Mardock Scramble

by Ubukata, Tow

  “Marvelous. You’ll be the nuclear warhead that blasts them to pieces. And you’ll also tidy up the mushroom cloud and the black rain that falls afterwards, right?”

  “Except there’s one thing that’s somewhat unusual.”

  “Unusual? Give it a break,” Shell waved his hand dismissively, but behind his angry face there was a glimpse of a different emotion peeking through. “Everything’s unusual these days. The girl that should have died in my dreams is alive, accusing me of crimes that I can’t even remember committing. I’m in the middle of a huge deal and I’m being held back. And? Has the girl decided to leave me alone in order to run for office, because she needs to focus on her campaign for president of the Commonwealth or something?”

  “There was an unusual petition filed at the Broilerhouse.”

  “Ach, there’s always something unusual down there in the amazing world of the Broilerhouse. Unusual petitions are probably more common than usual ones down there.”

  “Blank sheets of paper have been submitted as the indictment sheets for the next trial,” said Boiled.

  “Their usual trick of not publishing the charges until the last minute in order to throw us off, right?” asked Shell.

  “If it’s just a bluff then all’s well and good. But there’s a possibility that they’re in the middle of a new investigation now, even as we speak.”

  Shell stopped in his tracks, and his expression was wiped off his face.

  “I don’t know how they’re managing it exactly, but it’s not impossible that the opposition is looking for the key to your impending big deal,” Boiled informed him in a whisper.

  Shell’s eyes started shining even more fiercely.

  “So, Mr. Shell, where exactly is the key?” asked Boiled.

  “You don’t need to know that.” Shell’s expression was grim, but there was a wobble in his voice.

  Their conversation was interrupted by a shrill shriek of pleasure. The girl seemed to be delighted by Shell’s fear.

  “Shut up!” Shell cried. But the girl wouldn’t stop laughing.

  “I…I can turn into a new person whenever I want. That’s my big deal. My past is just…” Shell glared at the woman on the bed, suppressing his own agitation. “I’ve already forgotten what the girl’s face looked like even.”

  Slowly, he turned around to look at Boiled. His eyes were bloodshot and shone abnormally bright.

  “Such a little girl—why can’t you just wring her neck, then snap it off for me in the bargain? Haven’t I given you enough money? Are you trying to muscle in on my deal that I have lined up? Is that it?”

  “You’re talking nonsense, Mr. Shell. Try and calm down.”

  “Kill her!” Shell was screaming now, just as shrill as the girl on the bed. “Kill that bitch who dares to try and pursue me!”

  His words tailed off into a shriek, and he collapsed onto a sofa, shaking his head and trying to calm himself down.

  “You know what you need to do, right? It’s simple enough. Right? You need to take that gun in your pocket and pump its contents right into the girl.”

  Boiled nodded, silent.

  “Why should I have to…that girl…always… Why…why am scared? What am I scared of? What is there about that girl that should frighten me so?” Shell was mumbling to himself now, half delirious.

  Boiled didn’t know either. The memories that held the answer to these questions had been sucked cleanly out of Shell’s mind and hidden in a secret location.

  Boiled looked at the woman on the bed again. There’s something I want to show you, he had said. In other words, Shell was frightened. Frightened of nothing more than a woman.

  “A woman, again…” Boiled murmured in a voice too quiet for Shell to hear. There was always a woman involved behind the scenes of all Shell’s transactions. And now, this woman that was right in front of their eyes seemed to know what Shell was running from and how far he was likely to fall as a result.

  The woman continued to laugh. She was enjoying herself.

  ≡

  Boiled left Shell’s room and headed straight for the parking lot in the hotel basement.

  He headed for a blue gasoline-fueled car. The windows were tinted, stopping outsiders from seeing in. He opened the door to the driver’s seat and heard a click. The trigger of a gun being pulled back. But it was more of a courtesy action than anything else.

  Not even bothering to look at the passenger seat, Boiled sat down in the driver’s seat and closed the door behind him.

