Mardock Scramble - Volume 1 - Chapter 2

Chapter 2
MIXTURE
01
Adagio string music floated through the bar, caressing its contours.
A man sipped a scotch at the counter.
It was a basement bar in a hotel on the East Side of Mardock City. The hotel epitomized the postwar
excesses of the city: brash, shiny, flourishing.
As the night went on customers flocked to the bar. Here and there, business was discussed. Big deals
—the sort you wouldn’t even hear of in the south or west parts of the city—were discussed as if they
were a new type of drug.
The man listened to the noises of the joint, as expressionless as the bartender in front of his eyes.
The man’s name was Dimsdale-Boiled.
Right now he worked for Shell. His body was big, but cold-blooded.
Before long, Shell-Septinos appeared in the bar and sat down next to Boiled.
Shell took his lead-gray Chameleon Sunglasses off and ordered a gin. Cut a lime in two and drop the
halves in, Shell ordered, and don’t forget the powder.
The bartender silently chopped the lime, took a capsule in his hand, and sprinkled its contents on the
flesh of the fruit. He squeezed the lime into the gin and dropped it into the glass.
The powder was from a Heroic Pill, one of OctoberCorp’s special bargains. It had recently started
getting popular with the East Side rich, so in this place it was actually quite pricey. Drugs leaking in from
the west could actually go for almost ten times the rate in the east. The Social Welfare Department had put
some safer drugs on the market, but no one liked them. They didn’t have the same effect. The Garden
Plaza in Central Park supplied this bar, and most of those who went shopping there returned home with
these pills. There were those who fed them to babies who wouldn’t sleep. They helped you quit smoking,
give up drinking. But whether from the east or west, very few of those people who took the drug actually
knew what happiness was.
“What’s it like to be reborn?” Boiled asked.
“Like I was in a long dream.”
Shell smiled a watery smile.
“Clapping—memory preservation—that’s what I’m about.” He pointed to a spot just above his right
eyebrow. A small pin was embedded there. “I attach a cord here. It’s linked to my frontal lobe with
fiberoptics. Fromhere I can download my memories and save them. This wipes themneatly frommy mind
at the same time. I have to do this once in a while, apparently, or my brain wouldn’t be able to cope with
all the memories and would start decaying. Originally I had the operation done to cope with the
aftereffects of A-10 surgery, but now I’mfinding it useful in all sorts of other ways.”
“Sounds useful.”
“Oh, it is.”A crackly laugh spilled from Shell’s lips. “And when you say you’ll let them fiddle about
with your brain you get a free pass to any hospital you like. Gives them invaluable clinical data, you see.
You’re treated like royalty.”
“And what happens to the data? I mean the stuff downloaded from your brain, not the clinical sort,”
asked Boiled.
“Put it like this: are there any dentists who want their patients’ cavities after they extract them?”
“And what’s the chance the data is being copied?”
“I won’t say zero, but the odds are tiny. I’d say about the same chance as someone going all-in in a
poker game when they have nothing at all in their hand.”
“How many times has that situation come up during the course of your life?”
“Who knows. We’re talking about what happens in my dreams, after all.”
Shell grinned. A smile as cold as the drink in his hand. And, his expression suggested, would be just
as sharp as the glass would be when it smashed. “With my most recent memories, I’m now ready to
proceed with the deal. Not a deal like the sort that’s always come down from higher up. A deal that I’m
proposing myself. My memories are the chips. And in order to beat any concealed card, I have you as my
ace.”
Boiled nodded silently.
“And, as payment, the past. For most people it’s invaluable. In my case it’s just worthless. We’re just
talking about a josh, stuff I don’t even want to remember, stuff that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”
A low-pitched laugh leaked out of Shell. Boiled said nothing.
“I started life as a cheap little bookie—a punter—for OctoberCorp. Then I earned my stripes as a star
gambler. I had a casino entrusted to me, and money started flowing in left, right, and center. That led to a
job cleaning money. I cooked up schemes to launder their money—and accrue interest at the same time—
that they hadn’t even dreamed of. I gave rookie politicians—those on their way into federal government—
the chance to enjoy themselves at preferential rates. I got them to pool the money from their parents’
businesses in our treasury. All sorts of dirty deals.”
Shell spoke in a singsong voice. He was in a frighteningly good mood. Shell was a man who was
climbing the Mardock—the Stairway to Heaven—out of the slums and right to the top.
“But do you think I’m going to settle for that? If that’s all I achieve then how am I different from a
high-class maid cleaning the toilets of the rich? Maids clean dirty toilets and take care of the beds. I clean
dirty money and take care of the bets. No real difference. So I’m making a deal. To make me one of them.
I’m able to abandon everything. I can throw everything away, completely, and become a new person.
They should know that—I’ve shown it to them many times over, haven’t I? And then when they
remembered all the things that I cleaned for them, they started to take me seriously. Do you think that I’ve
been pointlessly discarding my memories up till now? You must be joking. They’re safely recorded and
stored in a safe place that only I know. That’s my game. And it’s your game too. That’s right, isn’t it,
Boiled?”
Boiled slowly nodded his head.
“I’m happy being an empty shell. The contents are still to come. A container to be filled with glory—
that’s what I am.”
At this point Shell finally calmed down. Such was the madness of Shell. Who could understand the
feelings of a man who sold the memories of his own past piece by piece?
“I think that I’mgoing to work extremely well having you as my employer.”
Boiled spoke softly. Then, quietly, he took a newspaper cutting from the inner pocket of his jacket and
placed it on top of the counter.
“A Mardock Scramble 09 has been proclaimed.”
Shell read the article in silence. He ordered a second gin, then looked at the article again. Not read—
looked.
“Who is she? This girl?”
“Rune-Balot. A girl fromyour dreams who should have died.”
“Dreams? Ah, so, the raw material for a Blue Diamond that the cops in our pay were going to collect
for us—it’s still alive and kicking, is that it?” Shell murmured in a voice devoid of any emotion and drank
his gin. He drank away his possible past along with the lime juice and Heroic Pills. Shell’s next move
came quickly.
“Since when has the case been under someone’s charge?”
“The preliminary courtroom business was concluded a few days ago. The girl gave the Broilerhouse
some sort of information and filed charges of status fraud and attempted murder,” said Boiled.
“The Life Preservation Program’s in effect. Proof that Trustees—dirty little PIs—are involved. Have
you looked into them?”
“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 fromthe Continent? Did he defect over here during the war?”
“No, well—it’s likely that the person who gave himhis 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
programisn’t adopted then I’mguessing 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
himbefore 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’msaying?”
“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-grambullet 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’mcounting 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 fromhis 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, amI 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 themin 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 calmbut 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 fromthe 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 fromhis 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 fromhis hand.
“The application to the Broilerhouse for your social security compensation has already gone in, but it
takes a bit of time for the approval to come through. So, in the meantime, this is your property. Ask
Oeufcoque for the PIN, I don’t know it.”
No man had ever given her money in this way before. Balot stared at the Doctor’s face with
trepidation. The Doctor suddenly turned serious.
“Indeed. So. Looks like this is going to be the first test of your abilities. It’s certainly worth doing
before we go to the courtroom, I suppose. I’m praying that you’ll be able to use Oeufcoque well without
abusing him.”
Balot didn’t understand the Doctor’s words. She just looked at Oeufcoque, still perched on her
shoulder. This mouse had listened to her heart in a way no one ever had before. And with a precision that
no counselor could ever hope to match. There were still loads of things she wanted to talk about and
countless things she wanted himto understand.
Right now, that was everything to Balot.
Balot returned to the room she had been allocated—the old morgue—and opened up the packages one
by one, laying their contents out on the bed. She lifted up black leather and placed it against her skin. It
was a rather snug little outfit. No skirt, but shorts.
Oeufcoque stared at the outfit, nonplussed.
“Ah…” he exclaimed, rather unenthusiastically.
Balot shrugged her shoulders and showed him the next outfit. This time they were normal pants, the
blouse sleeveless, and Balot indicated by gesturing that she would add arm-warmers to it.
“Um, yeah… You know what, Balot, I’ll wait in the Doctor’s room. Come and get me when you’re
finished.”
After speaking Oeufcoque jumped off the desk and walked to the door on his two feet.
When he was directly below the doorknob he leapt up—quite a jump for a mouse—and turned the
knob, opening the door. He landed and was about to walk out of the room when Balot pinched the
suspenders holding up his pants and hoisted himinto the air.
“I’m not really one to ask for advice on feminine aesthetics, you know. And I’m not too keen on being
called a Peeping Tomagain…” Oeufcoque said somewhat miserably.
Balot pursed her lips and closed the door, putting Oeufcoque onto the bed.
She then took some clothes and ran into the bathroomwith them. After a while Oeufcoque stood up and
got off the bed, and just then the bathroom door opened. Still in her underwear she gestured at Oeufcoque
to stay put. Her face showed unease rather than anger. Like when she said she was afraid at the display on
the Doctor’s desk.
“Fine, fine. I’ll wait—no, stand guard—here. Don’t you worry.”
Balot still looked a little anxious, but she carried on and closed the bathroomdoor anyway.
“You’d be able to sense what was happening on this side of the door, you know. You’re still very
insecure because you’re uncomfortable with your new powers, I suppose. Or no, maybe that’s why you’re
so anxious—it’s your new powers that bring home the fact that no one is there,” Oeufcoque muttered,
grumbling, and flopped down on his side. He gazed at the ceiling for a while, and then Balot was staring
down at him.
Balot was wearing a black outfit. Her neckline—and just below it—were exposed, and her hair hung
straight down. Her hair was newly grown—regenerated by the Doctor fromthe remnants of her old hair—
so she didn’t tie her hair up or else a lot of it would have fallen out. The sleeves extended to her
fingertips, covering the backs of her hands with triangular pieces of cloth, her middle fingers jutting
through holes in the fabric. Underneath the shorts the stockings covered her legs perfectly, and she
staggered unsteadily in her knee-high boots toward an abruptly rising Oeufcoque, twisting her body from
left to right. Oeufcoque searched for the right words, but all he could come up with was, “I think it’s
nice.”
Then, craning his neck: “Not too tight?”
When Balot heard this, she squeezed both arms together. Her attitude suggested that she preferred a
snug fit. She looked like someone was hugging her, warmly. She took some fashion belts from the
packages and fastened a few tightly around her hips and stomach and also her legs. Over this she put on a
leather jacket. She looked like she was bound from head to toe. As if she would be snatched away if she
didn’t wrap up tight.
She dropped in on the Doctor before leaving the building.
“Hmm… I like to think that my own doctor’s whites are something special, but I think I may have met
my match with your outfit.”
Balot scowled a little at the Doctor’s honesty.
“It looks like we’re in for a chilly night tonight. Don’t get caught out just because spring’s begun. And
make sure you take your medicine with you. There are still a few places where your cortex hasn’t
completely stabilized.”
Balot made a gesture in front of her outfit. I’m plenty warm enough, she seemed to say. Then she
patted her pockets. Like a child wordlessly answers a nagging parent.
“Well then, shall we head off?”
Oeufcoque, on Balot’s shoulder, changed his shape with a squelch. He turned into a velvet choker and
wrapped himself around Balot’s neck, then extruded the shape of a piece of metal.
Not so much a pendant as a dog tag.
Balot touched this, entwined it in her fingers as if she were meditating on it. When she let go the piece
of metal had become an egg-shaped piece of crystal, and frominside it a gold-colored mouse winked.
The Doctor looked at the pendant with a complex expression.
“Our current client seems to be very good at telling us how things should be, doesn’t she?”
“Well, it’s good that we’re flexible enough to offer a variety of different services…”
Oeufcoque’s voice, serious to the last.
“Can we reconfirm that we have all our necessary documents, Doctor? And can you let the public
prosecutor know about our deferred court appearance? There’s always the possibility of doing it by
proxy, but the question is whether that would be enough to get the Broilerhouse moving.”
“The court doesn’t move according to an individual’s convenience, you know. It’s a power game—
and a money game—run by the letter of the law.”
“Yes, and I’mnot about to start playing a game that goes against the interests of the Concerned Party in
this case.”
“Sure, sure. Well, I’ll look for something constructive to do.”
“Sorry about earlier.” The voice sounded a bit different now. In tone, if not timbre.
“Uh, in what way?”
“I hurt your feelings. But thank you. And I’ll be sure to pay you back your money.”
“Um…more importantly than that, would you mind not using Oeufcoque’s voice when you’re
speaking? It’s pretty disconcerting.”
Balot touched the crystal with her hand.
–I can’t remember what my own voice sounds like.
She made a sound much more high-pitched than Oeufcoque’s voice. She opened her mouth and took a
wheezy breath. Like a draft in a wind tunnel.
“She’ll get it back one step at a time, you’ll see. Step by step.” This time it was the real Oeufcoque
who spoke, in his real voice.
02
Balot took one step out of the doorway and stood still. She looked petrified.
She closed her eyes and felt the sunlight, read her surroundings with her body. There were no
disruptions in the surrounding air.
No men appeared to be waiting at the bend in the road, ready to ambush her.
From beyond the buildings in the distance that intersected like a chess board, she heard the noise of a
gasoline-powered car.
Everything was different fromanything Balot had ever before experienced.
It was different from the time she’d lived in the industrial quarter of the harbor town where she grew
up, and different again from when she’d arrived in Mardock City 170 miles to the north. The time in her
life she was allowed to receive money, and the time when she wasn’t.
“Let’s go straight to the main street. We can hire an electric car,” Oeufcoque said fromher neckline.
Balot opened her eyes. She started walking, head bowed at first, but soon she lifted her chin. The
sidewalk was clean and tidy, with manicured lawns on either side of the street. It really didn’t look like
the sort of place in which you’d expect to find a morgue.
After a short walk she came to a small shopping mall. A hardware store, a computer shop, a
dressmaker, a café, and a vegetable market—all were immaculately kept.
She arrived at a large intersection and was assaulted by dizziness. Her attention had been focused on
the insides of the buildings, and she hadn’t realized that she was in such a big place. She stopped on the
sidewalk for a while, considering what the best thing was to do. She soon decided. She set her own
personal boundary. A field of recognition.
A circle of roughly fifteen meters in diameter. That was Balot’s personal space.
“That’s it. You can hire cars fromthe kiosk in front of you.”
There was a car kiosk on the other side of the intersection. Balot crossed at the green light—walk
—and halted underneath the red light—stop. Without looking at them she could feel the inner workings of
the traffic lights. She comprehended them fully, down to the fact that they moved like clockwork, never
missing a beat.
Balot gently brushed against the pillar supporting the traffic lights. She gently interfered—snarced the
signals.
The signals on the traffic lights quickened. Seeing the light had started flashing, pedestrians sped up,
flustered. The gas-powered car stopped with a loud noise, and the driver looked up at the light with a
surprised expression.
Balot crossed the road. Oeufcoque said nothing.
There was a billboard for eCar Rentals. Just below was a sign: MINIMUM AGE 14 YEARS. Balot stared
at the phrase. MINIMUM AGE 14 YEARS. She was a little surprised at the fact that she indeed qualified.
Fifteen had snuck up on her. And she was still fifteen.
“What is it?” Oeufcoque asked. Not knowing what to answer she just shook her head.
On the other side of a thick layer of bulletproof glass, the shopkeeper sat reading a magazine.
“How can I help?”
He looked at her carefully. Balot pointed at the rental sign and touched the crystal at her neck.
–A red car, please. I’m fifteen.
Balot spoke like a machine, lips tightly sealed, and the shopkeeper watched her with a vague
expression before speaking.
“We also have a car suitable for the disabled. What do you think? You get free parking with those
too.”
Balot gave a small nod and stuck her cash card in the window.
“Your signature.”
Rune-Balot, she wrote on the blank form that she was given. Oeufcoque secretly whispered the
address in Balot’s ear. It was obviously not the address of their hideaway. It’s a decoy address ,
Oeufcoque said.
“If anything happens, press the emergency button. You can use a telephone?”
–Yes, I’ll be fine.
This time her voice was unnaturally high. The shopkeeper looked a little concerned.
“It’d be swell if it didn’t come back broken, that car. And if you encounter any trouble I’d appreciate
it if the blame didn’t come back to—”
–I’ll be fine.
She adjusted the voice so that it had as calming an effect as possible. The shopkeeper gave her the
obligatory lecture about fastening her seat belt as he handed over the keys.
The car was a two-seater, with space for luggage in the back. As she turned the keys the Nav, the incar
navigation system, started up and offered a list of possible routes to take.
It was touch-screen activated, but Balot didn’t touch anywhere.
She sensed the car’s structure and applied her will. There was no steering wheel or mirrors, and the
only things that were adjustable were the destination and the speed—and even the speed was limited by
the eCar regulations. There was a stereo and TV, and the TV started up automatically with a sightseeing
guide. She turned it off and put the stereo on.
The car pulled out into the intersection, accompanied by an uplifting tune. Warm rays of sun filled the
car, and having commandeered the Nav, she traveled down the road for a while before pulling up at a red
light.
Balot looked through the windshield at the traffic lights. She could easily snarc themfromhere…
“Stop it, Balot.”
Balot stiffened under Oeufcoque’s sudden words of restraint.
“Are you being threatened by the traffic lights at the moment? To the extent that you feel your life is in
danger?”
His voice was strict. Balot gnawed on her lips. Cheerful music was still playing.
–Why didn’t you stop me earlier?
She asked directly through the car speakers without using Oeufcoque’s body. She sounded somewhat
vexed.
“I was observing your self-restraint. Ideally your powers should be used purely for self-defense. One
of the reasons I gave the go-ahead for this little excursion was in order to have you learn this for
yourself.”
Balot looked sullen. The lights changed and Balot raised the speed. Right up to the limit.
She tried to lift the electronic restraint on the car, and found she could, increasing the speed further
and further.
“What about your seat belt? You want to drive the car at full speed, have some fun? Then let’s set our
course for a theme park. There’s this fighter plane game where you can experience Mach 2.”
–Why are you suddenly being nice to me again?
“Because I want you to obey the rules—and to learn to choose for yourself which rules are worth
obeying.”
Obey the rules—those words again. Balot swung her head back. She really didn’t want Oeufcoque to
be telling her this.
–But you lied when you gave a false address. Is it right to lie?
“It’s a perfectly legitimate forwarding address. There’s an apartment and a postal address there. It’s
just set up so that no one can tell who lives there.”
