?”

  –Flashbacks.

  Balot stopped to think for a moment. About how she could best explain the gravity of this word.

  –We’re talking about a girl who earned a thousand, two thousand a night. Very beautiful—in face and body. She could do anything and would let anyone do anything to her. She never sold herself short, but on those rare occasions when she did have to go cheap she did so cheerfully, without fuss. Even though most people are very worried, both before and after the deed. Do you understand? Yet this girl ended up killing one of her customers. With a concealed gun. Premeditated. After tying him up she shot him over thirty times, apparently. In a soundproof room, the sort you often get in specialist hotels. She kept on firing rounds into him long after he was dead.

  “Why?”

  –Flashbacks. That’s what she told them when she was in the holding cells, anyway. She didn’t say anything at the trial. I watched Queen Bee’s trial. With the rest of the girls. And after that we watched the trial of the M girl case I was talking about earlier. Neither trial went on for long. Nothing to them. Just men working for pride and money. Really pathetic. A lousy Show. That’s what all the girls were saying. I thought so too. No one found out why Queen Bee flipped out. The men just kept arguing with each other. Queen Bee was grinning and laughing all through her trial. Flashbacks. The men tried desperately to ask if something had happened when she was younger, but Queen Bee wouldn’t tell them anything. At the end the manager gave Queen Bee a kiss and said, “I’m really sorry.” Queen Bee replied, “That’s okay, love you.” And, “Goodbye.”

  “First degree murder…so it was a life sentence for premeditated homicide, I suppose? The women were lovers, were they?”

  –Queen Bee and the manager weren’t an item, if that’s what you mean. Not a lesbian couple. They loved each other like family. I sometimes yearn to see the girls from back then myself. As if they were family. In the end, everyone drifted out of town and ended up here in Mardock City. ’Cause this is the city where you can earn the most. But also the cruelest city. I don’t know what’s happened to the girls who escaped from the institute with me, but I’d like to see them again too.

  “And you’ll be able to. You can see them as much as you want once this case is resolved.”

  –But I bet if I did go and see them I’d only get jealous—or be envied myself. We’ll end up competing to see who is the most beloved. So it might be better that I don’t go
and see them after all.

  “Most beloved?”

  –By a partner, a man, in a same-sex relationship, anything. Even by God or by fate. Whether we are loved, or not. The worst thing of all is to die without. But in the end, I think most of us will end up dying precisely because we aren’t loved.

  Eventually the car pulled off the road that was taking them toward South Street and veered toward the city center. Toward the place—the vast space—where the multitude of different streets and townscapes came together.

  Oeufcoque seemed to be thinking hard about Balot’s words.

  –Hey, Oeufcoque.

  “Uh-huh?”

  –Do you think they’ll ask me about my father at the trial? About my flashbacks?

  “Hard to tell. If the counsel for the defense comes across your background and decides that it’s to their advantage to destabilize you emotionally by asking you questions about him, then, yes, they probably will.”

  –Will the case fail if they prove that I’m crazy?

  “Well, uh, yes…”

  –What will the official titles be? Of the crimes we’re accusing them of, I mean?

  “Violation of the protection of minors law for starters, then forgery of official documents, status manipulation, rape, and attempted murder.”

  –Will they ask me about how I felt while I was doing it? The things that I did, the things I let him do to me? Will they ask me what clothes I was wearing? They’ll say that the man did nothing wrong, because of how I allowed them to keep me, or because I wanted it. That’s what they always say at trial.

  “I have no intention of letting them get away with that sort of thing at this trial.”

  –The manager said something similar. That it was all nonsense. But no one listened to her. And no one will listen to me either. When there are plenty of girls like that…

  “It won’t be like that this time.”

  –I do want to help you two, you know. I really do. Do you believe me?

  “I do,” said Oeufcoque.

  –I want an explanation. An explanation that allows me to think that even if I’m hurt, I’m not damaged. A means to an end. I want to feel that I’m going through all this for something, someone. Inside me there’s a part of myself that would be happy to see me dead. But I don’t want to die. Not like this.

  “Balot, you’re…”

  –I have nightmares whenever I sleep. Always. And particularly since the incident with Shell. Do you have dreams, Oeufcoque?

  “Not often, no. But I can tell when you’re having nightmares. It’s your smell, whenever you’re asleep—”

  –I don’t want to die while I’m feeling this way. This much I know. But I’m scared. So scared I can barely move. Really. I could excavate fossils, or become a poet or a scholar—but none of that would explain anything. I don’t believe that having ambitions or dreams for the future can explain anything. All I know is that I want what I want right at this moment. Because I’ve never ever wanted something and then got it.

  “Balot…you’ve really done well to get to where you are now. Tremendously.”

  –What do you mean?

  “You’ve survived. Even when you were under incredible stress, you’ve defended yourself by disciplining yourself to obey in order to survive, to protect your life. You’ve fought an immense battle, and that’s required great courage and endurance. Well, from now on I’m going to join you in your battle. I’ll turn into any weapon you want me to. You might not be used to this way of fighting. And, in truth, I can’t say which way of fighting is better. Nevertheless, I want you to understand our way of doing battle. We mean to discover everything—to determine why you were almost killed—and to do this we’re using the plan we devised while you were in your coma, which we’ll modify as we go along based on your reactions now that you’re awake.”

  –And that’s enough of an explanation for you? That by listening to my grumbling, and getting lots of money at the end of it all, you can somehow make your life worth living?

