Mardock Scramble

by Ubukata, Tow

  Welldone lifted a disc out of the case between two fingers, suspiciously.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “A video featuring the target.” Boiled stared at Welldone, unflinching.

  Medium moved to his side and received the video. “We’ll check now, all five of us.” He snapped his fingers. This time a different wall opened up, revealing a large TV screen.

  Rare and Mincemeat entered the room and sat down on the sofa as Medium stuck the disc into the player. Flesh was able to watch the same video from his own room.

  Nobody spoke, but the sense of excitement was palpable. They were about to acquire a new target.

  Soon the video began. The picture was noticeably grainy; it was obviously a cheap flick. As a movie it was barely watchable, but when the girl appeared the gang were glued to their seats.

  They watched the girl as she lay still and was used every which way, and suddenly the room was full of the most unbearable tension.

  “Nice fingers she has on her.” Medium was the first to speak once the first scene was over. “Innocent and yet…supple. I’ve wanted a better pinky on my right hand for some time…”

  Rare was next to speak. “Magnificent hair. Her skin looks wonderful too. I want her. I want her badly.” His voice was shrill.

  “Want her eyes for my arm. Such sharp, clear pupils. Like an angel,” Mincemeat said. He was breathing heavily. “I’ll say good morning to them every day when I wake. Then I’ll kiss those eyelids.”

  Cute, aren’t they? came Flesh’s voice over some hidden speakers. A wonderful pair. I’d like them on my inner thighs. I’d give them a little shot of hormones every day, so that they press up more and more against my bits…

  “Hmm…” Welldone surveyed the rest of the gang, but he too was drawn back into the video when the second man clambered on top of the girl to enter her.

  “See here…can we get a closeup? That’s it, right there. Now let’s see what she’s like inside. This pussycat might even be good enough to be part of my right hand. I’ve been looking for a scissor sister for my left hand for some time now, she needs her sweet loving… What’s this? I see, I see…”

  This was how they all spoke to each other for some time. Admiring their new target and talking in graphic detail about what they wanted to do with her. They were all incredibly excited.

  After some time, Welldone turned to Boiled. “When did you say this video was taken?”

  “About half a year ago.”

  “What do we have on her at the moment?”

  “We have footage from the courtroom and photos,” said Boiled. Welldone took out a pile of photos from the case and passed them around.

  “Wonderful! So—what is it exactly that you want?” asked Welldone. Boiled didn’t answer, and Welldone looked back at him silently.

  “This was the real target all along, wasn’t it? The five doctors were just the amuse-bouche, and this is the main course. So what is it that you want with this girl?”

  “Nothing. To have the target annihilated completely. Give me the nothingness that’s left after her life has disappeared.”

  When Welldone heard these words his face turned into a broad smile. “Thus spake the ultimate fetishist! It looks like in Mr. Boiled we’ve happened across our ideal partner.”

  “The time limit is three days. We can’t wait any longer than that. The moment it looks like you’re not going to complete your mission in time, we’ll terminate the contract on the spot.”

  “Don’t you worry, Mr. Boiled. The pack of hounds that you’ve chosen—Bandersnatch—are the best hunting dogs in the business.” Welldone was now a bundle of pure desire.

  Boiled rose from his seat.

  When he left the ship he headed straight for the car park without looking back.

  The new moon was sharp as a razor, shining down its blue light over the gatehouse.

  “Any luck, sir?” It was still the same young security guard on duty. He ran Boiled’s card through the system again. “Anyhow, good luck with the case, sir.”

  Boiled nodded in silence.

  He set a course for the East Side.

  05

  “It’s completely unacceptable! Beyond the pale!” Oeufcoque was pointing his finger and—unusually for him—yelling furiously. “An absolute ‘no way’! No questions asked. Have you got that, Balot?”

  –I’m sorry, don’t get mad at me! I’ll never lift you up by your tail again.

  “I don’t even like discussing it! It’s like my whole person is being judged and found wanting. Just leave my tail alone in every way, please.”

  –I’m sorry. I’ll do that. So please stop being so angry?

  Oeufcoque lowered the finger he was pointing at her, and eventually his hips followed suit with a thump.

  He was on the palm of Balot’s hand. She was using her other hand to hold a bath towel to her chest.

  “As long as you understand, it’s okay.”

  –I didn’t realize it would upset you so much.

  “I don’t know why I got so angry myself.”

  –You’re still angry.

  “Yes, but it’s fine. I’ll stop taking it out on you.”

  –Why don’t you just keep it hidden in your pants? Why do you have a hole on purpose so that you can stick your tail out?

  “I think I just asked you to drop it!”

  –You also said you’d stop taking it out on me.

  “You need a full account, is that it? Very well, then. Out of the many designs of pants that there are, my favorite design happens to have a hole in the—” Oeufcoque cut himself off for a second, throwing his arms in the air out of frustration. “That bloody Doctor, saying things like Don’t you think those pants make your backside look big, or Be careful where you park that thing, it needs warning lights—he’s given me such a complex about my magnificent tail!”

  Balot did her best to stop herself, but in the end she couldn’t help bursting out into silent laughter.