–Are you angry with me? Because I tampered with the traffic lights?
“No, not angry. It’d take more than fiddling with some lights to make me angry. Even if we’d been hit
by a car, it’d be you who was hurt, not me. Even if someone died as a result of your actions I’m sure no
one would be able to work out the cause of the accident, and I wouldn’t turn you in. And even if there was
then another similar accident, well, I’d give you a good cross-examining, but I still wouldn’t be angry.
Just sad.”
–I just got a bit carried away. Don’t get so mad at me. I was enjoying our shopping trip.
“I just want you to promise. About using your abilities in ways that could hurt innocent bystanders.
You don’t want to throw away your rights to use your Scramble 09 powers, right?”
–I won’t do it again. I’ll think before I do anything. Don’t be mad at me.
“I’m not mad at you. You’ve got such incredible aptitude. I was surprised by your manipulation of the
traffic lights. They’re specifically designed so that they can’t be controlled remotely, at least not easily.
You’re full of surprises.”
–Don’t put it like that.
“Okay, okay, sorry.”
–I’ll promise.
“Sure. And for my part, I’ve no desire to make you obey any arbitrary rules.”
Oeufcoque spoke in a soothing voice.
“In other words, when I’m telling you no, I’m talking about a fairly basic precept when it comes to
using your powers. It’s also something that will protect you. And, similarly, if I tell you not to do
something then I won’t be doing it either. Absolutely not. As a basic precondition for my being with you.
This is the deal between us—do you understand?”
At that moment, out of nowhere, she remembered the Doctor’s words. Balot had chosen her current
body, chosen her circumstances. This was part of the answer to the question—Why me?—it was, she
thought, an established fact.
Balot gripped the crystal. Not to snarc it. She just held it tight.
After that she put on her seat belt and reduced the speed of the car.
The car now entered a district filled with clusters of tourist shops and was about to settle at the base
of the imposing Trump Tower. Balot snarced the car and changed its destination to the East Side.
The harbor drew near, and both the sidewalks and the roads started to grow more congested. All
around her were gasoline-powered cars, and among the proliferating shopping malls of the Cheap
Branchers—the middle classes—she found the flea market.
Now and then men would wolf-whistle at Balot, seeing her in the car alone, but they showed no signs
of advancing on her, guns in hand, grinning maniacally.
Balot opened the window and sniffed the air, which carried a hint of brine.
Eventually the car came to a stop in a designated car park for rental cars.
As she got out of the car and started walking, she came across a gathering of obviously able-bodied
teenagers who had parked their gas-powered cars in the free spaces designated for vehicles with placards
for the handicapped.
As she walked past Balot snarced the gate of the parking lot. The teenagers looked on in horror as the
gate slammed shut. As one, their faces turned to the emergency aid button. Faces that were silently
calculating the fines they would have to pay for being caught using the handicapped spaces without a
permit.
–Well, you’ve got to obey the rules, right? Balot asked through the crystal, using a silent, electronic
signal.
“Uh, yeah.”
Oeufcoque seemed about to say something else, but in the end that was all he said.
The mall was bustling, and a fresh breeze blew through the arcade.
The people were coming and going purposefully, and the occasional pair of Hunters—the city police
—walked past on patrol, but they showed no sign of looking for an easy target to beat up. Rather, they too
walked with a sense of purpose, and there was no particular scent of anyone on this street looking to find
any sort of warped pleasure.
Responding to her surroundings, Balot put on a purposeful expression and started walking. Her heels
clicked along as if she were testing them out, feeling their sensation, and Oeufcoque called out to her,
“Let’s get some papers. It’s hard to keep track of what you’ve spent when you’re using a card.”
Like a dad. He wasn’t going to buy anything. Just cast a watchful eye over her purchases.
They found a nearby ATM and used the card to draw out a wad of notes.
Twenty twenty-dollar bills. The amount Oeufcoque specified. She was worried that this might be too
much and wanted to take fewer than ten, but Oeufcoque said that she would be better off having a few
nerves to keep her on her toes, so she did as he said.
She folded the crisp new bills in half and crammed them into her card holder. She put one bill in her
jacket pocket and deliberately scrunched it up. As if to say This is all I have.
She bought a bag from a stall inside the mall using this bill. Seeing the crumpled note the shopkeeper
threw in a cheap leather wallet, giving it to her along with her change at no charge.
Balot meekly obeyed the rules of the street.
She transferred the bills from her card holder to the wallet in the shadow of a building and put them
away in her bag, and now, instead of scrunching up another bill, she captured the movements of all people
within a fifteen-meter radius.
She wore her bag diagonally over her shoulder and then put her jacket on over it in order to protect it
frompurse snatchers.
Now all she had to do was think about what she wanted to put in the bag.
She bought some toiletries and sanitary napkins at the drugstore. She bought some handkerchiefs and
hairpins, then wandered aimlessly through the mall. Clothes and shoes, jewelry, electronics, ethnic goods.
She examined the handicrafts and souvenirs as she chatted with Oeufcoque about nothing in particular.
That frame doesn’t suit the picture, or you could make one of those using my body as a mold, that sort
of thing.
“Aren’t you starting to get hungry?” Oeufcoque asked. He’d been keeping track of Balot’s biorhythm.
He had constant tabs on her pulse, and at the same time was checking the surroundings to make sure there
was no danger.
–Can I eat whatever I want?
“Of course. I was asking for you. I don’t really need much, after all.”
They had a quick look at a plan of the mall attached to a public telephone, looking for the entries for
food and drink stalls, and found a block of open-air food carts. Balot headed in that direction.
Without having to walk for too long she saw a row of carts linked together all serving colonial food.
There were white plastic tables and chairs in a courtyard, and Balot went up to the tableware section
and took a disposable tray before heading over to some of the stalls. The place was a real salad bowl of
races, and anyone working at the stalls could handle a number of different languages. They picked themup
naturally in the course of business with various different customers, and were also used to communicating
even when they couldn’t understand a word of what the other person was saying.
Balot took her tray, laden with paper plates full of food, and found a seat.
Her main dish was a plate of Tick Noodles smothered in red Charlie Sauce. It contained boiled squid
and chunky slices of vegetables. She’d also bought a dish of deep-fried fish slices and chilled whole fish
on the bone.
“You’re pretty good at that, aren’t you?”
Oeufcoque watched with admiration as Balot skillfully used her chopsticks.
“Chopsticks have always been a mystery to me—I’ve never understood why people go out of their
way to turn one piece of cutlery into two smaller pieces.”
Balot sifted through the fish with her chopsticks. She elegantly separated the bones from the flesh,
forming two piles.
–I was always the best at this. The other girls used to sayI was handy.
She transmitted the words to Oeufcoque electronically as she ate. Well, wasn’t this convenient? She
could eat and talk at the same time.
–I think I’d probably be good at excavating fossils, that sort of thing.
“Is that something you’re interested in going into in the future?”
–I’d like to, but maybe I’m saying that because it’s the only thing I can think of that’s at all
related to myskills.
Balot started thinking about the things that had died such a long time ago. Things that had been buried
underground for many years, slowly turning to stone. Things long since forgotten. Why did they then have
to be dug up again?
–I don’t really know.
Oeufcoque changed the subject. “Isn’t it about time for your medication?”
Balot tidied her tray away and went to the self-service water cooler to take the medicine the Doctor
had given her. Skin stabilizers, hair growth agents, medicine to fix her eyelashes, vitamins, calcium
tablets. Lots of things she had to take—and she took themall.
As she swallowed her medicine she thought about the fossils. One fossil in particular. A swirling
shell. What were those things called that stayed hidden in their shells except for their moplike hands and
feet that they used to crawl along the seabed?
“Ammonite or something, that sort of thing, wasn’t it?” Oeufcoque answered conscientiously when
asked.
After she’d walked through the mall for a while, she did indeed come across a collection of spirals.
They were in the form of some computer graphics projected onto the wall of a building. Balot stopped
in front of the stall that sold them.
The shop sold Eject Posters. Small square boxes that, when fitted to a wall, would project images
onto the space just below. There were a number of patterns lined up in a row, and there was a memory
card that contained over a hundred different pictures of fossils.
“Why not buy something that takes your fancy? It’d be a pleasant diversion, and the decor in your room
is pretty dull,” said Oeufcoque.
Balot took advantage of his offer. She bought an Eject Poster and a card with the fossils on it, then
walked on, eyes on the instruction manual. Computer simulations of live ammonites, nautiluses, trilobites,
along with photographs of the fossilized creatures, mixed with other minerals and fossilized into spirals
of silver and gold and crystal.
After a while she put it away in her bag. She was somehow excited.
–Is it okayif I buy a few things I like?
“Of course.”
Balot went to the stationery section of a department store and bought a PDA—the sort a child might
use—and six different types of colored markers. And she bought some lipstick that caught her eye in a
shop that she happened to pass by. Because she liked its bright poppy red and the design of the case.
As she went around the department store she felt more and more that she and Oeufcoque were
becoming one.
No matter where they went they were as one. Like the mojo, that protective charm so often sung about
in the blues.
But there was a moment when Oeufcoque resisted.
“Stop, Balot. I’ll be waiting outside, so…”
The pendant turned back into the form of a golden mouse with a squelch and jumped straight off
Balot’s shoulders. Balot correctly read his path of flight and plucked himup by his suspenders midflight.
“I’ve already said, haven’t I? That I don’t want to be called a Peeping Tom?”
He spoke so pitifully that she snarced him, making him turn into an alarm bell. A poppy-red alarm
bell. She looked around to check that no one was watching before sticking it on the wall with a fluid
movement.
“I’ll keep an eye out for you, so off you go.”
He spoke as if to a child who was scared of the dark.
Balot went into the women’s restroom.
The toilets were clean and empty. She went into the stall at the very end, loosened her belt, and
lowered first her shorts, then tights and underwear, down to her knees, layer by layer.
Relief and anxiety assaulted her in equal measure as her lower body was freed fromits wrapping.
She sat down on the toilet seat and took some ointment from her jacket pocket. She squirted some
bright white hydration cream on her palm and rubbed it on her stomach and thighs. These were the only
parts that were still rough, still scabbed.
As she rubbed the cream into her skin it started peeling off, like the thin membrane of a boiled egg.
She brushed the skin off and rubbed the remaining creamon her shoulders and elbows.
She sat on the toilet, waiting to pee. She stared absentmindedly at the linoleum wall with not a single
piece of graffiti.
All of a sudden she felt that something was not quite right. As she did her business she thought about
why she might be feeling this way.
Her urine smelled of medicine. A result of the eighteen different pills she had to take every day.
Not a single one of those was a tranquilizer—the Doctor himself was surprised by this fact.
Your psyche is incredibly tenacious—the Doctor was full of admiration. But Balot thought that, in all
honesty, if medication could make her mind even tougher then so much the better, and she should be taking
as much as she could handle.
Even after she had finished on the toilet, washed herself with the bidet, and flushed all the evidence
away, there was still a faint smell of medicine in the air. She fixed her clothes and fastened her belt even
tighter than before.
Then she put her mind to her earlier feeling that something was out of place.
She soon discovered why—a plastic bubble fixed to the tank that connected the toilet to the flush
button. She gave the bubble a wrench and it came off easily, and, shaking it, a tiny fingertip-sized camera
emerged.
Balot expanded her consciousness and interfered with the camera’s magnetic field, snarcing it.
The two hundred hours of continuous footage stored in the camera’s many microchips was replaced bit
by bit by images of the department store’s mascot doll waving into the camera. As if someone wearing the
doll costume was looking into the camera and waving for all eternity.
Balot then put the camera back and took the lipstick fromher bag.
A LITTLE HORROR SHOW
She wrote on the wall right next to the bubble. And then she added this:
WARNING
Balot left the booth. Purely for self-defense, she murmured to herself as she washed her hands.
But the department store wasn’t about to stop its dirty tricks just because she revealed the existence of
a camera. Balot knew this fact all too well. Bribes given to the cleaners and security guards.
She even knew all about the money paid to the shills, the women who ostentatiously “bought” the most
expensive items on display in order to encourage real customers to spend more.
She knew everything, right down to how much they were paid.
03
As she emerged from the toilet, the alarm bell squooged into the shape of a mouse and jumped onto
Balot’s shoulder. Without missing a beat he ran to her neck and became a choker complete with crystal
pendant.
“You took your sweet time.”
–Don’t blame me, blame the Peeping Tom.
“Look, I…”
–Not you. There was a camera in the ladies’ room. I just fixed it up a little.
“Camera?” Oeufcoque thought about this for a while before it clicked. “You mean illegal cameras set
up in order to get close-up footage of women’s bodies?”
–But do you really understand? What that means to me?
“Well, I think I know how you feel, at least. Right now you’re angry. Very angry. And irritated and
also embarrassed. Mortified. That’s what you smell of, anyway.”
–Smell?
“Body odor. A mouse like me can read emotions through body odor. Didn’t you know?”
Balot squeezed the crystal tightly and started prodding it with her fingertips. Violently. And full of
grief.
And then Oeufcoque did indeed understand Balot’s feelings.
“Oh, sure, sorry. If I’mabsolutely honest I can’t tell exactly how you’re feeling. I don’t really have the
imagination to comprehend it. I’mnot a woman, after all, or even a human.”
Balot found that her feelings were calmed down somewhat by Oeufcoque’s words.
–I think you’re kinder than a human, and more humble too.
Oeufcoque was now attuned to Balot’s change of heart, as if he were sniffing everything up. He
noticed the chemicals secreted from her skin, the change in her pulse, and most of all the change in
atmosphere.
“There’s a café just above us. We should be able to get some work done there.”
The Internet café that Oeufcoque was talking about was on the top floor of the department store.
They could see the harbor city sprawled out in a mess down below and farther in the distance the thin
line of the sea.
The seats were set a comfortable distance apart, perfect for getting down to some work.
When the waiter came over to take her order, Balot ordered a cappuccino by pointing at the menu, and
then opened up the laptop-style monitor embedded in the table.
She was about to connect to the net but then she stopped herself.
–Do you mind if we talk for a while about my new hobby?
They’d completely forgotten about this since the spy camera incident. Oeufcoque cheerfully agreed.
Balot took her PDA from her bag and lined up the six colors of markers alongside the instruction
booklet for the CG fossils. She chose the yellow and marked one of the words in the heading of the
manual.
Then she snarced the PDA and brought up the word that she had just highlighted. The name of a large
spiral-shaped shell. As she read the manual she entered a rough commentary into the PDA, adding her
personal impressions. The same color as agate, or If these were still alive I’d like one as a pet, that sort
of thing.
–I’m going to make a dictionary. My own original.
“Brilliant. When you grow up you could become a linguist, or a poet.”
–Well, I always wanted to go to school and have a dictionary like everyone else. The sort of
school that children like me go to. So this is instead of that. My own self-studyclassroom.
“And you could still go to school. As soon as this case is closed we’ll apply for re-enrollment.”
–Won’t work. You need both your parents’ signatures, Balot replied, bluntly.
–Children who don’t have any get put in the Welfare Institute. I don’t want to go back there.
“But aren’t both your parents still alive?”
–They don’t think of me as a child. Not their child, anyway.
She informed him of this without stopping her hand that was holding the marker. Wordlessly. As an
electronic signal.
Balot stopped writing only when the young waiter came over to bring her the drink she’d ordered.
“Is it a report you’re working on, miss? For school?” the waiter asked. Balot nodded ambiguously.
The waiter laughed, showing the whites of his teeth. He pointed at the monitor on the table.
“You can look up almost anything on this thing. This café has access rights to the library, you see. The
official time limit is two hours. But if you want an extension, just let me know. I might be able to sneak
you one.”
Balot touched her choker so that the young waiter could understand her next words:
–Thank you. If I need an extension I’ll be sure to ask.
The mechanical sound she produced to answer himcaused the waiter’s face to stiffen very slightly.
At least the waiter was a straightforward enough young man. He wasn’t the sort to start thinking in
terms of If you took the device on her throat away from her she wouldn’t be able to speak.
Instead, he inevitably came to a different conclusion. He shrugged his shoulders and stood there
somewhat embarrassed, as if he had accidentally offended her in some way.
Balot put the things that were out on the table back into her bag. The waiter watched this before
eventually being called away to attend to another customer. He wasn’t a bad youth. It was just a question
of pride. The youth’s, and Balot’s.
–Let’s get down to some work, said Balot.
Oeufcoque turned with a squish into a mouse and jumped on top of the table. Checking that the waiter
wasn’t looking his way he made another turn, this time into a plug-in adaptor device for a computer.
“Try me out.”
She took a cord fromthe side of the monitor that up until that moment had been showing a floor plan of
the department store, and in a moment the screen went fuzzy.
Through Oeufcoque’s efforts they connected from the store’s secure net navigation to the much widerranging
user services of the outside world.
“Through the Broilerhouse, we’ve managed to suppress your personal information that Shell-Septinos
forged. In particular, any attempt to hack into your residential ID is now a serious crime. For access
privileges you need thirteen different types of password combined with a physical key—in other words,
we’ve made it so that no one has access to your personal data without me.”
As she watched the screen in front of her being decoded layer by layer, she suddenly remembered the
rooms in the hideaway. The roomthat you could lock fromthe inside at night.
There were two locks on it. One was the electronic sort on the door knob, and the Doctor could also
open this from the outside. The other was a chain, and this was purely Balot’s. Of course, both Balot and
the Doctor knew too well how little use a chain on a door was in this city.
But this chain is made of a special alloy and a unique textile, the Doctor said. It can’t be broken
easily. Definitely not. Because Oeufcoque made it himself. That comforted Balot. A chain that was
Made by Oeufcoque. The chain caused the door to close perfectly, with no gaps or cracks.
“Right, I’mnow about to check the entries one by one. Okay?”
Balot placed her hand on the adaptor. She thought she could feel Oeufcoque’s pulse in her palm.
–Okay.
She took a deep breath, then snarced Oeufcoque.
The truth was unbearable. She hadn’t realized just how much her life had been graffitied over.
Her birthplace, date of birth, names of her parents, family tree, personal history, address, telephone
number, usage records for her cash card, log of her access to the net, questionnaires from department
stores and online shops, mailing data, contents of letters to her friends.
All lies. She realized just how abnormal this Shell-Septinos must be to manipulate another person’s
existence according to his whimin such precise, meticulous detail.