  “How’s it going, boss?” Medium asked in a hoarse voice as he returned the firing hammer back into place.

  “Fine.” Boiled stuck his keys in the ignition as he answered. Medium’s face was covered in creases.

  “How’s your condition?”

  “Fine and dandy, thanks for asking, boss.”

  Two red lights flickered in Medium’s eyes, visible behind his sunglasses.

  His face was covered in patches of slightly different colors. His hair was neatly shaved, and his shining head also revealed the odd patch of unusual coloring. One side of his head still had stitches in and was covered with layer upon layer of translucent antibacterial tape.

  “What happened to your injured fingers?”

  “Here.” Medium lifted his left hand, now covered in a black glove. He balled his hand into a fist, and there was a grating noise. “Makeshift electronic parts—but they should stand up okay in battle. We don’t really have the time for me to leisurely transplant a new set, do we? So, unleash me whenever you’re ready!” Medium bared his teeth. His breathing was rough, and his knees were shaking restlessly. He was just like a dog drooling in anticipation of feeding time.

  “Are you on drugs?” Boiled asked.

  “Just some stimulants. The aftereffects of the electricity are so bad that I can hardly use my hands and feet when I’m sober. Don’t worry, I’m used to using them. I’m not about to go flying off the handle. Anyway, more importantly, have a look at this.” Medium took a PDA-style monitor out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Boiled.

  The monitor displayed a map centered around the city, with a red line showing the wake of a boat.

  “This is Flesh’s legacy. Using his hacking routes, we’ve managed to penetrate both Air Traffic Control and the Broilerhouse, just as you requested. It wasn’t strong enough to track that flying egg or tell us where it landed, though.”

  “We have enough for now.” Boiled folded the monitor up and returned it to Medium.

  “There’s one region where boats seem to cross paths a number of times, with overlapping wakes. The route that the Broilerhouse uses.”

  “You know their whereabouts?” asked Medium.

  “The outskirts of the city. It’ll be a while. Get some sleep. Staying high for too long ruins your stamina,” said Boiled.

  “I’ll be okay. I’m so looking forward to meeting that little kitten again that I’ll go anywhere. Just say the word. Where do you want me to attack?”

  Boiled turned the key in the ignition. “Paradise.”

  The engine roared to life, and Medium whooped with joy.

  ≡

  They entered the trunk road from the northwest of Mardock City, and Medium took some capsules, prompting Boiled to murmur, without any emotion, “Heroic Pills…”

  “Yeah, we’re not talking about the adulterated crap you get in Times Square, though. This is the real thing, pure and unspoiled. Will you try one too, boss?”

  Boiled was about to shake his head to say no, but then he stopped himself mid-action.

  “Just the one.” Boiled stuck his hand out. Grinning, Medium dropped a single capsule into Boiled’s massive palm.

  Boiled swallowed it, and Medium asked, “How is it?”

  “Not much difference.”

  “It’ll kick in soon, and you’ll start to feel happy.”

  “The back of my head is starting to feel itchy,” said Boiled. Medium was visibly disappointed. “Boss…why did you try one
if you’re not in the mood?”

  “I have a client who’s addicted, and I wanted to understand the effects for myself. But it looks like that’s beyond me.”

  “It certainly seems that Welldone was right about you, boss—you’re a proper hunting dog. You’ll do whatever it takes to catch your prey. I could wish for a bit more of a sense of humor, though.”

  Boiled made no effort to respond. Instead, he said, “We’re heading to the Broilerhouse now, in order to check a few things out with night duty.”

  “Roger that, boss. Shall I drive for a while?”

  “No need. You rest your body,” said Boiled.

  “Still, you’re holding up well, considering you don’t take any drugs. When exactly do you get a chance to go to bed?”

  “I’ve forgotten how to sleep,” said Boiled.

  Medium grinned. “Good one, boss. Glad to see you’ve got a sense of humor after all.”