  “Don’t laugh at me, I’m begging you…” Oeufcoque pleaded with a pathetic expression.

  This only made her laugh even more. She doubled over, holding her towel to her stomach now.

  “Anyway, shouldn’t you be thinking about your own clothes rather than worrying about my pants? Unlike me you don’t even have any proper hair on your body. You’ll catch a cold if all you wear is a single towel.”

  Balot’s whole body was shaking along with her laughter, but she managed a small nod.

  “And the Doctor’s waiting for us too.”

  –Can you wait for me, though? I’m in pain. I’m laughing too much.

  “Still laughing? Well, I’m so delighted that I could be of service in this way—I’m glad I amuse you.”

  –Stop sulking.

  “I’m not sulking!”

  –Of course you aren’t. Sorry.

  Balot wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes and kissed Oeufcoque on his tail.

  “Was that a peace offering? Very well, I accept. Now, considering the real and present danger facing your health, let’s move on to a mission to acquire appropriate clothing for you.”

  –Thank you.

  Balot stood up and let her towel fall to the floor. She lifted Oeufcoque up carefully with both hands and snarced him with feeling. Oeufcoque, with his usual squelch, melted in Balot’s hand and widened and slithered to cover her whole body.

  Oeufcoque wrapped the stark naked Balot from top to toe. A black bodysuit covered her from her fingertips to the ends of her toes. Both of her palms were stuck together, as Oeufcoque couldn’t turn into two things at once.

  Balot peeled her hands apart with the gentlest of motions. Savoring the sensation of the bodysuit—comfortable, flexible, tight—she went to take a peek at herself in the mirror.

  She was a little disappointed.

  –It’s not very stylish.

  “Maybe not, but it is heatproof, coldproof, shockproof, pressure-resistant—and can magnify your snarc. Oh,
and there’s a zipper at the back, so please use that to take me off when I’m turned out.”

  –Doesn’t it come in any other designs?

  “You can modify the design as you like, all you have to do is think about it—but let’s not get bogged down with the trivial stuff just now.”

  –You get bogged down with trivial stuff like your pants, Balot answered back as she put on her boots.

  She left her room and headed toward the elevator. The giant building, the former mortuary, was in fact full of rooms that were formerly used as morgues—and, therefore, despite the size of the place, not much of it was serviceable as living quarters.

  Balot used the elevator used for goods arrivals to head down and got off at the underground garage, where she noticed a number of gasoline-fueled cars.

  The red convertible was there too.

  –Did you make these cars yourself, Oeufcoque?

  “Yup, apart from the license plates, the gas, and a couple specialist patented parts. Took me the best part of the month to make a single vehicle. I’m very meticulous about my designs—it’s the artist in me.”

  –I wish the artist in you was meticulous about the designs for my clothes.

  “Uh…sure, well, let’s focus on our training for now, that’s our first priority.”

  They entered into the garage proper, and by one of the walls they saw the Doctor, piling up some complicated-looking machinery.

  He smiled as he saw Balot come toward him.

  “Isn’t it great? Using the funds we requested for your Life Preservation Program I was able to source some first-class diagnostic equipment, tinker around with it, and polish it up into these. These beauties knock the training equipment used in the Major Leagues right out of the water!”

  Balot snarced the throat of her suit, producing a crystalline sound.

  –Looks like everyone’s an artist.

  She looked around at the machinery, somewhat nonplussed.

  “It’s important to be artistic now and then if you’re going to enjoy your life—the trick is to stop just before you end up on the wrong side of autistic.” The Doctor was in his element, able to fiddle with his machines to his heart’s content. “Are those clothes Oeufcoque?”

  “That’s right, Doc. And I was told off by Balot for not being artistic enough in my own designs,” said Oeufcoque.

  The Doctor nodded in agreement. “Get her to teach you some style, then. Now, Balot, I’m going to stick these on you, okay?”

  The Doctor showed her some circular stickers. Balot nodded, and the Doctor started placing them all over her—knees, elbows, back.

  –What are these things?

  “Designed to send your biorhythmic data straight to this machine. They’ll capture your movements with a margin of error of less than 0.1 millimeters. Now, could you move around a bit? Do some stretches, that sort of thing.”

  The Doctor took a seat in a pipe chair and balanced a laptop on his knees. Multicolored cords extended from the back of the monitor and plugged into the sprawling machinery.

  Balot moved as requested. Some warm-ups. She snarced the suit here and there as she limbered up. A few patterns started appearing on the suit and eventually formed themselves into what could be described as a rough design, complete with colors.

  Balot still didn’t seem satisfied, exactly, but at least she was getting there.

  “You’re pretty limber,” Oeufcoque said as Balot performed a split, backside now on the floor. He seemed impressed.

  Balot smiled and, from the same position on the floor, leaned forward until her chest touched the ground. From that position she spread her arms toward her feet, deftly touching the tips of her toes.

  “Well, that’s one skill I don’t have. We have ourselves a bona fide gymnast!”

  –I just like physical activity. It makes me feel like I’m in charge of my body.

  She spoke without the electronic voice box, communicating with Oeufcoque directly.

  “The Doctor calls me unfit because I can’t run twenty meters in less than a minute.”