And moreover, this wasn’t just any old graffiti: it was beautifully done.
It was a cruel veneer, as if to emphasize the ugliness of the original, of what had gone before.
Oeufcoque highlighted certain entries on the monitor from various pages, and each time he did so
Balot snarced Oeufcoque and made a separate copy—with her true details added—into individual
reference files.
Like unearthing fossils fromunderneath a beautiful display of ostentation.
Balot tried to remember the first time—and indeed the last time—that she had accessed the data. The
very act that triggered the events that caused Shell to burn her to death. Was she grateful to the man who
had made such a vainglorious display of her? How pathetic if she was. It was like taking a file to her
heart surrounded by the perfect shell.
According to this data, Balot was currently nineteen years old. She was from a middle-class family,
and if you had to use one word to describe her it would have been wholesome. There was no trace of an
incident in which her brother was sent to prison for beating her father so badly he was left with permanent
damage. There was no sign of an incident in which ADSOM—the Alcohol and Drug abuse Society of
Mardock City—put a cap on her mother’s pregnancy rights, meaning that IVF was the only route open to
her, which in turn led to a cycle of abuse driven by the inferiority complex this had given the woman.
Here, her father was a salaryman, an average office Joe. He wasn’t driven to extreme neurosis thanks
to backbreaking manual labor, and the despair that he was plunged into after losing his job didn’t cause
him to cling to Balot and take her virginity as if she were just another woman. Balot had been able to go
to school properly, and she wasn’t subjected to sexual abuse by Social Services. And it certainly wasn’t
the case that, after she had escaped fromthe institute along with a few others, she was forced into the even
harsher position of having to sell her body and soul piece by piece.
A dream family—a dream life. Not a life in the depths of despair and hatred, where the tears had run
dry.
“I’m starting to see it now—I’m beginning to understand what Shell was plotting with all his evil
business with you,” Oeufcoque said. Even as they confirmed Balot’s personal details Balot and
Oeufcoque both sped through the huge network, collecting any other relevant data.
“As I suspected, that man has his fingers in a number of different pies—illegal banking. According to
his personal data he’s bought over 170,000 different items in the past six months. The data is fictional, of
course, and no transactions will have taken place. The question is where the money has gone.”
Balot felt her bile rising when she heard Oeufcoque’s words.
“So, he gives you your forged status and arranges it to look like you’ve embezzled money. It’s written
here that you’re an employee at this bank. The bank in question is closely connected with Shell’s masters,
OctoberCorp, and certain government officials are involved too. First, he entered details of fake deposit
accounts into the computer, complete with forged certificates of deposit. Under your name, the fake one,
of course. And as long as your records are never accessed, they never come under any official scrutiny.
That’s the key point. And the moment you accessed your file, many of the official procedures started
automatically.”
The of icial procedures started automatically. One of the procedures being Balot’s death.
Why was she killed—why me? Another part of the answer to this question floated before her eyes, and
Balot felt her whole body enveloped in a wave of hatred she’d never experienced before.
“So, they get your fake documents, add some fake wage slips, and drain this fromthe non-bank they set
up specially for the purpose. We’re talking millions of dollars. It takes time, though, for the funds to be
cleared. If our case is recognized as legitimate within the next week then we—and the public prosecutor
—will be given leave to investigate further… I get it now, this is where Shell’s brain becomes so
important. It’s likely that a reamof his memories have already disappeared. Psychelaundering rather than
money laundering. So, while the legal investigation into his memory takes place, it’s too late for the
investigation into the funds to go any further.”
Balot inhaled slowly. As her heartbeat started to settle, the hatred flowing around her became one with
her flesh and blood, and she felt it silently beating away.
“Once the payments have gone through, as long as the memory of this case is completely wiped from
Shell’s brain, there’s nothing more we can do. Although, on the other hand—if Shell’s memories are
preserved somewhere…”
Balot didn’t yet understand in full the complexities of Shell’s scheme, but she did understand that she
herself had started the ball rolling toward the events that would bring about her own death.
Or rather, Shell had known that Balot would start the ball rolling.
There was no one in her circumstance who couldn’t be aware of just how much they were being used,
of what they were being used as.
In the end the petition that they collected together to send in to the Broilerhouse ran to a total of 280
counts of status fraud.
While they were doing that, Balot ordered another cappuccino. The youth from earlier was clearly
relieved when Balot called himover and served her with a wink and threw in a free cookie.
As she was working Balot’s hands sometimes stopped, and at these times a strange song would run
through her head.
Dish, wash, crash, mash.
A nursery rhyme that she’d once heard. The taste of the cappuccino in her mouth changed to the
distinctive acrid taste of the explosion.
Hash, gash, josh, bash.
Once the hellish work was over—work that was like dredging through a swamp with your face—
Balot sat still, unflinching, staring at the monitor. The long-decayed contents of a broken shell. No tears
came. Her head was strangely cool. Even as it spewed forth its poison, her heart continued to beat
steadily.
“I didn’t think we’d be able to prepare such a detailed document in such a short time.”
–I couldn’t bear anymore.
“You’ve done well. All we need to do now is send this off to the Broilerhouse.”
–Send it off?
Balot was terrified. As if it had only just occurred to her that this was what they were going to have to
do.
–We’re going to show this to people? This? The truth about my past?
“We are.”
The documents were suddenly collated now, turned into data ready to mail. Oeufcoque’s actions.
Balot’s whole body stiffened. She couldn’t take her eyes off the monitor. Just as you can’t take your
eyes away froma sharp knife flashing in front of your eyes.
But the data wasn’t being sent. Oeufcoque was silently waiting for Balot. Balot hadn’t yet said either
yes or no.
“Balot?”
–Just wait a minute. Please. Try and understand me.
Her stomach clenched. She wished there was something that could squeeze her tighter. Without it she
would blow away like a fine powder, she thought.
“Balot. How about looking at it like this,” Oeufcoque said cautiously. “This is just like excavating
fossils. A number of skeletons are going to emerge, one by one. But as you know, they’re all long since
dead. However fierce they used to be, now they are sleeping soundly as fossils.”
–Do you really want to hurt me so badly?
Balot lowered her eyes and gritted her teeth. Oeufcoque continued on, politely as ever. “You’re living
in the present, not back in the primeval era of the dinosaurs. The things that used to live are real only
insofar as they used to exist. But right here, right now, you are the one who’s really alive.”
–Can you wait? Just a little longer.
“Of course, you could even delete these documents if you wanted. If that was the best way for you to
deal with your fossils.”
She realized that Oeufcoque meant it. Even though there would be serious repercussions.
But Oeufcoque cared more about Balot’s feelings, right to the end.
If I said no, this person wouldn’t make me do it. She could believe this fact.
The very fact that she could believe it took a great weight off her shoulders. The conviction that you
would never be betrayed—if only there was more of this, the world would no longer need its drugs or
guns.
Balot took a slow breath. She straightened her back and looked at the monitor as if to accept that she
was now about to die. Balot’s surroundings started to disappear from her consciousness. Soon everything
was gone, and all that remained was herself and the rotten egg of her past—her josh—that floated on the
monitor before her eyes. As a result she didn’t even notice the presence of the waiter who passed beside
her.
For some time now the youth had been wandering back and forth fromher table. Like a bellhop angling
for a tip. Balot snarced the monitor right in front of his eyes without lifting a finger.
Just then she realized the waiter was looking at her and raised her head, taken aback.
The waiter was marveling at Balot. Not so much because he’d been peeking at her private documents,
but simply at Balot’s abilities. And then he quickly thought that she must be using some newfangled
electronic device, and moved away, having convinced himself.
Balot averted her eyes. Like she was coldly pushing him away. She checked the monitor. She saw the
symbol that confirmed the documents had been safely transmitted.
She let go of Oeufcoque quietly and took her lipstick fromher bag.
She gave it a twist and used the poppy-red stick to graffiti the monitor.
SWITCH, WITCH, BITCH
She wasn’t particularly thinking about her actions. She just knew that she wouldn’t be satisfied unless
she did.
I AM THE WITCH
she added, then put the lipstick away.
Oeufcoque popped his head out of the adaptor and watched Balot writing the graffiti.
Oeufcoque said nothing but returned to being a mouse and looked up at Balot.
Balot turned away fromhimand sipped at her half-finished cappuccino.
Her lips felt the milk that was stuck to the rim of the cup. She licked it off with her tongue.
Deliberately. Thoroughly, lasciviously. Then, unable to stand being under Oeufcoque’s gaze for any
longer, she put the cup down.
Casually she extended a hand toward the monitor and focused her consciousness in her fingertips. She
felt electricity crackling through her fingertips. The lipstick on the monitor peeled and fell off.
Oeufcoque seemed a little surprised. Balot was extremely adaptable when it came to using her
abilities, had figured out all sorts of handy tricks. It took her less than five seconds to neatly clean all the
graffiti.
Balot took a pinch of the flecks of lipstick that had piled up around the edge of the monitor. She rubbed
it together with the dirt that it had picked up and brought the mixture up to Oeufcoque’s eyes
–This is what I am.
She manipulated the screen, bringing the letters up.
“It’s a pretty shade of red. In the right context and as long it’s matched with the right things,”
Oeufcoque expounded, seriously. “It’s undoubtedly an appropriate color for you at the moment. That’s
what you mean, right?”
He gave an extremely raspy chuckle for a mouse.
Balot sighed. A long, drawn-out sigh. Enough to make her tight clothes loosen a little.
–We’re like kids arguing.
She brought this up on the monitor, then cut the power. She wiped clean the red stain on her fingers
with a napkin, and then made Oeufcoque turn into a choker before putting himon.
Inside the crystal pendant a golden mouse was wearing garish red lipstick and winking.
04
–When did you first start watching me? Balot snarced and asked Oeufcoque as they walked through
the mall.
“Since before you started living in Shell-Septinos’s apartment.”
–Then all the time I was with Shell?
“On the whole, yes. We weren’t particularly focused on you at that time, though.”
–So how far did you guys investigate me?
“We don’t know anything more than what was in the documents we sent off today.”
–Well, everything’s there, but there’s nothing really about me.
“How do you mean?”
–Do you think I’m crazytoo?
“Crazy? Why?”
–Well, letting people touch my bodyfor money, for example. A child who’d do that sort of thing.
“All I know is, the way our society is set up, that sort of thing is pretty much part of the system. And
that it’s men, with their notions, who prop the system up. If you are crazy, then there’s an awful lot else
that’s crazy along with you.”
Balot looked around the mall, now bathed in twilight. People were gradually starting to hunch their
backs in response to the cold wind that was now blowing. The transparent rays of sun were casting long
shadows across the hard glass surfaces, and no one walking along the ruby-colored Sunny Side seemed
particularly crazy.
–Can I tell you a little about myself?
“Talk to me.”
–When the Hunters—the cops—closed down the house where I used to work, one of them asked
me a question. “Why prostitution?” he asked.
I answered,
“Because I wasn’t a virgin.”
When I did, the Hunter whistled. Whew, just like that. Like I’d done something incredible.
“Is something funny?” I asked.
“You girls these days, you got it all worked out,
” the Hunter answered. And then he asked,
“When did you give it up—your virginity—to the lucky guy?”
The lucky guy—I didn’t know that this was how you were supposed to look at it.
And then I answered.
“To myfather, sir. When I was twelve.”
I thought that the Hunter would whistle again, but he didn’t say anything.
When he first met me the Hunter said that he had daughters. Two of them. The elder already at
high school. The younger the same age as you, he said. As if to say, Don’t worry, you can talk to me.
So I tried asking him this question.
“Have you ever wanted to touch your daughters, sir? Have you thought about sleeping with
them?”
I was just wondering if everyone was like that. But the Hunter said,
“You’re crazy. What a
ridiculous idea. Such a thing!”
I didn’t understand why it was such a thing, and it hurt me when he said I was crazy. And the
Hunter’s expression—as if he were staring at a crazy woman. I couldn’t understand anything. Only
that the Hunter wasn’t a friend of mine, like everyone else.
Soon after that I met Shell. He came to meet me, saying he was a fan of mine. He’d once come
to me as a client. He promised me everything. Said he’d reinvent me completely. I asked if that
meant he loved me. He said,
“That’s exactlyright.” Then I got in his car.
And then:
–Oeufcoque, are you going to tell the Doctor all this?
“No, I’ll lock everything you’ve just told me away inside myself. Only you can decode it.”
–And what do you think? Do you think I’m crazy?
“Hmm… I wouldn’t know. After all, I’m just a mouse with his intelligence amplified to human levels
for the sake of research. I’m not even a mouse anymore, just something that looks like a mouse. There are
people who say that my very existence is crazy.”
–You? Why?
“Who knows. Fromtheir perspective I suppose I am crazy. I’ve been trying to pin down exactly what I
am ever since being born, but in the end I still have no idea. As I’m originally based on a male mouse,
I’ve studied the human male psyche, trying to act like one, but I don’t even know if that’s right.”
–What exactly are you? Why were you born?
“There were these people who commissioned some researchers to come up with the ultimate tool,”
said Oeufcoque. “The commission came fromthe army. A few prototypes were manufactured, and I’mone
of those. But the research project itself was halted, and I was about to be disposed of as something that
had never existed in the first place.”
–You were almost thrown away? Why?
“It became politically expedient in the postwar era. Was it people that were evil or their tools? This
was the political hot potato that emerged not long after the peace treaty between the Commonwealth and
the Continent was signed.”
–Were people evil or their tools?
“Let’s say there’s a gun crime. Is it the person who used the gun who is at fault? Or is the gun evil for
existing in the first place? Well, postwar politics repudiated the gun and exonerated the person. The very
fact that weapons of war existed at all was considered the root of the evil. As a result the regulation of
weapons—and all technology related to them—became the subject of intense debate. In order to protect
people.”
–So you were abandoned too?
“That’s right. I was born for political, military reasons, and for the same reasons I was about to be
eliminated. Had the Scramble 09 bill not gone through I would have been disposed of for sure. My
existence depends on continually proving my usefulness to society.”
–Is that whyyou’re helping me?
Oeufcoque seemed about to answer, but then suddenly went silent.
–What’s the matter?
“A strange smell. Plural. A strong sense of duty, systematic movement. Hostility.”
Balot was about to reflexively stop in her tracks when Oeufcoque gave a sharp order.
“Carry on walking. Don’t stop.”
Balot did as he said. Unconsciously she started picking up the pace.
“Cut through the department store. We’ll be able to determine if there are people following you.”
Oeufcoque gave precise directions, which Balot obeyed as she sensed the presence of the people around
her, feeling them in all three dimensions. It was as if the skin covering her whole body were splintering
under the tension. Before long she noticed six people emerge from the hustle and bustle following her
every move.
“It’s because of the Internet café we were just in. We must have been picked up by the enemy as we
accessed information on Shell. They traced us and sent people right after us.”
–What do we do?
“See them off, then return home.” His tone of voice was so composed she could have believed he was
talking about buying an umbrella because it was raining.
–How?
Balot was already scared. She had premonitions of something terrible and wanted to burst out crying.
“Take me in your hand.”
As Balot loosened the choker and gripped it, it turned with a squelch into a black leather glove that fit
her right hand—well—like a glove.
The Oeufcoque-glove informed her in a plain voice,“I want you to calm down. I was developed as an
All-Purpose Tool to be the strongest hand-to-hand combat weapon in the world.”
Balot left the mall and went down a side alley where there were fewer people. The six men drew
near, blocking all her escape routes so precisely that you could almost have described them as
conscientious.
Balot used her perception abilities to sense that they were speaking with each other via wireless
devices.
“Three groups of two, is it? Looks like they’re planning for two of them to capture you first. They
smell as if they’re going to start out on a definite course of action. The other four are planning to use a car
or something to take you away once you’ve been captured.”
Balot sensed the group of four congregate in one place and get into a car, just as Oeufcoque had said.
The two men that were coming toward her now split up, one coming fromthe direction Balot was walking
in and the other creeping up frombehind.
–They’re getting closer and closer.
“When they come, all you need to do is stick out the hand that you’re holding me with.”
The gloomy alley was deserted. She wanted to stand still there. But a strange momentum carried
Balot’s legs onward. She balled up her hand covered by the glove—Oeufcoque—and soon she
approached the corner around which the man lay in wait for her.
Balot stopped still at the same moment that the man leapt out.
Flustered, Balot thrust out her right fist, and the next moment a silver rod extended with incredible
force. The tip of the rod scored a direct hit on the man’s throat, and he let out a moan—gack.
In front of the dumbfounded Balot the man collapsed in a twitching heap.
He was convulsing, his eyes peeled white, and he had started frothing at the mouth.
“I added a dollop of extra electricity for good measure. He won’t be waking up for a good while.”
Balot noticed she was now wielding a police baton in her right hand—a turned Oeufcoque.
The other man was now coming at her frombehind.
He saw his colleague on the ground and started running toward her.
In a daze Balot stuck her right armout, but her assailant easily dodged the baton.
Or rather, it looked as if he had dodged it—but it didn’t let him dodge. Her right hand—Oeufcoque—
moved of its own accord, and skillfully thrust the tip of the baton square under the man’s jaw.
The man fell to his knees. This time, though, the shock was lighter. The man remained conscious and
moved his head toward her.
At that moment the outstretched baton squelched and turned into a pistol.
The man stared into the muzzle in abject terror. Balot, too, cowered in astonishment.
Bang—a dry sound—and a shot went off in the man’s face. But it wasn’t a bullet. Rather, a mesh of
fine wires. These wrapped around the man’s head and released their electric charge.
He never stood a chance. Without making a sound the man lost consciousness and toppled over in a
faint.
“Well, then. Let’s get back to the parking lot as soon as we can.”
Oeufcoque was now just a glove again; the gun had disappeared with a squelch.
Balot stared at the two men on the ground, dumbfounded.
Balot ran back to the parking lot in a hurry, but the moment she jumped into her eCar, Oeufcoque
spoke. “They’re quick. The rest of our pursuers have already noticed something wrong and are moving.”
Oeufcoque, still a glove, sounded as unconcerned as ever.
–What shall we do? Do we have to finish them off?
“It’d be best if we could avoid the need for another fight. Let’s leave as quickly as we can. There’s a
possibility they may have reinforced the mall exits, but if there’s nothing then let’s just go home.”
–Do you really think there’s nothing more going to happen? Balot asked folornly as she made the
eCar do an emergency start.