  “I haven’t slept for nine years.”

  “That’s the spirit, Mr. Iron Man. Although you’ll need to work on your facial expression—it’s still a bit dour,” said Medium.

  Without another word, Boiled stopped off at a motel they were passing by and, out of Medium’s earshot, contacted the Broilerhouse using a dedicated line.

  Boiled climbed back into the car and was just about to turn the key again when he stayed his hand for a moment, thinking.

  He was thinking about the last time he’d slept—had he dreamt anything then?

  The answer was no.

  Boiled started the car and drove off.

  Chapter 6

  INJECTION

  01

  –It’s a hit! There are about a hundred Shells in Mardock City, but this is definitely our man. There’s a casino called Eggnog Blue owned by one of OctoberCorp’s holding companies. He’s the director in charge there.

  Tweedledum spoke and Balot nodded as she retrieved data from the pool.

  Bubbles leaked from Balot’s mouth, heading to the surface.

  She was swimming in the computer terminal pool, breathing through a set of EasyGills.

  The EasyGills were made in Paradise, of course.

  The Doctor, Faceman, and Tweedledee all watched from the side of the pool, keeping a lookout for Balot.

  –Good stuff—you’ve got the gist, now try accessing a little deeper. Try not to get distracted by all the electronic noise. Think semantics—you need to commune with the computer, not just connect.

  Underwater, eyes closed, stark naked, Balot stretched out her arms and legs and used her entire being to converse with the computer. Millions of data channels opened up, and she focused on the semantics—the nuances of how everything interrelated, how the channels developed, and what this all meant. This then led her on to search for data directly, floating through the various data systems of the city. What did Shell do, when, where? What did Shell touch, what did he buy, who was he with, what sort of activity was he involved in—all was being calculated at cutthroat velocity.

  –What an amazing machine…

  Balot was full of wonder as she swam in the pool of data. It was like when she had looked up her own citizen’s ID with Oeufcoque—only incomparably faster and vaster in scope.

  It was as if she were excavating, like they were fossils, the footprints of a man called Shell, scouring the whole of Mardock City, discarding the ephemera like so much dirt and gradually piecing together the skeletal remains of a giant dinosaur.

  The computer was constantly calculating the patterns of information, piecing together the implications of Shell’s various actions in order to try and work out what he was doing, discarding the impossibilities one by one in order to establish what the most likely—or least improbable—implications were.

  –So much of the data is contradictory or inconsistent. It looks like they’ve been constantly updated—or rather better to say falsified. It’s a bit like a half-assed software update rushed to market far sooner than it should have been with nowhere near enough time to iron out the bugs just to save a few bucks.

  Tweedledum was happy to comment and advise but wasn’t lending a hand himself.

  Neither did Balot try and force him to help her. Only one of them needed to violate Commonwealth law.

  –He has all these memory defects listed. That’s a common thread; it’s coming up again and again. And someone seems to have fiddled around with the university hospital’s neuroscience department. Its research data has been manipulated by outside sources.

  –They’re probably trying to hide something by erasing it. But erased data always leaves a hole, babe. Why not have a poke around to see just how deep that hole is?

  –Sure.

  The countless streams of data whirling around her looked like rays of sunlight, pouring in and piling on top of each other. Balot used her arms and legs to push herself farther underwater and then turned, face up, to caress the rays of information one by one.

  ≡

  “Amazing…to be able to bend all that information to her will…” Faceman’s voice dripped with pure admiration.

  –She’s dancing. Looks like fun.

  Tweedledee held his knees together at the side of the pool, looking somewhat bored.

  The Doctor stared at the pool with a tense expression fixed on his face.

  Just then, Faceman’s expression changed suddenly.

  “Phew,” he sighed, staring into space in apparent wonderment.

  “What is it, Professor?” asked the Doctor.