  “Like you, I have strong feelings of wanting to discover what I am, to be able to say ‘I’ve got it!’ At the moment, all I’m doing is projecting a constructed image of myself onto this city. I may be the scourge of the shadowy underbelly of this place, but when it comes down to it I’m nothing more than a shadow myself.”

  After a short while the car entered Central Park.

  They passed the boathouse near the pleasure quarter and arrived at the patch of blackened grass now surrounded by police tape used to cordon off the crime scene.

  It was the place where she had died—the spot where she was nearly burned to death, trapped inside her own shell.

  Balot parked the car there. After the tiniest of pauses she jumped out of the car, resolute.

  The cold night air was drawing in, and the spot was quiet, with not a Hunter to be seen.

  She crossed the police cordon and stood on the still charred ground. She looked up to the skies and succumbed to the overwhelming desire to shout with all her heart—but all that emerged was a breath that sounded like a draft leaking through a crack in the wall.

  –There’s nothing that I really want to do. Everyone—all the girls I know, anyway—don’t get to do what they want, they just live without, until their lives are messed up by drugs or men. All I want is an explanation as to why we should want to live, even when we’re subjected to all that.

  Balot closed her eyes, took her time, readied herself, and snarced straight at Oeufcoque.

  –Love me.

  “Erm… What’s that, now?”

  –Give me an explanation, an excuse to live. I want to do that for you. It’d stand up in court as proof of your usefulness, and anyway, you’re supposed to do whatever I ask. So, love me.

  “You mean…like a family? The way Queen Bee and the manager loved each other?”

  –Shell told me he loved me. That’s why I got in that man’s car. I want to be loved by someone like you.

  “Wait a second. Would that give you closure? Satisfy you?”

  –What am I to you?

  And with that, it happened. Oeufcoque turned back into a mouse with a squelch.

  Balot had snarced him—forcefully, completely. Oeufcoque’s eyes opened wide, and he took a step back in Balot’s hand. He was trembling.

  “M-my primary defenses…you can penetrate them? In an instant, just like that…”

  –Won’t you answer me?

  “Uh…um…wait a moment—so—well, you’re my client, and you’re the official Concerned Party in this case, so it’s my responsibility to protect you. And if there’s anything unsatisfactory about my conduct then you’re free to file a complaint at the Broilerhouse at any time.”

  –Whatever. I don’t care about that sort of thing. That’s not what I’m asking you.

  “Look, hang on a minute. As you can see quite clearly, I’m a one-of-a-kind all-singing all-dancing mouse. Nothing more. I think there’s some sort of misunderstanding. Do you think that all it takes is a wish from you and I can turn into a full-fledged human—a grown man—for your convenience? Impossible, I’m afraid. I don’t have the ability to become another living creature.”

  –I know. You’re a mouse. A cute, kind, talking mouse. Do you think I’m crazy too? Like the Hunter I told you about?

  Oeufcoque breathed a deep, exhausted sigh. So deep his suspenders seemed to slacken. “Look, do you think of me as some sort of pet? The sort that you can buy in a shop, complete with a cage and a wheel?”

  Balot’s face fell. She looked sadder than ever before. It was almost as if this was the first time Oeufcoque had properly seen Balot’s facial expression.

  –That’s not what I meant. Just that…

  “As far as you’re concerned, whatever I may be, I’m here to protect you, to become your weapon in order to keep you out of harm’s way. Whereas you—you need to keep yourself alive and win the right to survive, to live.”

  –“A new buddy.”

  “Wh
at…”

  –You said those words to me right on this spot. When I was all burnt up. You said that I’d be your new partner. As you looked into my eyes.

  Again Oeufcoque’s red eyes grew wide.

  “You can remember that? In the state you were in? You were aware of your surroundings?”

  –Drugs don’t really have much of an effect on me. Something to do with my genetic makeup. Uppers or downers. They just make me feel a bit woozy and put me to sleep. That’s how I avoided turning into a drug addict like my mother.

  “Even so, we’re talking out of the ordinary here. You had third-degree burns over pretty much your entire body. And yet you maintained consciousness. To the extent that you can remember precisely what other beings were saying.”

  Balot bit down on her lips with a disconsolate expression. She was trying to cope with a loneliness that was so bitterly cold that it felt like her heart might freeze over. Oeufcoque noticed this and plonked himself down on the palm of Balot’s hand.

  “As a living tool, people who use me ask me to do all sorts of things. As a result I’ve come into all sorts of conflicts with my former partners. Confrontations big enough to end our partnerships decisively. If, even so, you really want to give up your status as my client and become my partner…”

  –I accept. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say. And I’ll appear in court.

  “Hmm. Well, I have a feeling we’ll carry on having our differences of opinions, but… Well, why not. I’ll have to get you to learn a few things here and there, but it looks like you’re okay with that too.”

  Balot stared intently at Oeufcoque. As if to say she didn’t mind how much it hurt her. Oeufcoque stuck his paw out as if he were conceding total defeat and said, “Well, then, let’s go with that for now. All the best, partner.”

  Balot gave him a fingertip to return his handshake, then snarced him.

  –Balot. I want you to call me by my name.

  “Uh, sure, but what about your real name…”

  –It’s like the manager who gave me my name said. That’s the most appropriate name for me. And I think it is too. In the same way that you’re called Oeufcoque ’cause you’re so soft.