“Well, I hope that nothing more is going to happen—that’d be good.” Oeufcoque’s words were
somewhat deflating.
–I never know whether I can rely on you or not! Balot told him, a little angry.
“That’s a problem. You’re supposed to be a witness to my usefulness in this case, after all,”
Oeufcoque said, genuinely concerned now, and as he did so the car moved toward the mall exit. Then a
large van emerged at their flank, and Oeufcoque immediately ordered, “Enemies! Snarc the car and let’s
escape!”
–See, I told you something would happen.
Balot, who really was angry now, snarced the car as a reflex action. The car sped on—at a speed
much higher than its official limit—and, barely sticking to the road, squeezed in front of the van.
Balot looked back and saw it following immediately behind them. Listening to the clamor of car horns
sounding all around in protest, she asked,
–What do we do now?
“Let’s shake themoff, using your abilities. I’ll give the directions.”
Oeufcoque turned into a Nav, and she asked him,
–So I should make the car go full speed ahead?
“Yes, with your seat belt fastened and watching out for pedestrians.”
–And I can trulyrely on you?
“Absolutely.”
Balot pursed her lips and fastened her seat belt. Still looking at the display on the Nav in her hand, she
concentrated on the inner workings of the car and snarced its circuits for all she was worth.
In an instant she grasped the layout of all the cars in her surroundings, the positions of all the
pedestrians, and the obstacles—and, like a professional skateboarder, made the car jump through every
little gap and opening, pushing swiftly onward.
–I’ve never driven a car before, Balot informed Oeufcoque (a little late in the day), but Oeufcoque
just responded calmly, “There’s a first time for everything.”
As they pulled out of the East Side and entered the trunk road, two pairs of headlights emerged from
behind and roared toward them, accelerating harshly. Their escape route had been read like a book.
Without looking at the vans that were growing steadily nearer, Balot measured them, grasped them.
The window on the passenger side rolled down, and the barrel of a gun emerged fromthe gap.
“They’re going to start shooting at us, so dodge. Should be no problemwith your abilities.”
It was strange—because Oeufcoque told her that this was true, she began to believe it herself.
Balot even knew the movements of the people inside the car. Even going nearly a hundred kilometers
an hour, she could clearly grasp the movements of the person in the van putting their finger to the trigger.
Balot manipulated the whole car, snarcing every mechanismsimultaneously.
The gunshot masked the sound of the car’s harsh breaking. Even as the bullet grazed the hood, the car
swung around in a huge arc, moving in the opposite direction.
She grasped that the vans on either side had sped past and were now frantically trying to stop.
The car did a half turn, all four tires smoking, and sped off back the way it had come.
The cars that had been behind Balot were now in front of her, drivers frantically yanking their steering
wheels. Balot grasped all their movements, dodged all the vehicles without a scratch, weaved through the
oncoming traffic, and dashed on for a few hundred meters. She noticed that one of the vans behind her had
stopped, crashed into one of the oncoming cars.
The car’s 180-degree turn and sprint were both Oeufcoque’s idea. Balot followed whatever path
Oeufcoque indicated and found herself back in the bustling East Side.
–Oeufcoque, are you a pacifist? An extremist? Which is it?
“A pacifist, of course.”
–Would a pacifist make someone speed down a road the wrong way?
“It was the least risky means of dealing with the state of emergency that we were just in. It’s not as if
I’mallowed to turn into a rocket launcher and blow the enemy away.”
–Could you reallyturn into something like that?
“It’s against the laws of the Commonwealth. If I turned into such a thing they’d dispose of me the very
next day.”
–Even if it’s an emergency?
“It might be an emergency, but the ends don’t always justify the means.”
Unimpressed, Balot followed Oeufcoque’s directions, weaving freely through the complicated back
streets of the city in order to try and shake off the other van. Soon they entered an underground tunnel,
passed through a number of intersections, and when they re-emerged above ground near the central district
of Mardock City the van was nowhere to be seen—all Balot could see was the night sky of early spring
that flowed all around themlike fresh black ink.
“Looks like we’ve managed to lose them completely. The first lot, at least,” Oeufcoque muttered
thoughtfully, still giving directions as a Nav.
–Are you saying there are more?
Balot curled up anxiously, still gripping the Nav.
“Here and there I smelled something unusual. A sense of purpose completely without emotion—as if it
were merely observing us.”
Suddenly Balot’s senses noticed that a car was drawing near. It cruised along at the same speed as
themabout a block behind.
–There’s a car stuck to our tail—an enemy?
“No…this smell…”
At that moment the car that was tailing themabruptly moved into the same lane.
It maintained its distance a few cars behind, precisely.
–Oeufcoque?
“It’s him—I’m sure of it,” Oeufcoque whispered in a subdued, serious voice that she had never heard
fromhimbefore.
Before they realized it the car behind had gradually closed in.
At length Balot turned around and saw the driver with her own eyes and gasped.
It was the driver from that night—that night she was burned to death in the car, when Shell got into
another AirCar, driven by his bodyguard.
“It’s Dimsdale-Boiled. OctoberCorp’s Scramble 09,” Oeufcoque muttered quietly. As he did so the
car behind flashed its headlights.
–What? He’s asking us to stop?
Balot’s eyes widened. At that moment, the commdevice in her car started blinking.
“As a fellow Trustee with responsibility for solving this case, I demand my statutory rights to
Information Disclosure.” The voice was distinctive and hailed them from the car behind. Balot was
startled. Oeufcoque was silent. The voice coming through the comm device continued, “We’ve already
made our background checks on that rental car. If you refuse to participate in the Information Disclosure
then the public rental car agency will testify as to your cooperative attitude.”
–What’s he talking about? Whycan we hear his voice? What is this person saying?
“In order to come to a peaceful resolution wherever possible, Trustees in charge of cases will often
negotiate with each other, exchanging certain prescribed pieces of information,” Oeufcoque explained.
“Refusal to do so counts as a big minus in court.”
–What are we going to do?
“Let’s stop the car up here. We’ll just have to have a little chat,” Oeufcoque said, turning back into a
glove that covered Balot’s right hand. At length Balot timidly pulled the car over onto the hard shoulder.
05
Boiled pulled up two car lengths behind Balot’s car.
Balot got out of the car, and Boiled emerged at the same time and stood in the shadow of the door.
They waited in silence as another car went past.
The giant man, his face inhuman, stared down at Balot, expressionless, and Balot was overcome by a
fear that made her legs tremble. It wasn’t so much just a fear of being killed. Rather, it was a fear of being
killed without being able to put up any sort of resistance at all. Indeed, that very fear sapped her will to
resist, draining all her strength fromher body.
“Don’t worry, Balot. As long as I’m here he won’t do anything lightly,” Oeufcoque said, as if he had
read her innermost thoughts.
At that point Boiled’s eyes moved for the first time. He looked straight at Balot’s right hand.
“So that’s where you’re hiding, Oeufcoque,” Boiled said, his voice floating across the air. An
oppressive, expressionless tone of voice that made Balot feel like she was looking down the barrel of a
gun.
“When did you submit your application to become the Trustee for the opposition?” Oeufcoque asked.
With cold light glinting in his blue eyes, Boiled replied, “This afternoon. That’s your employer, is it?”
Boiled jerked his chin slightly toward the girl, unimpressed.
“She’s the Concerned Party in this case. What’s the disclosure you’re requesting, Boiled?”
“I want you to revoke the Life Preservation Program,” said Boiled.
“That’s intimidation. Not a request. As ever, you really think that’s the best way to solve the case?”
“I’m not here to solve the case. Just suppress it. I want you to tell me what charges you are bringing
against Shell-Septinos.”
“The district attorney’s office will publish that information in due course. Wait for the official
announcement,” replied Oeufcoque, calm.
“I want to know in advance what the procedures will be in the event that the Concerned Party dies or
absconds.”
“We’d still proceed with the prosecution, if that’s what you mean,” declared Oeufcoque, and the cold
glint in Boiled’s eyes seemed brighter than ever.
“Are you frightened?” Boiled’s eyes suddenly moved toward Balot as he spoke.
Balot’s legs started shaking more violently than before. She did her utmost to keep her composure and
return Boiled’s gaze.
“If you don’t want to die you should withdraw your petition and abrogate your rights as Concerned
Party in this case,” Boiled said. Words that struck at the heart of Balot’s frail courage.
“Don’t listen to him, Balot. The moment you abrogate your rights is the moment no one will be able to
protect you anymore.”
In her breathlessly tense state Balot barely managed to nod; she gripped Oeufcoque tightly in her right
hand. Choking back the tears of terror and humiliation:
–I don’t want to die.
The feelings were welling up inside her, and she threw the whole lot at Oeufcoque.
She felt the glove enveloping her right hand getting warmer. Then Boiled’s voice filled the air. “I want
to know the date of the provisional hearing and whether the Concerned Party will be appearing in
person.”
“In three days. As for the rest, wait for the official announcement. And don’t even think about a repeat
of today’s tactics. We’ll take you to the cleaners in court,” said Oeufcoque.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Boiled’s face twisted slightly. An inhuman smirk. “I’m
looking forward to holding you in my grip again, Oeufcoque.”
Boiled climbed into his car. He closed the door and without further ado slid right by Balot’s car and
drove off.
Balot watched the car move away.
–You know that person?
“We used to work together, in the past. Now we’re enemies.” Balot didn’t ask anything else—all her
strength had suddenly drained fromher—and she climbed into the car.
She closed the door and sat there, unable to do anything other than hug her knees close to her body.
She didn’t want to say anything. Just stay huddled in her shell.
“Trust me, will you? Just like I trust you,” Oeufcoque said. “By protecting you, I prove my
usefulness.”
–Whyme? she asked keenly. Oeufcoque didn’t have an immediate reply.
Tears started welling up in Balot’s eyes, pouring out on her lap as she held herself tightly.
Balot stayed there trembling, crying out of fear and regret.
The car drove on slowly. Not through Balot’s snarc, but on autopilot.
Cheerful music played on the radio. She was all cried out, and stared out at the night lights of the city
with puffy eyes, eyes fixed on her transparent reflection in the window.
There were still plenty of rules that she had to endure. But the helpless fear was scraping away inside
her, shaving off pieces of her will to resist and her feelings of hope.
Oeufcoque, still a glove, seemed like he was thinking about something, but suddenly said, “You’re not
crazy.”
Balot turned her half-shut eyes toward the glove on her right hand.
“The way you think and the way you feel—both are completely normal,” Oeufcoque continued.
“That’s the reason that I want to serve you and to settle this case.”
–This case?
“There’s absolutely no reason why you deserved to die. Yet you were locked in a car and had thirddegree
burns inflicted on your whole body. We’re going to determine the motives and the aims of the
killers and expose themto the world.”
–Mycase?
“That’s right. As the Concerned Party in this case you chose Scramble 09, acquired your technology,
and obtained the thing right in front of you: me.”
Balot tried to think about this but wasn’t very successful. She couldn’t think what she could do. If there
was anything that she could contribute, surely it was her newfound abilities?
She was starting to lose sight of what she was trying to do.
The roads were congested. The Nav wouldn’t let Balot maneuver like she just had in the car chase.
Listening to the radio as she watched couples and parents with children drift by in similar rental cars,
eventually she snarced the car.
–Will you explain to me whyI 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 seemabout 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 myselling point was playing dead. I reallyliked 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 bythis guy. He was high and strangled her to death. There was a
trial then, too, even though theyended 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 reallythat 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. Alousy 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 desperatelyto 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 reallysorry.” 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 themas 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 byfate. 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 myfather 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 themget 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. Ameans 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, theyjust 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.”
“What…”
–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 myeyes.
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 mymother.
“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 palmof 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 hima fingertip to return his handshake, then snarced him.
–Balot. I want you to call me bymy 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 waythat you’re called Oeufcoque ’cause you’re so soft.
“Is that so? Okay. I get it. Well, all the best, then, Balot. I’m Oeufcoque. My personality might be softboiled,
but I’m not so half-baked that I don’t have a PI’s license from the Broilerhouse, so I’m fully
qualified to supervise a case as Trustee. Scramble 09 cases being my specialty. Mind you, they do
consider me to be human, of course.”
–And so do I.
Before he had a chance to resist Balot gave Oeufcoque a kiss on his little head.
And for the third time, Oeufcoque’s red eyes, usually so sophisticated and mature, grew as wide as
saucers.
Balot got Oeufcoque to turn into a choker again, faced the scorched earth that spread out from her feet,
and waved goodbye. Ever so softly.
06
The monitor on the Doctor’s desk displayed a number of emergency signals when the pair returned to
their hideaway. Each one a summons fromthe public prosecutor.
The Doctor himself was in the lab at the rear. He was grappling with a microscope, both arms deep
inside what appeared to be some sort of fish tank.
“Hey, Doc, looks like the DA’s trying to overload the circuits,” Oeufcoque said jokingly. The Doctor
just shrugged without turning around.
“Doesn’t concern me,” said the Doctor. “I’ve done all I can for them over there. Now we’ve just got
to get on with things the best we can, make ourselves useful.”
Balot stood there, isolated from the other two who seemed happy to exchange banter without even
looking at each other.
Suddenly she felt mischievous. She playfully bumped the Doctor’s back with the box she was carrying.
“Watch it!” the Doctor complained, breaking away from the fish tank and turning toward Balot.
“That’s quite a big box—what’s in it?”
“A fancy new suit for you, Doc. Balot wants you to wear it at the trial. A condition of her appearing,”
explained Oeufcoque as he disentangled himself from Balot’s neck and stood—now a mouse—on her
shoulder.
“And you picked it out, did you, Miss Rune-Balot?” asked the Doctor.
Balot nodded. It was the last thing she’d bought on their shopping trip.
“Well, er, I do already own my own clothes for formal occasions, you know…” continued the Doctor.
“Unfortunately, Doctor, your sense of style isn’t particularly to our client’s taste.” Oeufcoque pointed
at the Doctor’s hair. The mottled, dyed mess. Then Oeufcoque mimed bunching up his own hair, as if to
say, Do something about your hair, will you?
“Well, fine, all you had to do was say so earlier, you know,” said the Doctor. “And what’s my own
sense of style got to do with anything? The public prosecutor is doing everything he can to try to force us
to make things easy for them, accept a summary hearing instead of a proper trial…”
Balot looked offended. She pushed the box toward the Doctor.
“You just don’t get it, do you, Doc? Our client is sensitive and whimsical. You’ve got to respond to
her feelings properly, or else before long we’ll find a request has been filed for new Trustees for this
case,” Oeufcoque said in a grave tone of voice, leaning over Balot’s shoulder.
“Well, someone’s been doing their research,” the Doctor said, his lips curled.
Then he looked at the sizes written on the box and nodded. “A perfect fit.”
An easy enough feat for Balot, with her newfound abilities. But Balot just pointed at the monitor,
disgruntled.
The Doctor didn’t seem too bothered about it. Rather his attention kept drifting back to the contents of
the fish tank.
“Don’t worry about that. You’ve changed your mind about attending the trial, so that changes
everything at their end too,” the Doctor said, holding the box under his arm nonchalantly while touching
the fish tank with his other hand.
“There are still a few tests I need to run on these babies. When you stop and think about it, it’s quite a
task, after all. Trying to completely regenerate something that was still in middevelopment in the first
place. It’s not like you’d want to make do with a cheap substitute or anything.”
Balot frowned. She had no idea what the Doctor was going on about.
“What exactly are you up to, Doc?” asked Oeufcoque, sensing Balot’s confusion.
“What do you mean, ‘what’? I’mlooking at ways of getting Balot’s voice working again, of course!”
Now Balot’s mouth gaped open. She remembered the Doctor’s words fromearlier.
Now we’ve just got to get on with things the best we can, make ourselves useful. That was definitely
what the Doctor had said. And she hadn’t taken the words in properly, not at first. But now, all of a
sudden, a wave of emotion rose up inside her, as if escaping through a hidden crack. I’ve met them at last
—that was how she felt about the odd pair, man and mouse. She realized that her heart had never dared let
her feel this way before, ever, so afraid she was of being betrayed.
“Oh. And, thank you, Balot. For the suit. I accept it gratefully. I’ll have to keep quiet about it in my
report to the Broilerhouse, though, as it might be interpreted as a bribe from the Concerned Party. But I
like this sort of gesture now and then. Reminds me of back when I was a civilian…” The Doctor trailed
off.
Balot bowed with a flourish. She wanted to thank Oeufcoque and the Doctor. But no voice came out of
her throat, so, instead, she grabbed the Doctor’s box away fromhimand planted a kiss on it.
Oeufcoque was thrown fromher shoulder by the sudden movement. He landed skillfully on the desk.
The Doctor was now holding the box, which had been thrust back into his arms by Balot. She did a
quick turnabout and ran out of the room, with the Doctor still staring at her. The door slammed shut with a
bang.
The Doctor stared at the door before turning to look at Oeufcoque. “What was that about?” he asked
the mouse.
“I don’t know. It looked like she was overjoyed for a moment, but then she was gripped by
contradicting emotions—shame and fear. Oh dear. She may be starting to have her doubts as to our
usefulness.”
“Are you sure about that? Look at this,” the Doctor said, hoisting the box around toward Oeufcoque to
flaunt the poppy-red kiss mark.
“That’s a human trait, isn’t it, Doctor? We can interpret that as a sign of gratitude?”
“Exactly, Oeufcoque. Do you know what? I think she quite likes us.”
The next moment Oeufcoque and the Doctor were up, jumping for joy like a pair of children.
Balot returned to her assigned quarters and locked the door securely.
Both the electric lock and the chain. Then she took out the day’s purchases and lined them up on her
desk.
She picked up the Eject Poster and stuck it on the wall.
Resting on the bed, holding her knees to her body, she snarced the projector on and chose some
pictures of fossils.
She stared into the air, watching pictures of hundreds of different spiral shells appear and disappear.
She tried to fade out of consciousness, project herself into the blank space, just like she always used to.
She couldn’t do it. And she couldn’t stop crying.
It was as if all the day’s events had crept up on her and exploded all at once. As if they’d piled up bit
by bit into a mountain before collapsing in a landslide.
She’d run away from the misery of not being able to speak when she wanted to, but before long she
started wondering whether this had really been necessary, whether it wasn’t an over-reaction. The thought
of this made her tears fall even harder.