  “Ho hum. Looks like someone’s come in search of Paradise. The checkpoint at the bottom of the hill confirmed that there’s a vehicle drawing near. Two passengers, one of them a PI and Trustee of a case. He’s lodged a request through official Broilerhouse channels to be allowed to pay a visit to Paradise.”

  The Doctor’s face turned blue. “Not Boiled?”

  Faceman watched the Doctor, amused. “Looks like the Rusty Gun has come to spread some fire around. What to do…?”

  “It’d be deeply disadvantageous to Paradise if it’s revealed that Rune-Balot is here,” the Doctor responded hastily, desperately, but Faceman’s only response was to laugh.

  “Dr. Easter, you seem to be a little too familiar with society’s squabbles for my liking. But yes, you are indeed right. And I have no intention of allowing our data collection efforts on Rune-Balot to be interrupted before we’ve finished harvesting what we need. Very well—I take personal responsibility for the reception of callers to the gates of Paradise. Tweedledee.”

  Tweedledee, summoned without warning, turned to Faceman with a jolt.

  “It looks like some rough customers are on their way here. Will you help me welcome them?”

  –Does that mean I have permission to interact with outsiders?

  “Indeed. A rare opportunity.”

  “Professor…are you planning on leaving it to Tweedledee?” asked the Doctor.

  The Tweedledee in question answered.

  –No worries. I’ve read up on what to do when contact is made with outsiders. I’m looking forward to it.

  “Dr. Easter. Why don’t you use this opportunity to prepare your next course of action. It looks like Rune-Balot’s activities down there are going to take a little while yet.”

  The Doctor nodded calmly, but his countenance betrayed his nerves as he hurried back into the jungle, taking the same route he’d taken to get there.

  –What do you think Dr. Easter plans to do?

  “He’ll take Oeufcoque into the Humpty-Dumpty that he has standing by on the roof. Then, as soon as Balot finishes her work here, they’ll all be heading off.”

  –Oh, they’re leaving?

  Tweedledee’s mouth went a little sour.

  –Will they be back anytime soon?

  “Let’s just say that I pray that one day the girl—and indeed all of society—will understand just how positive an influence our work can be.” Faceman spoke in an uncharacteristically subdued tone as he made his cage float up into the air.
“Now, let’s go and see to our visitors.”

  ≡

  Boiled stared out the window with half-closed, emotionless eyes, taking in the night lights.

  –The contract’s confirmed.

  Shell’s voice—along with a trace of static—on Boiled’s cell phone.

  –Well, we’ve only just published the marriage banns, but as soon as my transaction is complete we’ll move on to the actual nuptial contract.

  Boiled listened to his employer’s report without seeming particularly interested.

  Next to him Medium’s shoulders were shaking. He was struggling to suppress laughter.

  –It’s all going smoothly now. Whatever happens at the Broilerhouse, it’s going to be too late to affect anything.

  “Do you have a fixed time and date for the contract yet?”

  –It’ll all be sorted out within the hour. There’s a mound of official paperwork the height of a thick steak still to get through. Steak is right, actually—you could say we’re all playing for high stakes. Except that I’m going to be helping myself to the best pickings. After it’s all over I’m comping the girl’s father in my hotel. I’ll pile him high with zero-interest chips and make sure he enjoys himself good and proper, on the house.

  “This is a personal matter for him, then?”

  –He’s on the board of OctoberCorp, so… I’m sure he’ll have a dozen wine-swilling legal advisors lined up in a limo somewhere, but it doesn’t bother me. Her family name is about as prestigious as it comes, and it’s going to be my lucky star. You know her dad, right? Cleanwill John October.

  Shell enunciated every syllable of the name.

  –And he lives up to his name—he’s a clean-living john. A john as in a sucker, mark, or maybe even a john who likes his whores. Either way, John’s a john, pure and simple.

  “What about the girl?”

  –I’ll leave her in the hotel for now. Sooner or later she’ll become my official property, of course, so I’ll need to start thinking about a storage space for her. I’ll keep her locked away in a pretty little jewel box of a place, somewhere.