  Balot chuckled as she got back up.

  –Would you like me to keep moving around?

  The Doctor shook his head as he pounded on the keys, relentlessly entering new data. “No, we’re okay. Now, could you just stand on that platform there? Yeah, the one in front of those contraptions.”

  Balot did as she was asked and stepped up onto the silver platform.

  It too had a number of wires running from it. It turned out it was some sort of scale. A small display on one of the corners of the platform revealed some numbers, with the numerals to the right of the decimal blinking and changing rapidly.

  A number of other displays could be seen, each flashing up different sets of numerals.

  Balot looked somewhat sullen and turned to the Doctor with a puzzled scowl.

  “I’ve taken some scales that they use to weigh baggage in an airport and modified them so that they can display biorhythmic indices as well. This thing’s accurate down to the last milligram and can pick up everything from your circulation to body fat percentages.”

  –That’s the sort of thing you should have told me before I got on!

  “Huh?”

  –It’s indecent.

  The Doctor looked suitably chastened.

  Oeufcoque’s laughter could be heard emanating from Balot’s left hand.

  “Don’t be like that, please. Any sort of proper training needs an observer on the sidelines to measure the progress.”

  –In that case, Doctor, I’ll just have to think of you as part of the furniture.

  “That’s not much better…” the Doctor grumbled.

  –Very nice furniture, of course.

  Balot was teasing him now.

  –I’ll let you tell me whatever you need to say.

  The Doctor shrugged his shoulders, but Balot could tell he was playing along now. She laughed and looked at the numbers on the indices.

  The numbers to the right of the decimals whirled around when she shifted her balance from foot to foot. When she stabilized, the numbers started changing much more slowly, but she still couldn’t get them to stand completely still.

  “Ahem,” the Doctor coughed, ready to start. “Your skin was originally developed to withstand the weightlessness of space vacuum, to allow you to move freely without losing your equilibrioception.”

  Balot nodded and watched the figures on the displays.

  “Parts of your brain—in particular your cerebellum—work by receiving these electronic impulses, which are constantly processed and updated. Your sensory nerves act as neural pathways, as in a normal person, but as a result of your new abilities the time it takes to transfer this information is drastically reduced—or, to put it another way, your brain is accelerated many times over. So, theoretically you can use your snarc both outwardly and from the outside in.”

  Balot nodded. She was keen to know the as-yet-undiscovered areas of the abilities she had acquired.

  “Should be a piece of cake, considering the incredible aptitude you’ve shown so far.”

  –What should be?

  “Achieving equilibrium. You need to be able to grasp—precisely and evenly—the details of your interior workings, just as much as what’s going on outside your body. In other words, the definition of ‘training’ for you is not so much a case of building up your muscles but instead to cultivate your sense of internal balance.”

  –So what is it exactly you want me to do?

  “Make those scales stop still on a single number.”

  Balot looked at the digits again. The numbers that were spinning round and round.

  She could easily snarc them in order to give the Doctor what he asked for.

  But that wasn’t quite what the Doctor was after.

  “You need to let go in order to get go,” Oeufcoque interrupted. “Try and get a grasp of how your body ought to be in the context of its environment. You should be able to feel exactly what
your body needs to do in order to adapt to its maximum effectiveness.”

  –Is that what you do when you turn?

  “Exactly. Your genetic makeup is very different from mine, but the basic principles are the same.”

  –Genetic makeup?

  “Look, you don’t need to think too hard about it. All you need to do is feel it.”

  Balot looked away from the numbers on the scales and stared into space.

  She thought about how she felt when she first woke up inside this building. How she could sleep without feeling uneasy about her surroundings for the first time ever. How that was what she wanted—what she needed—with all her heart.

  Balot closed her eyes.

  She focused on her consciousness—until now only ever used to explore her surroundings—and turned part of it inward.

  She felt her own rhythm, the pulse running through her whole body. She felt the sensation of understanding her inner workings at the most fundamental level. This was something that didn’t belong to anyone else—it was hers.

  The external and internal gently connected in her consciousness. She could feel changes in her body and changes on the weighing scales with equal precision. Through Oeufcoque she could feel the flow of the air, and she grasped the layout of the entire garage. She could feel the shapes of the parked cars, the thickness of the supporting pillars and the walls, and even the electricity in the air as it flowed through her body.

  She grasped her own tiniest movements, fractions of a millimeter.

  Behind Balot’s back the Doctor kept his eyes glued to the screen—and she could sense him growing more and more excited. The Doctor was astonished and delighted in equal measure.

  “Amazing—how wonderful to have my own inventions brought properly to life by a genius such as you!” But even as the Doctor spoke, she sensed a faint echo of remorse.

  It suddenly occurred to Balot that she had never really given much thought to the question of what all these inventions were originally intended for.

  –Don’t you like wars, Doctor?

  She spoke with her eyes still closed.

  Behind her the Doctor lifted his head.

  “Well, no, of course not… Although, ironically, we’re talking about technology that was originally developed under a remit from high command in order to help soldiers fight in space more effectively, so that they could engage in hand-to-hand combat even when they were wearing their bulky space suits.”