She stayed in that position for a long time, but eventually she rose back up, her breathing now sounding
like a cold winter wind. She took the lipstick out of her jacket pocket and wrote in big letters on the wall
where the endless shells were appearing and disappearing with dizzying speed:
THEY ARE RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.
Then, right below that:
YOU HAVE NOBODY, NOWHERE.
And then again:
THEY ARE RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.
Crying without being able to make a sound was tougher than she’d imagined. Almost all the air in her
body seemed to want to escape through the void that was her mouth. Her insides were as hard as steel.
Balot endured. Just as she had endured everything up to now. Pushing her whole body to its limits.
But unlike the previous occasions, she didn’t need to kill herself this time. This much she was sure of.
The fossils swirled across her body and the wall like a whirlpool, floating up, then disappearing.
Why me? The question was now about to get yet another answer.
“There’s one problem, though,” said Oeufcoque. “What’s the definition of love?”
The Doctor pulled away from the water tank and turned toward Oeufcoque with a surprised
expression. “Should I interpret this as a sign of a new ego developing, Oeufcoque?”
“No, just a request for information, pure and simple. I think I’mgoing to have to be able to answer this
question with, er, a degree of flexibility.”
“Well, it’s a difficult enough question to answer in any case, particularly when you’re trying to lump
all different kinds of love together. There’s familial love, neighborly love, agape—that’s godly love—all
sorts,” explained the Doctor.
“Seems complicated. But I’mjust asking about the need to be loved,” said Oeufcoque.
“What, you want me to make a female version of you? But you’re unique, a miracle prototype. Even if
the army were to resume their program, I’mnot sure if we could make a female…”
“Not me, her! I’mtalking about Balot!”
“Ah, I see.” The Doctor nodded. But then he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and asked,
doubtfully, “By you? You’re saying that she’s looking for something fromyou?”
“She’s looking for foundation, for some sort of emotional stability… I’m guessing that’s the best way
of explaining it. According to my intuition—my nose—she’s got all these qualities, these needs. Because
she’s never been in a decent environment. To survive in the world that she’s been living in, she’s needed
some sort of foundation, or stability. And she calls this love.”
“Oh, I know all too well how sharp your nose is,” interjected the Doctor. “Within the team
responsible for you, most of the researchers feared you from the bottom of their souls. They were afraid
that you’d show up all their inadequacies. You’d analyze people as if they were nothing more than the sum
of their chemical parts.”
“You’re talking about a long time ago, Doc. That was then and this is now. I know a lot more now than
I used to.”
“I’msure. So, what exactly is it that you’re trying to say, Oeufcoque?”
“I want to protect the girl. But I’mnot sure what more I should be doing.”
“Well, I know what you should be doing. But I don’t know what the right thing is,” said the Doctor.
“It’s as if she’s trying to treat me like a human.”
“I didn’t realize that this wasn’t what you wanted, Oeufcoque. I treat you like a human, and so did your
former partners. It’s just what happens naturally.”
“It’s different, though. Something’s different from what happened before. Something’s changing inside
me. She’s made the decision to appear in the courtroom, and that’s fine. But it makes me feel terrible, as if
I’d done something inexcusable.”
“Hmm.” The Doctor looked Oeufcoque up and down as if he were inspecting some rare specimen.
“I think I should try to be drier, more detached,” continued Oeufcoque.
“Uh-huh,” the Doctor mumbled, and then continued, sympathetically, “but that’s not really who you
are, is it?”
He spoke with a serious expression. Oeufcoque rolled over on the desk onto his side and sighed
deeply. His little body seemed to wilt, and he looked smaller than ever.

Chapter 2MIXTURE01Adagio string music floated through the bar, caressing its contours.A man sipped a scotch at the counter.It was a basement bar in a hotel on the East Side of Mardock City. The hotel epitomized the postwarexcesses of the city: brash, shiny, flourishing.As the night went on customers flocked to the bar. Here and there, business was discussed. Big dealsthe sort you wouldn't even hear of in the south or west parts of the citywere discussed as if theywere a new type of drug.The man listened to the noises of the joint, as expressionless as the bartender in front of his eyes.The man's name was Dimsdale-Boiled.Right now he worked for Shell. His body was big, but cold-blooded.Before long, Shell-Septinos appeared in the bar and sat down next to Boiled.Shell took his lead-gray Chameleon Sunglasses off and ordered a gin. Cut a lime in two and drop thehalves in, Shell ordered, and don't forget the powder.The bartender silently chopped the lime, took a capsule in his hand, and sprinkled its contents on theflesh of the fruit. He squeezed the lime into the gin and dropped it into the glass.The powder was from a Heroic Pill, one of OctoberCorp's special bargains. It had recently startedgetting popular with the East Side rich, so in this place it was actually quite pricey. Drugs leaking in fromthe west could actually go for almost ten times the rate in the east. The Social Welfare Department had putsome safer drugs on the market, but no one liked them. They didn't have the same effect. The GardenPlaza in Central Park supplied this bar, and most of those who went shopping there returned home withthese pills. There were those who fed them to babies who wouldn't sleep. They helped you quit smoking,give up drinking. But whether from the east or west, very few of those people who took the drug actuallyknew what happiness was.What's it like to be reborn? Boiled asked.Like I was in a long dream.Shell smiled a watery smile.Clappingmemory preservationthat's what I'm about. He pointed to a spot just above his righteyebrow. A small pin was embedded there. I attach a cord here. It's linked to my frontal lobe withfiberoptics. Fromhere I can download my memories and save them. This wipes themneatly frommy mindat the same time. I have to do this once in a while, apparently, or my brain wouldn't be able to cope withall the memories and would start decaying. Originally I had the operation done to cope with theaftereffects of A-10 surgery, but now I'mfinding it useful in all sorts of other ways.Sounds useful.Oh, it is.A crackly laugh spilled from Shell's lips. And when you say you'll let them fiddle aboutwith your brain you get a free pass to any hospital you like. Gives them invaluable clinical data, you see.You're treated like royalty.And what happens to the data? I mean the stuff downloaded from your brain, not the clinical sort,asked Boiled.Put it like this: are there any dentists who want their patients' cavities after they extract them?And what's the chance the data is being copied?I won't say zero, but the odds are tiny. I'd say about the same chance as someone going all-in in apoker game when they have nothing at all in their hand.How many times has that situation come up during the course of your life?Who knows. We're talking about what happens in my dreams, after all.Shell grinned. A smile as cold as the drink in his hand. And, his expression suggested, would be justas sharp as the glass would be when it smashed. With my most recent memories, I'm now ready toproceed with the deal. Not a deal like the sort that's always come down from higher up. A deal that I'mproposing myself. My memories are the chips. And in order to beat any concealed card, I have you as myace.Boiled nodded silently.And, as payment, the past. For most people it's invaluable. In my case it's just worthless. We're justtalking about a josh, stuff I don't even want to remember, stuff that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.A low-pitched laugh leaked out of Shell. Boiled said nothing.I started life as a cheap little bookiea punterfor OctoberCorp. Then I earned my stripes as a stargambler. I had a casino entrusted to me, and money started flowing in left, right, and center. That led to ajob cleaning money. I cooked up schemes to launder their moneyand accrue interest at the same timethat they hadn't even dreamed of. I gave rookie politiciansthose on their way into federal governmentthe chance to enjoy themselves at preferential rates. I got them to pool the money from their parents'businesses in our treasury. All sorts of dirty deals.Shell spoke in a singsong voice. He was in a frighteningly good mood. Shell was a man who wasclimbing the Mardockthe Stairway to Heavenout of the slums and right to the top.But do you think I'm going to settle for that? If that's all I achieve then how am I different from ahigh-class maid cleaning the toilets of the rich? Maids clean dirty toilets and take care of the beds. I cleandirty money and take care of the bets. No real difference. So I'm making a deal. To make me one of them.I'm able to abandon everything. I can throw everything away, completely, and become a new person.They should know thatI've shown it to them many times over, haven't I? And then when theyremembered all the things that I cleaned for them, they started to take me seriously. Do you think that I'vebeen pointlessly discarding my memories up till now? You must be joking. They're safely recorded andstored in a safe place that only I know. That's my game. And it's your game too. That's right, isn't it,Boiled?Boiled slowly nodded his head.I'm happy being an empty shell. The contents are still to come. A container to be filled with glorythat's what I am.At this point Shell finally calmed down. Such was the madness of Shell. Who could understand thefeelings of a man who sold the memories of his own past piece by piece?I think that I'mgoing to work extremely well having you as my employer.Boiled spoke softly. Then, quietly, he took a newspaper cutting from the inner pocket of his jacket andplaced it on top of the counter.A Mardock Scramble 09 has been proclaimed.Shell read the article in silence. He ordered a second gin, then looked at the article again. Not readlooked.Who is she? This girl?Rune-Balot. A girl fromyour dreams who should have died.Dreams? Ah, so, the raw material for a Blue Diamond that the cops in our pay were going to collectfor usit's still alive and kicking, is that it? Shell murmured in a voice devoid of any emotion and drankhis gin. He drank away his possible past along with the lime juice and Heroic Pills. Shell's next movecame quickly.Since when has the case been under someone's charge?The preliminary courtroom business was concluded a few days ago. The girl gave the Broilerhousesome sort of information and filed charges of status fraud and attempted murder, said Boiled.The Life Preservation Program's in effect. Proof that Trusteesdirty little PIsare involved. Haveyou looked into them?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 hiseffectiveness 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 theinvasion of the enemy's land across the sea as part of the Commonwealth's front line of troops. WhereasShell had avoided conscription due to his mental disorder and had no experience of war. So Shell wasextremely pleased with Boiled's past as a former soldier. Boiled was able to wipe away Shell'sinferiority complex at not having been able to take part in the war and for this reason was seen by Shell asa 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 fromthe Continent? Did he defect over here during the war?No, wellit's likely that the person who gave himhis name did. But you couldn't really say that he'sfrom 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 authorityas a Trustee to the absolute fullest, gathering information on us. He may even have already sniffed out thedetails 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 sosilent.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 veryprofessional 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 theprogramisn't adopted then I'mguessing the PIs will lose their jurisdiction to interfere?Indeed. If the person concerned were to die or otherwise disappear, the case would closeunresolved; that would be quickest, Boiled informed him blandly, and Shell smiled a satisfied smile athimbefore draining his gin.I'm relying on you. And it's fairly certain that the doctors in question aren't keen on the possibilitythat there are people other than me involved in the jackpot. You understand what I'msaying?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 neverknow 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 atdeath'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, likea 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 goodnews.And then, out of nowhereIt's strange.Shell became serious and looked at one of his hands.When I was looking at the article, one of my fingers started throbbingeven though I couldn'tremember the girl. I must have been planning on wearing the girl on it. A new Blue Diamond. And yetHe 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 Iwanted to turn her into an engagement ring? Or was it just a passing fancy with no particular reasonbehind it? he asked himself in a low voice. Boiled couldn't answer. It wasn't a question that anyonecould answer.The memory of a womanthat's always the first thing to go. It's always the thing that stresses me outthe 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-grambullet and a person will die, Boiled whispered in a low voice.Shell nodded and laughed sharply before putting his Chameleon Sunglasses on. The glasses thatchanged color with the passing of time were now a deep violet. Like the color of Shell's pain. Aforgetfulness that could never be undone. That sort of pain.Send me the ring. I'mcounting 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 withOeufcoque on her shoulder.Can we put off Balot's court appearance, do you think? Oeufcoque asked in a surprisingly plain toneof 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 prosecutoralong with the petition filesto the court secretariat. We've just had the preliminary courtroomproceedings 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 aheadtoward the government offices, and tell it that, oh, actually we haven't decided how to cook you yet. Trydoing 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 hadjust sent not a minute ago. The contents of the files were empty. Pure white. Not even a destinationaddress. Right next to them was a new set of entirely different files. He opened them and found the datathat he was sure he had just sentcopied and preserved exactly. It was like magic.The abilities that your snarc gives you are truly incredible.The Doctor rose fromhis 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 Ishould 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 andit's working perfectly. Amazing. StillBalot 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 thanthree hundred hours since your operation and you're defying the boundaries of your threshold ofconsciousness, and on the other hand you refuse to appear in court? Do you want to shut yourself away inthis hideawaythis shellforever?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 ofBalot's field of vision Oeufcoque calmly shrugged his shoulders. He stood there as if to say that this washis 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 asatisfactory accountand responseregarding what happened. Have you explained this to the girlproperly? Unless we do this, we can't take a step further, and all there is left to do is sit and wait for theenemy to send his assassins.At that moment there was a pinging noise. The doorbell-like sound that signaled the arrival of anincoming 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 insurprise.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 heunderstood 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 acrossBut 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 ofstrength.Raped?Balot hung her head in shame. It wasn't like she was trying to forcefully impart a messagemore likewords 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 counselingsessions, and I started my research after having a profound respect for human rights bashed into me, alongwith 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 upwith my wife. Even now, I'm almost proud of my sexual inadequacyit's like a badge of honor. Thereare even times when I start feeling like I've become a saint or somethingErm, DoctorOeufcoque 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 politethrough to the end. You couldn't say he was calm and collected, but he showed no sign of needing toresort to more than words.In the first case, we made it our absolute priority to save your life. But there was no way of gettingyou from where you were to an emergency hospital. The enemy would have gotten wind of yourwhereabouts, and if you'd been in a hospital they would have come and finished you off. That's where aquack 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, amI right?Balot gave a little nod. The Doctor was using plain wordsnot the slang of whores, or the affectedlanguage of posh princesses, but simple, direct language that hit Balot with everything she needed toknow.And that was good enough for Balot. The Doctor didn't notice that this was one of the reasons thatBalot was sadit was good enough for the likes of herhe was, after all, the Doctor, and his mind wason other things.In the second instance, in order to help you face up to the case that's now confronting us, we neededto make sure you had the ability to resist. Now, shall we have Oeufcoque give his testimony at thispoint?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 incharge of protection, but we wouldn't have been able to tell if any assassins had infiltrated them. Thereare those within the police forces who almost look upon that sort of thing as a second job. And so wedeemed it appropriate that we keep on guarding you while you developed your own powers ofresistance.A pinging sound.Powers of resistance?Yeah, well, fighting strength, as it were. Learn self-defense skills, how to use a gun, that sort ofAnother 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 themin a single fileto be saved. Balot's eyes followed the Doctor's actions with a quick glance. She thought her wordswould 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 ofconsciousness, the Doctor said, face still turned to the display.We're not talking about tangible memories here, but rather your subconsciouswe took all ourtechnology and planning and threw it all together, and had the computer interrogate the mix. It's one of theprotocols used with patients in a vegetative state in order to decide whether or not to euthanize them. Sowe looked at the results after the prescribed six hours of interrogation, and then while you were asleepwe conducted another six-hour interrogation. The results were the same on both occasions. The Doctorwasn't shouting now. He was informing her calmly, as if he were reciting a poem.Your current bodyand this situationthis is the result that you chose.There was a short gap in the conversation, but before long there was another ping right before theDoctor'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 thesame expression as when she said that she didn't want to be betrayed. Oeufcoque had placed a little pawon the base of Balot's neck, as if to praise her for her bravery.That counselinglike a tsunami the Doctor muttered without thinking. As if he were rememberinganew 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 werescooping up her words. Then he turned back to Oeufcoque and said, Now then, I'll leave this bit up toyour heart, Oeufcoque. I've been doing the maintenance on your guts all these years, after all. We'll useits beat as a barometer.His facial expression was calmbut 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 torebuilding 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 09case by their proper name. Rune-Balot. You're competent enough to be able to give informed consent toyour 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 atOeufcoque.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 robethat she'd been wearing since she emerged fromthe insulator.And she wants to try them on and head outside. For lunch. And at the same time file a petition to haveher 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 takecare, though. The preliminary report for the case is already out there. There's a good chance the enemywill 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 toexperience 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 fromhis 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 fromhis hand.The application to the Broilerhouse for your social security compensation has already gone in, but ittakes a bit of time for the approval to come through. So, in the meantime, this is your property. AskOeufcoque for the PIN, I don't know it.No man had ever given her money in this way before. Balot stared at the Doctor's face withtrepidation. The Doctor suddenly turned serious.Indeed. So. Looks like this is going to be the first test of your abilities. It's certainly worth doingbefore we go to the courtroom, I suppose. I'm praying that you'll be able to use Oeufcoque well withoutabusing him.Balot didn't understand the Doctor's words. She just looked at Oeufcoque, still perched on hershoulder. This mouse had listened to her heart in a way no one ever had before. And with a precision thatno counselor could ever hope to match. There were still loads of things she wanted to talk about andcountless things she wanted himto understand.Right now, that was everything to Balot.Balot returned to the room she had been allocatedthe old morgueand opened up the packages oneby one, laying their contents out on the bed. She lifted up black leather and placed it against her skin. Itwas a rather snug little outfit. No skirt, but shorts.Oeufcoque stared at the outfit, nonplussed.Ah he exclaimed, rather unenthusiastically.Balot shrugged her shoulders and showed him the next outfit. This time they were normal pants, theblouse sleeveless, and Balot indicated by gesturing that she would add arm-warmers to it.Um, yeah You know what, Balot, I'll wait in the Doctor's room. Come and get me when you'refinished.After speaking Oeufcoque jumped off the desk and walked to the door on his two feet.When he was directly below the doorknob he leapt upquite a jump for a mouseand turned theknob, opening the door. He landed and was about to walk out of the room when Balot pinched thesuspenders holding up his pants and hoisted himinto the air.I'm not really one to ask for advice on feminine aesthetics, you know. And I'm not too keen on beingcalled a Peeping Tomagain Oeufcoque said somewhat miserably.Balot pursed her lips and closed the door, putting Oeufcoque onto the bed.She then took some clothes and ran into the bathroomwith them. After a while Oeufcoque stood up andgot off the bed, and just then the bathroom door opened. Still in her underwear she gestured at Oeufcoqueto stay put. Her face showed unease rather than anger. Like when she said she was afraid at the display onthe Doctor's desk.Fine, fine. I'll waitno, stand guardhere. Don't you worry.Balot still looked a little anxious, but she carried on and closed the bathroomdoor anyway.You'd be able to sense what was happening on this side of the door, you know. You're still veryinsecure because you're uncomfortable with your new powers, I suppose. Or no, maybe that's why you'reso anxiousit's your new powers that bring home the fact that no one is there, Oeufcoque muttered,grumbling, and flopped down on his side. He gazed at the ceiling for a while, and then Balot was staringdown at him.Balot was wearing a black outfit. Her necklineand just below itwere exposed, and her hair hungstraight down. Her hair was newly grownregenerated by the Doctor fromthe remnants of her old hairso she didn't tie her hair up or else a lot of it would have fallen out. The sleeves extended to herfingertips, covering the backs of her hands with triangular pieces of cloth, her middle fingers juttingthrough holes in the fabric. Underneath the shorts the stockings covered her legs perfectly, and shestaggered unsteadily in her knee-high boots toward an abruptly rising Oeufcoque, twisting her body fromleft to right. Oeufcoque searched for the right words, but all he could come up with was, I think it'snice.Then, craning his neck: Not too tight?When Balot heard this, she squeezed both arms together. Her attitude suggested that she preferred asnug fit. She looked like someone was hugging her, warmly. She took some fashion belts from thepackages and fastened a few tightly around her hips and stomach and also her legs. Over this she put on aleather jacket. She looked like she was bound from head to toe. As if she would be snatched away if shedidn't wrap up tight.She dropped in on the Doctor before leaving the building.Hmm I like to think that my own doctor's whites are something special, but I think I may have metmy match with your outfit.Balot scowled a little at the Doctor's honesty.It looks like we're in for a chilly night tonight. Don't get caught out just because spring's begun. Andmake sure you take your medicine with you. There are still a few places where your cortex hasn'tcompletely stabilized.Balot made a gesture in front of her outfit. I'm plenty warm enough, she seemed to say. Then shepatted her pockets. Like a child wordlessly answers a nagging parent.Well then, shall we head off?Oeufcoque, on Balot's shoulder, changed his shape with a squelch. He turned into a velvet choker andwrapped himself around Balot's neck, then extruded the shape of a piece of metal.Not so much a pendant as a dog tag.Balot touched this, entwined it in her fingers as if she were meditating on it. When she let go the pieceof metal had become an egg-shaped piece of crystal, and frominside it a gold-colored mouse winked.The Doctor looked at the pendant with a complex expression.Our current client seems to be very good at telling us how things should be, doesn't she?Well, it's good that we're flexible enough to offer a variety of different servicesOeufcoque's voice, serious to the last.Can we reconfirm that we have all our necessary documents, Doctor? And can you let the publicprosecutor know about our deferred court appearance? There's always the possibility of doing it byproxy, but the question is whether that would be enough to get the Broilerhouse moving.The court doesn't move according to an individual's convenience, you know. It's a power gameand a money gamerun by the letter of the law.Yes, and I'mnot about to start playing a game that goes against the interests of the Concerned Party inthis case.Sure, sure. Well, I'll look for something constructive to do.Sorry about earlier. The voice sounded a bit different now. In tone, if not timbre.Uh, in what way?I hurt your feelings. But thank you. And I'll be sure to pay you back your money.Ummore importantly than that, would you mind not using Oeufcoque's voice when you'respeaking? It's pretty disconcerting.Balot touched the crystal with her hand.I can't remember what my own voice sounds like.She made a sound much more high-pitched than Oeufcoque's voice. She opened her mouth and took awheezy breath. Like a draft in a wind tunnel.She'll get it back one step at a time, you'll see. Step by step. This time it was the real Oeufcoquewho spoke, in his real voice.02Balot took one step out of the doorway and stood still. She looked petrified.She closed her eyes and felt the sunlight, read her surroundings with her body. There were nodisruptions in the surrounding air.No men appeared to be waiting at the bend in the road, ready to ambush her.From beyond the buildings in the distance that intersected like a chess board, she heard the noise of agasoline-powered car.Everything was different fromanything Balot had ever before experienced.It was different from the time she'd lived in the industrial quarter of the harbor town where she grewup, and different again from when she'd arrived in Mardock City 170 miles to the north. The time in herlife she was allowed to receive money, and the time when she wasn't.Let's go straight to the main street. We can hire an electric car, Oeufcoque said fromher neckline.Balot opened her eyes. She started walking, head bowed at first, but soon she lifted her chin. Thesidewalk was clean and tidy, with manicured lawns on either side of the street. It really didn't look likethe sort of place in which you'd expect to find a morgue.After a short walk she came to a small shopping mall. A hardware store, a computer shop, adressmaker, a caf, and a vegetable marketall were immaculately kept.She arrived at a large intersection and was assaulted by dizziness. Her attention had been focused onthe insides of the buildings, and she hadn't realized that she was in such a big place. She stopped on thesidewalk for a while, considering what the best thing was to do. She soon decided. She set her ownpersonal boundary. A field of recognition.A circle of roughly fifteen meters in diameter. That was Balot's personal space.That's it. You can hire cars fromthe kiosk in front of you.There was a car kiosk on the other side of the intersection. Balot crossed at the green lightwalkand halted underneath the red lightstop. Without looking at them she could feel the inner workings ofthe traffic lights. She comprehended them fully, down to the fact that they moved like clockwork, nevermissing a beat.Balot gently brushed against the pillar supporting the traffic lights. She gently interferedsnarced thesignals.The signals on the traffic lights quickened. Seeing the light had started flashing, pedestrians sped up,flustered. The gas-powered car stopped with a loud noise, and the driver looked up at the light with asurprised expression.Balot crossed the road. Oeufcoque said nothing.There was a billboard for eCar Rentals. Just below was a sign: MINIMUM AGE 14 YEARS. Balot staredat the phrase. MINIMUM AGE 14 YEARS. She was a little surprised at the fact that she indeed qualified.Fifteen had snuck up on her. And she was still fifteen.What is it? Oeufcoque asked. Not knowing what to answer she just shook her head.On the other side of a thick layer of bulletproof glass, the shopkeeper sat reading a magazine.How can I help?He looked at her carefully. Balot pointed at the rental sign and touched the crystal at her neck.A red car, please. I'm fifteen.Balot spoke like a machine, lips tightly sealed, and the shopkeeper watched her with a vagueexpression before speaking.We also have a car suitable for the disabled. What do you think? You get free parking with thosetoo.Balot gave a small nod and stuck her cash card in the window.Your signature.Rune-Balot, she wrote on the blank form that she was given. Oeufcoque secretly whispered theaddress in Balot's ear. It was obviously not the address of their hideaway. It's a decoy address ,Oeufcoque said.If anything happens, press the emergency button. You can use a telephone?Yes, I'll be fine.This time her voice was unnaturally high. The shopkeeper looked a little concerned.It'd be swell if it didn't come back broken, that car. And if you encounter any trouble I'd appreciateit if the blame didn't come back toI'll be fine.She adjusted the voice so that it had as calming an effect as possible. The shopkeeper gave her theobligatory lecture about fastening her seat belt as he handed over the keys.The car was a two-seater, with space for luggage in the back. As she turned the keys the Nav, the incarnavigation system, started up and offered a list of possible routes to take.It was touch-screen activated, but Balot didn't touch anywhere.She sensed the car's structure and applied her will. There was no steering wheel or mirrors, and theonly things that were adjustable were the destination and the speedand even the speed was limited bythe eCar regulations. There was a stereo and TV, and the TV started up automatically with a sightseeingguide. She turned it off and put the stereo on.The car pulled out into the intersection, accompanied by an uplifting tune. Warm rays of sun filled thecar, and having commandeered the Nav, she traveled down the road for a while before pulling up at a redlight.Balot looked through the windshield at the traffic lights. She could easily snarc themfromhereStop it, Balot.Balot stiffened under Oeufcoque's sudden words of restraint.Are you being threatened by the traffic lights at the moment? To the extent that you feel your life is indanger?His voice was strict. Balot gnawed on her lips. Cheerful music was still playing.Why didn't you stop me earlier?She asked directly through the car speakers without using Oeufcoque's body. She sounded somewhatvexed.I was observing your self-restraint. Ideally your powers should be used purely for self-defense. Oneof the reasons I gave the go-ahead for this little excursion was in order to have you learn this foryourself.Balot looked sullen. The lights changed and Balot raised the speed. Right up to the limit.She tried to lift the electronic restraint on the car, and found she could, increasing the speed furtherand further.What about your seat belt? You want to drive the car at full speed, have some fun? Then let's set ourcourse for a theme park. There's this fighter plane game where you can experience Mach 2.Why are you suddenly being nice to me again?Because I want you to obey the rulesand to learn to choose for yourself which rules are worthobeying.Obey the rulesthose words again. Balot swung her head back. She really didn't want Oeufcoque tobe telling her this.But you lied when you gave a false address. Is it right to lie?It's a perfectly legitimate forwarding address. There's an apartment and a postal address there. It'sjust set up so that no one can tell who lives there.Are you angry with me? Because I tampered with the traffic lights?No, not angry. It'd take more than fiddling with some lights to make me angry. Even if we'd been hitby a car, it'd be you who was hurt, not me. Even if someone died as a result of your actions I'm sure noone would be able to work out the cause of the accident, and I wouldn't turn you in. And even if there wasthen another similar accident, well, I'd give you a good cross-examining, but I still wouldn't be angry.Just sad.I just got a bit carried away. Don't get so mad at me. I was enjoying our shopping trip.I just want you to promise. About using your abilities in ways that could hurt innocent bystanders.You don't want to throw away your rights to use your Scramble 09 powers, right?I won't do it again. I'll think before I do anything. Don't be mad at me.I'm not mad at you. You've got such incredible aptitude. I was surprised by your manipulation of thetraffic lights. They're specifically designed so that they can't be controlled remotely, at least not easily.You're full of surprises.Don't put it like that.Okay, okay, sorry.I'll promise.Sure. And for my part, I've no desire to make you obey any arbitrary rules.Oeufcoque spoke in a soothing voice.In other words, when I'm telling you no, I'm talking about a fairly basic precept when it comes tousing your powers. It's also something that will protect you. And, similarly, if I tell you not to dosomething then I won't be doing it either. Absolutely not. As a basic precondition for my being with you.This is the deal between usdo you understand?At that moment, out of nowhere, she remembered the Doctor's words. Balot had chosen her currentbody, chosen her circumstances. This was part of the answer to the questionWhy me?it was, shethought, an established fact.Balot gripped the crystal. Not to snarc it. She just held it tight.After that she put on her seat belt and reduced the speed of the car.The car now entered a district filled with clusters of tourist shops and was about to settle at the baseof the imposing Trump Tower. Balot snarced the car and changed its destination to the East Side.The harbor drew near, and both the sidewalks and the roads started to grow more congested. Allaround her were gasoline-powered cars, and among the proliferating shopping malls of the CheapBranchersthe middle classesshe found the flea market.Now and then men would wolf-whistle at Balot, seeing her in the car alone, but they showed no signsof advancing on her, guns in hand, grinning maniacally.Balot opened the window and sniffed the air, which carried a hint of brine.Eventually the car came to a stop in a designated car park for rental cars.As she got out of the car and started walking, she came across a gathering of obviously able-bodiedteenagers who had parked their gas-powered cars in the free spaces designated for vehicles with placardsfor the handicapped.As she walked past Balot snarced the gate of the parking lot. The teenagers looked on in horror as thegate slammed shut. As one, their faces turned to the emergency aid button. Faces that were silentlycalculating the fines they would have to pay for being caught using the handicapped spaces without apermit.Well, you've got to obey the rules, right? Balot asked through the crystal, using a silent, electronicsignal.Uh, yeah.Oeufcoque seemed about to say something else, but in the end that was all he said.The mall was bustling, and a fresh breeze blew through the arcade.The people were coming and going purposefully, and the occasional pair of Huntersthe city policewalked past on patrol, but they showed no sign of looking for an easy target to beat up. Rather, they toowalked with a sense of purpose, and there was no particular scent of anyone on this street looking to findany sort of warped pleasure.Responding to her surroundings, Balot put on a purposeful expression and started walking. Her heelsclicked along as if she were testing them out, feeling their sensation, and Oeufcoque called out to her,Let's get some papers. It's hard to keep track of what you've spent when you're using a card.Like a dad. He wasn't going to buy anything. Just cast a watchful eye over her purchases.They found a nearby ATM and used the card to draw out a wad of notes.Twenty twenty-dollar bills. The amount Oeufcoque specified. She was worried that this might be toomuch and wanted to take fewer than ten, but Oeufcoque said that she would be better off having a fewnerves to keep her on her toes, so she did as he said.She folded the crisp new bills in half and crammed them into her card holder. She put one bill in herjacket pocket and deliberately scrunched it up. As if to say This is all I have.She bought a bag from a stall inside the mall using this bill. Seeing the crumpled note the shopkeeperthrew in a cheap leather wallet, giving it to her along with her change at no charge.Balot meekly obeyed the rules of the street.She transferred the bills from her card holder to the wallet in the shadow of a building and put themaway in her bag, and now, instead of scrunching up another bill, she captured the movements of all peoplewithin a fifteen-meter radius.She wore her bag diagonally over her shoulder and then put her jacket on over it in order to protect itfrompurse snatchers.Now all she had to do was think about what she wanted to put in the bag.She bought some toiletries and sanitary napkins at the drugstore. She bought some handkerchiefs andhairpins, then wandered aimlessly through the mall. Clothes and shoes, jewelry, electronics, ethnic goods.She examined the handicrafts and souvenirs as she chatted with Oeufcoque about nothing in particular.That frame doesn't suit the picture, or you could make one of those using my body as a mold, that sortof thing.Aren't you starting to get hungry? Oeufcoque asked. He'd been keeping track of Balot's biorhythm.He had constant tabs on her pulse, and at the same time was checking the surroundings to make sure therewas no danger.Can I eat whatever I want?Of course. I was asking for you. I don't really need much, after all.They had a quick look at a plan of the mall attached to a public telephone, looking for the entries forfood and drink stalls, and found a block of open-air food carts. Balot headed in that direction.Without having to walk for too long she saw a row of carts linked together all serving colonial food.There were white plastic tables and chairs in a courtyard, and Balot went up to the tableware sectionand took a disposable tray before heading over to some of the stalls. The place was a real salad bowl ofraces, and anyone working at the stalls could handle a number of different languages. They picked themupnaturally in the course of business with various different customers, and were also used to communicatingeven when they couldn't understand a word of what the other person was saying.Balot took her tray, laden with paper plates full of food, and found a seat.Her main dish was a plate of Tick Noodles smothered in red Charlie Sauce. It contained boiled squidand chunky slices of vegetables. She'd also bought a dish of deep-fried fish slices and chilled whole fishon the bone.You're pretty good at that, aren't you?Oeufcoque watched with admiration as Balot skillfully used her chopsticks.Chopsticks have always been a mystery to meI've never understood why people go out of theirway to turn one piece of cutlery into two smaller pieces.Balot sifted through the fish with her chopsticks. She elegantly separated the bones from the flesh,forming two piles.I was always the best at this. The other girls used to sayI was handy.She transmitted the words to Oeufcoque electronically as she ate. Well, wasn't this convenient? Shecould eat and talk at the same time.I think I'd probably be good at excavating fossils, that sort of thing.Is that something you're interested in going into in the future?I'd like to, but maybe I'm saying that because it's the only thing I can think of that's at allrelated to myskills.Balot started thinking about the things that had died such a long time ago. Things that had been buriedunderground for many years, slowly turning to stone. Things long since forgotten. Why did they then haveto be dug up again?I don't really know.Oeufcoque changed the subject. Isn't it about time for your medication?Balot tidied her tray away and went to the self-service water cooler to take the medicine the Doctorhad given her. Skin stabilizers, hair growth agents, medicine to fix her eyelashes, vitamins, calciumtablets. Lots of things she had to takeand she took themall.As she swallowed her medicine she thought about the fossils. One fossil in particular. A swirlingshell. What were those things called that stayed hidden in their shells except for their moplike hands andfeet that they used to crawl along the seabed?Ammonite or something, that sort of thing, wasn't it? Oeufcoque answered conscientiously whenasked.After she'd walked through the mall for a while, she did indeed come across a collection of spirals.They were in the form of some computer graphics projected onto the wall of a building. Balot stoppedin front of the stall that sold them.The shop sold Eject Posters. Small square boxes that, when fitted to a wall, would project imagesonto the space just below. There were a number of patterns lined up in a row, and there was a memorycard that contained over a hundred different pictures of fossils.Why not buy something that takes your fancy? It'd be a pleasant diversion, and the decor in your roomis pretty dull, said Oeufcoque.Balot took advantage of his offer. She bought an Eject Poster and a card with the fossils on it, thenwalked on, eyes on the instruction manual. Computer simulations of live ammonites, nautiluses, trilobites,along with photographs of the fossilized creatures, mixed with other minerals and fossilized into spiralsof silver and gold and crystal.After a while she put it away in her bag. She was somehow excited.Is it okayif I buy a few things I like?Of course.Balot went to the stationery section of a department store and bought a PDAthe sort a child mightuseand six different types of colored markers. And she bought some lipstick that caught her eye in ashop that she happened to pass by. Because she liked its bright poppy red and the design of the case.As she went around the department store she felt more and more that she and Oeufcoque werebecoming one.No matter where they went they were as one. Like the mojo, that protective charm so often sung aboutin the blues.But there was a moment when Oeufcoque resisted.Stop, Balot. I'll be waiting outside, soThe pendant turned back into the form of a golden mouse with a squelch and jumped straight offBalot's shoulders. Balot correctly read his path of flight and plucked himup by his suspenders midflight.I've already said, haven't I? That I don't want to be called a Peeping Tom?He spoke so pitifully that she snarced him, making him turn into an alarm bell. A poppy-red alarmbell. She looked around to check that no one was watching before sticking it on the wall with a fluidmovement.I'll keep an eye out for you, so off you go.He spoke as if to a child who was scared of the dark.Balot went into the women's restroom.The toilets were clean and empty. She went into the stall at the very end, loosened her belt, andlowered first her shorts, then tights and underwear, down to her knees, layer by layer.Relief and anxiety assaulted her in equal measure as her lower body was freed fromits wrapping.She sat down on the toilet seat and took some ointment from her jacket pocket. She squirted somebright white hydration cream on her palm and rubbed it on her stomach and thighs. These were the onlyparts that were still rough, still scabbed.As she rubbed the cream into her skin it started peeling off, like the thin membrane of a boiled egg.She brushed the skin off and rubbed the remaining creamon her shoulders and elbows.She sat on the toilet, waiting to pee. She stared absentmindedly at the linoleum wall with not a singlepiece of graffiti.All of a sudden she felt that something was not quite right. As she did her business she thought aboutwhy she might be feeling this way.Her urine smelled of medicine. A result of the eighteen different pills she had to take every day.Not a single one of those was a tranquilizerthe Doctor himself was surprised by this fact.Your psyche is incredibly tenaciousthe Doctor was full of admiration. But Balot thought that, in allhonesty, if medication could make her mind even tougher then so much the better, and she should be takingas much as she could handle.Even after she had finished on the toilet, washed herself with the bidet, and flushed all the evidenceaway, there was still a faint smell of medicine in the air. She fixed her clothes and fastened her belt eventighter than before.Then she put her mind to her earlier feeling that something was out of place.She soon discovered whya plastic bubble fixed to the tank that connected the toilet to the flushbutton. She gave the bubble a wrench and it came off easily, and, shaking it, a tiny fingertip-sized cameraemerged.Balot expanded her consciousness and interfered with the camera's magnetic field, snarcing it.The two hundred hours of continuous footage stored in the camera's many microchips was replaced bitby bit by images of the department store's mascot doll waving into the camera. As if someone wearing thedoll costume was looking into the camera and waving for all eternity.Balot then put the camera back and took the lipstick fromher bag.A LITTLE HORROR SHOWShe wrote on the wall right next to the bubble. And then she added this:WARNINGBalot left the booth. Purely for self-defense, she murmured to herself as she washed her hands.But the department store wasn't about to stop its dirty tricks just because she revealed the existence ofa camera. Balot knew this fact all too well. Bribes given to the cleaners and security guards.She even knew all about the money paid to the shills, the women who ostentatiously bought the mostexpensive items on display in order to encourage real customers to spend more.She knew everything, right down to how much they were paid.03As she emerged from the toilet, the alarm bell squooged into the shape of a mouse and jumped ontoBalot's shoulder. Without missing a beat he ran to her neck and became a choker complete with crystalpendant.You took your sweet time.Don't blame me, blame the Peeping Tom.Look, INot you. There was a camera in the ladies' room. I just fixed it up a little.Camera? Oeufcoque thought about this for a while before it clicked. You mean illegal cameras setup in order to get close-up footage of women's bodies?But do you really understand? What that means to me?Well, I think I know how you feel, at least. Right now you're angry. Very angry. And irritated andalso embarrassed. Mortified. That's what you smell of, anyway.Smell?Body odor. A mouse like me can read emotions through body odor. Didn't you know?Balot squeezed the crystal tightly and started prodding it with her fingertips. Violently. And full ofgrief.And then Oeufcoque did indeed understand Balot's feelings.Oh, sure, sorry. If I'mabsolutely honest I can't tell exactly how you're feeling. I don't really have theimagination to comprehend it. I'mnot a woman, after all, or even a human.Balot found that her feelings were calmed down somewhat by Oeufcoque's words.I think you're kinder than a human, and more humble too.Oeufcoque was now attuned to Balot's change of heart, as if he were sniffing everything up. Henoticed the chemicals secreted from her skin, the change in her pulse, and most of all the change inatmosphere.There's a caf just above us. We should be able to get some work done there.The Internet caf that Oeufcoque was talking about was on the top floor of the department store.They could see the harbor city sprawled out in a mess down below and farther in the distance the thinline of the sea.The seats were set a comfortable distance apart, perfect for getting down to some work.When the waiter came over to take her order, Balot ordered a cappuccino by pointing at the menu, andthen opened up the laptop-style monitor embedded in the table.She was about to connect to the net but then she stopped herself.Do you mind if we talk for a while about my new hobby?They'd completely forgotten about this since the spy camera incident. Oeufcoque cheerfully agreed.Balot took her PDA from her bag and lined up the six colors of markers alongside the instructionbooklet for the CG fossils. She chose the yellow and marked one of the words in the heading of themanual.Then she snarced the PDA and brought up the word that she had just highlighted. The name of a largespiral-shaped shell. As she read the manual she entered a rough commentary into the PDA, adding herpersonal impressions. The same color as agate, or If these were still alive I'd like one as a pet, that sortof thing.I'm going to make a dictionary. My own original.Brilliant. When you grow up you could become a linguist, or a poet.Well, I always wanted to go to school and have a dictionary like everyone else. The sort ofschool that children like me go to. So this is instead of that. My own self-studyclassroom.And you could still go to school. As soon as this case is closed we'll apply for re-enrollment.Won't work. You need both your parents' signatures, Balot replied, bluntly.Children who don't have any get put in the Welfare Institute. I don't want to go back there.But aren't both your parents still alive?They don't think of me as a child. Not their child, anyway.She informed him of this without stopping her hand that was holding the marker. Wordlessly. As anelectronic signal.Balot stopped writing only when the young waiter came over to bring her the drink she'd ordered.Is it a report you're working on, miss? For school? the waiter asked. Balot nodded ambiguously.The waiter laughed, showing the whites of his teeth. He pointed at the monitor on the table.You can look up almost anything on this thing. This caf has access rights to the library, you see. Theofficial time limit is two hours. But if you want an extension, just let me know. I might be able to sneakyou one.Balot touched her choker so that the young waiter could understand her next words:Thank you. If I need an extension I'll be sure to ask.The mechanical sound she produced to answer himcaused the waiter's face to stiffen very slightly.At least the waiter was a straightforward enough young man. He wasn't the sort to start thinking interms of If you took the device on her throat away from her she wouldn't be able to speak.Instead, he inevitably came to a different conclusion. He shrugged his shoulders and stood theresomewhat embarrassed, as if he had accidentally offended her in some way.Balot put the things that were out on the table back into her bag. The waiter watched this beforeeventually being called away to attend to another customer. He wasn't a bad youth. It was just a questionof pride. The youth's, and Balot's.Let's get down to some work, said Balot.Oeufcoque turned with a squish into a mouse and jumped on top of the table. Checking that the waiterwasn't looking his way he made another turn, this time into a plug-in adaptor device for a computer.Try me out.She took a cord fromthe side of the monitor that up until that moment had been showing a floor plan ofthe department store, and in a moment the screen went fuzzy.Through Oeufcoque's efforts they connected from the store's secure net navigation to the much widerranginguser services of the outside world.Through the Broilerhouse, we've managed to suppress your personal information that Shell-Septinosforged. In particular, any attempt to hack into your residential ID is now a serious crime. For accessprivileges you need thirteen different types of password combined with a physical keyin other words,we've made it so that no one has access to your personal data without me.As she watched the screen in front of her being decoded layer by layer, she suddenly remembered therooms in the hideaway. The roomthat you could lock fromthe inside at night.There were two locks on it. One was the electronic sort on the door knob, and the Doctor could alsoopen this from the outside. The other was a chain, and this was purely Balot's. Of course, both Balot andthe Doctor knew too well how little use a chain on a door was in this city.But this chain is made of a special alloy and a unique textile, the Doctor said. It can't be brokeneasily. Definitely not. Because Oeufcoque made it himself. That comforted Balot. A chain that wasMade by Oeufcoque. The chain caused the door to close perfectly, with no gaps or cracks.Right, I'mnow about to check the entries one by one. Okay?Balot placed her hand on the adaptor. She thought she could feel Oeufcoque's pulse in her palm.Okay.She took a deep breath, then snarced Oeufcoque.The truth was unbearable. She hadn't realized just how much her life had been graffitied over.Her birthplace, date of birth, names of her parents, family tree, personal history, address, telephonenumber, usage records for her cash card, log of her access to the net, questionnaires from departmentstores and online shops, mailing data, contents of letters to her friends.All lies. She realized just how abnormal this Shell-Septinos must be to manipulate another person'sexistence according to his whimin such precise, meticulous detail.And moreover, this wasn't just any old graffiti: it was beautifully done.It was a cruel veneer, as if to emphasize the ugliness of the original, of what had gone before.Oeufcoque highlighted certain entries on the monitor from various pages, and each time he did soBalot snarced Oeufcoque and made a separate copywith her true details addedinto individualreference files.Like unearthing fossils fromunderneath a beautiful display of ostentation.Balot tried to remember the first timeand indeed the last timethat she had accessed the data. Thevery act that triggered the events that caused Shell to burn her to death. Was she grateful to the man whohad made such a vainglorious display of her? How pathetic if she was. It was like taking a file to herheart surrounded by the perfect shell.According to this data, Balot was currently nineteen years old. She was from a middle-class family,and if you had to use one word to describe her it would have been wholesome. There was no trace of anincident in which her brother was sent to prison for beating her father so badly he was left with permanentdamage. There was no sign of an incident in which ADSOMthe Alcohol and Drug abuse Society ofMardock Cityput a cap on her mother's pregnancy rights, meaning that IVF was the only route open toher, which in turn led to a cycle of abuse driven by the inferiority complex this had given the woman.Here, her father was a salaryman, an average office Joe. He wasn't driven to extreme neurosis thanksto backbreaking manual labor, and the despair that he was plunged into after losing his job didn't causehim to cling to Balot and take her virginity as if she were just another woman. Balot had been able to goto school properly, and she wasn't subjected to sexual abuse by Social Services. And it certainly wasn'tthe case that, after she had escaped fromthe institute along with a few others, she was forced into the evenharsher position of having to sell her body and soul piece by piece.A dream familya dream life. Not a life in the depths of despair and hatred, where the tears had rundry.I'm starting to see it nowI'm beginning to understand what Shell was plotting with all his evilbusiness with you, Oeufcoque said. Even as they confirmed Balot's personal details Balot andOeufcoque both sped through the huge network, collecting any other relevant data.As I suspected, that man has his fingers in a number of different piesillegal banking. According tohis personal data he's bought over 170,000 different items in the past six months. The data is fictional, ofcourse, and no transactions will have taken place. The question is where the money has gone.Balot felt her bile rising when she heard Oeufcoque's words.So, he gives you your forged status and arranges it to look like you've embezzled money. It's writtenhere that you're an employee at this bank. The bank in question is closely connected with Shell's masters,OctoberCorp, and certain government officials are involved too. First, he entered details of fake depositaccounts into the computer, complete with forged certificates of deposit. Under your name, the fake one,of course. And as long as your records are never accessed, they never come under any official scrutiny.That's the key point. And the moment you accessed your file, many of the official procedures startedautomatically.The of icial procedures started automatically. One of the procedures being Balot's death.Why was she killedwhy me? Another part of the answer to this question floated before her eyes, andBalot felt her whole body enveloped in a wave of hatred she'd never experienced before.So, they get your fake documents, add some fake wage slips, and drain this fromthe non-bank they setup specially for the purpose. We're talking millions of dollars. It takes time, though, for the funds to becleared. If our case is recognized as legitimate within the next week then weand the public prosecutorwill be given leave to investigate further I get it now, this is where Shell's brain becomes soimportant. It's likely that a reamof his memories have already disappeared. Psychelaundering rather thanmoney laundering. So, while the legal investigation into his memory takes place, it's too late for theinvestigation into the funds to go any further.Balot inhaled slowly. As her heartbeat started to settle, the hatred flowing around her became one withher flesh and blood, and she felt it silently beating away.Once the payments have gone through, as long as the memory of this case is completely wiped fromShell's brain, there's nothing more we can do. Although, on the other handif Shell's memories arepreserved somewhereBalot didn't yet understand in full the complexities of Shell's scheme, but she did understand that sheherself had started the ball rolling toward the events that would bring about her own death.Or rather, Shell had known that Balot would start the ball rolling.There was no one in her circumstance who couldn't be aware of just how much they were being used,of what they were being used as.In the end the petition that they collected together to send in to the Broilerhouse ran to a total of 280counts of status fraud.While they were doing that, Balot ordered another cappuccino. The youth from earlier was clearlyrelieved when Balot called himover and served her with a wink and threw in a free cookie.As she was working Balot's hands sometimes stopped, and at these times a strange song would runthrough her head.Dish, wash, crash, mash.A nursery rhyme that she'd once heard. The taste of the cappuccino in her mouth changed to thedistinctive acrid taste of the explosion.Hash, gash, josh, bash.Once the hellish work was overwork that was like dredging through a swamp with your faceBalot sat still, unflinching, staring at the monitor. The long-decayed contents of a broken shell. No tearscame. Her head was strangely cool. Even as it spewed forth its poison, her heart continued to beatsteadily.I didn't think we'd be able to prepare such a detailed document in such a short time.I couldn't bear anymore.You've done well. All we need to do now is send this off to the Broilerhouse.Send it off?Balot was terrified. As if it had only just occurred to her that this was what they were going to have todo.We're going to show this to people? This? The truth about my past?We are.The documents were suddenly collated now, turned into data ready to mail. Oeufcoque's actions.Balot's whole body stiffened. She couldn't take her eyes off the monitor. Just as you can't take youreyes away froma sharp knife flashing in front of your eyes.But the data wasn't being sent. Oeufcoque was silently waiting for Balot. Balot hadn't yet said eitheryes or no.Balot?Just wait a minute. Please. Try and understand me.Her stomach clenched. She wished there was something that could squeeze her tighter. Without it shewould blow away like a fine powder, she thought.Balot. How about looking at it like this, Oeufcoque said cautiously. This is just like excavatingfossils. A number of skeletons are going to emerge, one by one. But as you know, they're all long sincedead. However fierce they used to be, now they are sleeping soundly as fossils.Do you really want to hurt me so badly?Balot lowered her eyes and gritted her teeth. Oeufcoque continued on, politely as ever. You're livingin the present, not back in the primeval era of the dinosaurs. The things that used to live are real onlyinsofar as they used to exist. But right here, right now, you are the one who's really alive.Can you wait? Just a little longer.Of course, you could even delete these documents if you wanted. If that was the best way for you todeal with your fossils.She realized that Oeufcoque meant it. Even though there would be serious repercussions.But Oeufcoque cared more about Balot's feelings, right to the end.If I said no, this person wouldn't make me do it. She could believe this fact.The very fact that she could believe it took a great weight off her shoulders. The conviction that youwould never be betrayedif only there was more of this, the world would no longer need its drugs orguns.Balot took a slow breath. She straightened her back and looked at the monitor as if to accept that shewas now about to die. Balot's surroundings started to disappear from her consciousness. Soon everythingwas gone, and all that remained was herself and the rotten egg of her pasther joshthat floated on themonitor before her eyes. As a result she didn't even notice the presence of the waiter who passed besideher.For some time now the youth had been wandering back and forth fromher table. Like a bellhop anglingfor a tip. Balot snarced the monitor right in front of his eyes without lifting a finger.Just then she realized the waiter was looking at her and raised her head, taken aback.The waiter was marveling at Balot. Not so much because he'd been peeking at her private documents,but simply at Balot's abilities. And then he quickly thought that she must be using some newfangledelectronic device, and moved away, having convinced himself.Balot averted her eyes. Like she was coldly pushing him away. She checked the monitor. She saw thesymbol that confirmed the documents had been safely transmitted.She let go of Oeufcoque quietly and took her lipstick fromher bag.She gave it a twist and used the poppy-red stick to graffiti the monitor.SWITCH, WITCH, BITCHShe wasn't particularly thinking about her actions. She just knew that she wouldn't be satisfied unlessshe did.I AM THE WITCHshe added, then put the lipstick away.Oeufcoque popped his head out of the adaptor and watched Balot writing the graffiti.Oeufcoque said nothing but returned to being a mouse and looked up at Balot.Balot turned away fromhimand sipped at her half-finished cappuccino.Her lips felt the milk that was stuck to the rim of the cup. She licked it off with her tongue.Deliberately. Thoroughly, lasciviously. Then, unable to stand being under Oeufcoque's gaze for anylonger, she put the cup down.Casually she extended a hand toward the monitor and focused her consciousness in her fingertips. Shefelt electricity crackling through her fingertips. The lipstick on the monitor peeled and fell off.Oeufcoque seemed a little surprised. Balot was extremely adaptable when it came to using herabilities, had figured out all sorts of handy tricks. It took her less than five seconds to neatly clean all thegraffiti.Balot took a pinch of the flecks of lipstick that had piled up around the edge of the monitor. She rubbedit together with the dirt that it had picked up and brought the mixture up to Oeufcoque's eyesThis is what I am.She manipulated the screen, bringing the letters up.It's a pretty shade of red. In the right context and as long it's matched with the right things,Oeufcoque expounded, seriously. It's undoubtedly an appropriate color for you at the moment. That'swhat you mean, right?He gave an extremely raspy chuckle for a mouse.Balot sighed. A long, drawn-out sigh. Enough to make her tight clothes loosen a little.We're like kids arguing.She brought this up on the monitor, then cut the power. She wiped clean the red stain on her fingerswith a napkin, and then made Oeufcoque turn into a choker before putting himon.Inside the crystal pendant a golden mouse was wearing garish red lipstick and winking.04When did you first start watching me? Balot snarced and asked Oeufcoque as they walked throughthe mall.Since before you started living in Shell-Septinos's apartment.Then all the time I was with Shell?On the whole, yes. We weren't particularly focused on you at that time, though.So how far did you guys investigate me?We don't know anything more than what was in the documents we sent off today.Well, everything's there, but there's nothing really about me.How do you mean?Do you think I'm crazytoo?Crazy? Why?Well, letting people touch my bodyfor money, for example. A child who'd do that sort of thing.All I know is, the way our society is set up, that sort of thing is pretty much part of the system. Andthat it's men, with their notions, who prop the system up. If you are crazy, then there's an awful lot elsethat's crazy along with you.Balot looked around the mall, now bathed in twilight. People were gradually starting to hunch theirbacks in response to the cold wind that was now blowing. The transparent rays of sun were casting longshadows across the hard glass surfaces, and no one walking along the ruby-colored Sunny Side seemedparticularly crazy.Can I tell you a little about myself?Talk to me.When the Huntersthe copsclosed down the house where I used to work, one of them askedme a question. Why prostitution? he asked.I answered,Because I wasn't a virgin.When I did, the Hunter whistled. Whew, just like that. Like I'd done something incredible.Is something funny? I asked.You girls these days, you got it all worked out, the Hunter answered. And then he asked,When did you give it upyour virginityto the lucky guy?The lucky guyI didn't know that this was how you were supposed to look at it.And then I answered.To myfather, sir. When I was twelve.I thought that the Hunter would whistle again, but he didn't say anything.When he first met me the Hunter said that he had daughters. Two of them. The elder already athigh school. The younger the same age as you, he said. As if to say, Don't worry, you can talk to me.So I tried asking him this question.Have you ever wanted to touch your daughters, sir? Have you thought about sleeping withthem?I was just wondering if everyone was like that. But the Hunter said,You're crazy. What aridiculous idea. Such a thing!I didn't understand why it was such a thing, and it hurt me when he said I was crazy. And theHunter's expressionas if he were staring at a crazy woman. I couldn't understand anything. Onlythat the Hunter wasn't a friend of mine, like everyone else.Soon after that I met Shell. He came to meet me, saying he was a fan of mine. He'd once cometo me as a client. He promised me everything. Said he'd reinvent me completely. I asked if thatmeant he loved me. He said,That's exactlyright. Then I got in his car.And then:Oeufcoque, are you going to tell the Doctor all this?No, I'll lock everything you've just told me away inside myself. Only you can decode it.And what do you think? Do you think I'm crazy?Hmm I wouldn't know. After all, I'm just a mouse with his intelligence amplified to human levelsfor the sake of research. I'm not even a mouse anymore, just something that looks like a mouse. There arepeople who say that my very existence is crazy.You? Why?Who knows. Fromtheir perspective I suppose I am crazy. I've been trying to pin down exactly what Iam ever since being born, but in the end I still have no idea. As I'm originally based on a male mouse,I've studied the human male psyche, trying to act like one, but I don't even know if that's right.What exactly are you? Why were you born?There were these people who commissioned some researchers to come up with the ultimate tool,said Oeufcoque. The commission came fromthe army. A few prototypes were manufactured, and I'moneof those. But the research project itself was halted, and I was about to be disposed of as something thathad never existed in the first place.You were almost thrown away? Why?It became politically expedient in the postwar era. Was it people that were evil or their tools? Thiswas the political hot potato that emerged not long after the peace treaty between the Commonwealth andthe Continent was signed.Were people evil or their tools?Let's say there's a gun crime. Is it the person who used the gun who is at fault? Or is the gun evil forexisting in the first place? Well, postwar politics repudiated the gun and exonerated the person. The veryfact that weapons of war existed at all was considered the root of the evil. As a result the regulation ofweaponsand all technology related to thembecame the subject of intense debate. In order to protectpeople.So you were abandoned too?That's right. I was born for political, military reasons, and for the same reasons I was about to beeliminated. Had the Scramble 09 bill not gone through I would have been disposed of for sure. Myexistence depends on continually proving my usefulness to society.Is that whyyou're helping me?Oeufcoque seemed about to answer, but then suddenly went silent.What's the matter?A strange smell. Plural. A strong sense of duty, systematic movement. Hostility.Balot was about to reflexively stop in her tracks when Oeufcoque gave a sharp order.Carry on walking. Don't stop.Balot did as he said. Unconsciously she started picking up the pace.Cut through the department store. We'll be able to determine if there are people following you.Oeufcoque gave precise directions, which Balot obeyed as she sensed the presence of the people aroundher, feeling them in all three dimensions. It was as if the skin covering her whole body were splinteringunder the tension. Before long she noticed six people emerge from the hustle and bustle following herevery move.It's because of the Internet caf we were just in. We must have been picked up by the enemy as weaccessed information on Shell. They traced us and sent people right after us.What do we do?See them off, then return home. His tone of voice was so composed she could have believed he wastalking about buying an umbrella because it was raining.How?Balot was already scared. She had premonitions of something terrible and wanted to burst out crying.Take me in your hand.As Balot loosened the choker and gripped it, it turned with a squelch into a black leather glove that fither right handwelllike a glove.The Oeufcoque-glove informed her in a plain voice,I want you to calm down. I was developed as anAll-Purpose Tool to be the strongest hand-to-hand combat weapon in the world.Balot left the mall and went down a side alley where there were fewer people. The six men drewnear, blocking all her escape routes so precisely that you could almost have described them asconscientious.Balot used her perception abilities to sense that they were speaking with each other via wirelessdevices.Three groups of two, is it? Looks like they're planning for two of them to capture you first. Theysmell as if they're going to start out on a definite course of action. The other four are planning to use a caror something to take you away once you've been captured.Balot sensed the group of four congregate in one place and get into a car, just as Oeufcoque had said.The two men that were coming toward her now split up, one coming fromthe direction Balot was walkingin and the other creeping up frombehind.They're getting closer and closer.When they come, all you need to do is stick out the hand that you're holding me with.The gloomy alley was deserted. She wanted to stand still there. But a strange momentum carriedBalot's legs onward. She balled up her hand covered by the gloveOeufcoqueand soon sheapproached the corner around which the man lay in wait for her.Balot stopped still at the same moment that the man leapt out.Flustered, Balot thrust out her right fist, and the next moment a silver rod extended with incredibleforce. The tip of the rod scored a direct hit on the man's throat, and he let out a moangack.In front of the dumbfounded Balot the man collapsed in a twitching heap.He was convulsing, his eyes peeled white, and he had started frothing at the mouth.I added a dollop of extra electricity for good measure. He won't be waking up for a good while.Balot noticed she was now wielding a police baton in her right handa turned Oeufcoque.The other man was now coming at her frombehind.He saw his colleague on the ground and started running toward her.In a daze Balot stuck her right armout, but her assailant easily dodged the baton.Or rather, it looked as if he had dodged itbut it didn't let him dodge. Her right handOeufcoquemoved of its own accord, and skillfully thrust the tip of the baton square under the man's jaw.The man fell to his knees. This time, though, the shock was lighter. The man remained conscious andmoved his head toward her.At that moment the outstretched baton squelched and turned into a pistol.The man stared into the muzzle in abject terror. Balot, too, cowered in astonishment.Banga dry soundand a shot went off in the man's face. But it wasn't a bullet. Rather, a mesh offine wires. These wrapped around the man's head and released their electric charge.He never stood a chance. Without making a sound the man lost consciousness and toppled over in afaint.Well, then. Let's get back to the parking lot as soon as we can.Oeufcoque was now just a glove again; the gun had disappeared with a squelch.Balot stared at the two men on the ground, dumbfounded.Balot ran back to the parking lot in a hurry, but the moment she jumped into her eCar, Oeufcoquespoke. They're quick. The rest of our pursuers have already noticed something wrong and are moving.Oeufcoque, still a glove, sounded as unconcerned as ever.What shall we do? Do we have to finish them off?It'd be best if we could avoid the need for another fight. Let's leave as quickly as we can. There's apossibility they may have reinforced the mall exits, but if there's nothing then let's just go home.Do you really think there's nothing more going to happen? Balot asked folornly as she made theeCar do an emergency start.Well, I hope that nothing more is going to happenthat'd be good. Oeufcoque's words weresomewhat deflating.I never know whether I can rely on you or not! Balot told him, a little angry.That's a problem. You're supposed to be a witness to my usefulness in this case, after all,Oeufcoque said, genuinely concerned now, and as he did so the car moved toward the mall exit. Then alarge van emerged at their flank, and Oeufcoque immediately ordered, Enemies! Snarc the car and let'sescape!See, I told you something would happen.Balot, who really was angry now, snarced the car as a reflex action. The car sped onat a speedmuch higher than its official limitand, barely sticking to the road, squeezed in front of the van.Balot looked back and saw it following immediately behind them. Listening to the clamor of car hornssounding all around in protest, she asked,What do we do now?Let's shake themoff, using your abilities. I'll give the directions.Oeufcoque turned into a Nav, and she asked him,So I should make the car go full speed ahead?Yes, with your seat belt fastened and watching out for pedestrians.And I can trulyrely on you?Absolutely.Balot pursed her lips and fastened her seat belt. Still looking at the display on the Nav in her hand, sheconcentrated on the inner workings of the car and snarced its circuits for all she was worth.In an instant she grasped the layout of all the cars in her surroundings, the positions of all thepedestrians, and the obstaclesand, like a professional skateboarder, made the car jump through everylittle gap and opening, pushing swiftly onward.I've never driven a car before, Balot informed Oeufcoque a little late in the day, but Oeufcoquejust responded calmly, There's a first time for everything.As they pulled out of the East Side and entered the trunk road, two pairs of headlights emerged frombehind and roared toward them, accelerating harshly. Their escape route had been read like a book.Without looking at the vans that were growing steadily nearer, Balot measured them, grasped them.The window on the passenger side rolled down, and the barrel of a gun emerged fromthe gap.They're going to start shooting at us, so dodge. Should be no problemwith your abilities.It was strangebecause Oeufcoque told her that this was true, she began to believe it herself.Balot even knew the movements of the people inside the car. Even going nearly a hundred kilometersan hour, she could clearly grasp the movements of the person in the van putting their finger to the trigger.Balot manipulated the whole car, snarcing every mechanismsimultaneously.The gunshot masked the sound of the car's harsh breaking. Even as the bullet grazed the hood, the carswung around in a huge arc, moving in the opposite direction.She grasped that the vans on either side had sped past and were now frantically trying to stop.The car did a half turn, all four tires smoking, and sped off back the way it had come.The cars that had been behind Balot were now in front of her, drivers frantically yanking their steeringwheels. Balot grasped all their movements, dodged all the vehicles without a scratch, weaved through theoncoming traffic, and dashed on for a few hundred meters. She noticed that one of the vans behind her hadstopped, crashed into one of the oncoming cars.The car's 180-degree turn and sprint were both Oeufcoque's idea. Balot followed whatever pathOeufcoque indicated and found herself back in the bustling East Side.Oeufcoque, are you a pacifist? An extremist? Which is it?A pacifist, of course.Would a pacifist make someone speed down a road the wrong way?It was the least risky means of dealing with the state of emergency that we were just in. It's not as ifI'mallowed to turn into a rocket launcher and blow the enemy away.Could you reallyturn into something like that?It's against the laws of the Commonwealth. If I turned into such a thing they'd dispose of me the verynext day.Even if it's an emergency?It might be an emergency, but the ends don't always justify the means.Unimpressed, Balot followed Oeufcoque's directions, weaving freely through the complicated backstreets of the city in order to try and shake off the other van. Soon they entered an underground tunnel,passed through a number of intersections, and when they re-emerged above ground near the central districtof Mardock City the van was nowhere to be seenall Balot could see was the night sky of early springthat flowed all around themlike fresh black ink.Looks like we've managed to lose them completely. The first lot, at least, Oeufcoque mutteredthoughtfully, still giving directions as a Nav.Are you saying there are more?Balot curled up anxiously, still gripping the Nav.Here and there I smelled something unusual. A sense of purpose completely without emotionas if itwere merely observing us.Suddenly Balot's senses noticed that a car was drawing near. It cruised along at the same speed asthemabout a block behind.There's a car stuck to our tailan enemy?Nothis smellAt that moment the car that was tailing themabruptly moved into the same lane.It maintained its distance a few cars behind, precisely.Oeufcoque?It's himI'm sure of it, Oeufcoque whispered in a subdued, serious voice that she had never heardfromhimbefore.Before they realized it the car behind had gradually closed in.At length Balot turned around and saw the driver with her own eyes and gasped.It was the driver from that nightthat night she was burned to death in the car, when Shell got intoanother AirCar, driven by his bodyguard.It's Dimsdale-Boiled. OctoberCorp's Scramble 09, Oeufcoque muttered quietly. As he did so thecar behind flashed its headlights.What? He's asking us to stop?Balot's eyes widened. At that moment, the commdevice in her car started blinking.As a fellow Trustee with responsibility for solving this case, I demand my statutory rights toInformation Disclosure. The voice was distinctive and hailed them from the car behind. Balot wasstartled. Oeufcoque was silent. The voice coming through the comm device continued, We've alreadymade our background checks on that rental car. If you refuse to participate in the Information Disclosurethen the public rental car agency will testify as to your cooperative attitude.What's he talking about? Whycan we hear his voice? What is this person saying?In order to come to a peaceful resolution wherever possible, Trustees in charge of cases will oftennegotiate with each other, exchanging certain prescribed pieces of information, Oeufcoque explained.Refusal to do so counts as a big minus in court.What are we going to do?Let's stop the car up here. We'll just have to have a little chat, Oeufcoque said, turning back into aglove that covered Balot's right hand. At length Balot timidly pulled the car over onto the hard shoulder.05Boiled pulled up two car lengths behind Balot's car.Balot got out of the car, and Boiled emerged at the same time and stood in the shadow of the door.They waited in silence as another car went past.The giant man, his face inhuman, stared down at Balot, expressionless, and Balot was overcome by afear that made her legs tremble. It wasn't so much just a fear of being killed. Rather, it was a fear of beingkilled without being able to put up any sort of resistance at all. Indeed, that very fear sapped her will toresist, draining all her strength fromher body.Don't worry, Balot. As long as I'm here he won't do anything lightly, Oeufcoque said, as if he hadread her innermost thoughts.At that point Boiled's eyes moved for the first time. He looked straight at Balot's right hand.So that's where you're hiding, Oeufcoque, Boiled said, his voice floating across the air. Anoppressive, expressionless tone of voice that made Balot feel like she was looking down the barrel of agun.When did you submit your application to become the Trustee for the opposition? Oeufcoque asked.With cold light glinting in his blue eyes, Boiled replied, This afternoon. That's your employer, is it?Boiled jerked his chin slightly toward the girl, unimpressed.She's the Concerned Party in this case. What's the disclosure you're requesting, Boiled?I want you to revoke the Life Preservation Program, said Boiled.That's intimidation. Not a request. As ever, you really think that's the best way to solve the case?I'm not here to solve the case. Just suppress it. I want you to tell me what charges you are bringingagainst Shell-Septinos.The district attorney's office will publish that information in due course. Wait for the officialannouncement, replied Oeufcoque, calm.I want to know in advance what the procedures will be in the event that the Concerned Party dies orabsconds.We'd still proceed with the prosecution, if that's what you mean, declared Oeufcoque, and the coldglint in Boiled's eyes seemed brighter than ever.Are you frightened? Boiled's eyes suddenly moved toward Balot as he spoke.Balot's legs started shaking more violently than before. She did her utmost to keep her composure andreturn Boiled's gaze.If you don't want to die you should withdraw your petition and abrogate your rights as ConcernedParty in this case, Boiled said. Words that struck at the heart of Balot's frail courage.Don't listen to him, Balot. The moment you abrogate your rights is the moment no one will be able toprotect you anymore.In her breathlessly tense state Balot barely managed to nod; she gripped Oeufcoque tightly in her righthand. Choking back the tears of terror and humiliation:I don't want to die.The feelings were welling up inside her, and she threw the whole lot at Oeufcoque.She felt the glove enveloping her right hand getting warmer. Then Boiled's voice filled the air. I wantto know the date of the provisional hearing and whether the Concerned Party will be appearing inperson.In three days. As for the rest, wait for the official announcement. And don't even think about a repeatof today's tactics. We'll take you to the cleaners in court, said Oeufcoque.I don't know what you're talking about. Boiled's face twisted slightly. An inhuman smirk. I'mlooking forward to holding you in my grip again, Oeufcoque.Boiled climbed into his car. He closed the door and without further ado slid right by Balot's car anddrove off.Balot watched the car move away.You know that person?We used to work together, in the past. Now we're enemies. Balot didn't ask anything elseall herstrength had suddenly drained fromherand she climbed into the car.She closed the door and sat there, unable to do anything other than hug her knees close to her body.She didn't want to say anything. Just stay huddled in her shell.Trust me, will you? Just like I trust you, Oeufcoque said. By protecting you, I prove myusefulness.Whyme? she asked keenly. Oeufcoque didn't have an immediate reply.Tears started welling up in Balot's eyes, pouring out on her lap as she held herself tightly.Balot stayed there trembling, crying out of fear and regret.The car drove on slowly. Not through Balot's snarc, but on autopilot.Cheerful music played on the radio. She was all cried out, and stared out at the night lights of the citywith puffy eyes, eyes fixed on her transparent reflection in the window.There were still plenty of rules that she had to endure. But the helpless fear was scraping away insideher, shaving off pieces of her will to resist and her feelings of hope.Oeufcoque, still a glove, seemed like he was thinking about something, but suddenly said, You're notcrazy.Balot turned her half-shut eyes toward the glove on her right hand.The way you think and the way you feelboth are completely normal, Oeufcoque continued.That's the reason that I want to serve you and to settle this case.This case?There's absolutely no reason why you deserved to die. Yet you were locked in a car and had thirddegreeburns inflicted on your whole body. We're going to determine the motives and the aims of thekillers and expose themto the world.Mycase?That's right. As the Concerned Party in this case you chose Scramble 09, acquired your technology,and obtained the thing right in front of you: me.Balot tried to think about this but wasn't very successful. She couldn't think what she could do. If therewas anything that she could contribute, surely it was her newfound abilities?She was starting to lose sight of what she was trying to do.The roads were congested. The Nav wouldn't let Balot maneuver like she just had in the car chase.Listening to the radio as she watched couples and parents with children drift by in similar rental cars,eventually she snarced the car.Will you explain to me whyI 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 istrying to establish that Shell is indeed the right suspect. Your appearance should be able to formallyestablish that we're accusing the correct suspectShelland at the same time will give us approval toprogress the case further.In what way?We want legal proof of the fact that, behind the scenes of your attempted murder, much bigger andmore systematic wrongdoings are taking place. We'll get a big reward from the Broilerhouse by solvingthis 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 thisbargain?Let's see. Your life, your dignity, closure, and money to live. Does that seemabout 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 ofthe 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 repairitself. 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 perceivedOeufcoque'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 wasabout.Do you know what S&M is? And fetishes, that sort of thing?A little, not in detailwhat about them?One of the favorites at the house where I workedshe was called Queen Bee. She told me that Iwasn't suited for S&M. Clients who liked that sort of thing wanted their girls to be kicking andscreaming, whereas myselling point was playing dead. I reallyliked that girl. Even though she wasthe 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 girlsmasochistswho 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 hadthese needles stuck crosswise through her nipples while she was tied up. These are disposablesyringes, Queen Bee said. No one else had used them previously, so there was no chance ofcatching any diseases. Also, normal needles actually have quite serrated edges, so they'd beunnecessarily painful. That's why disposable needles were best.I see. And then? Oeufcoque spoke in a serious tone that encouraged Balot to continue with hermonologue.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 nippleswere weeping blood. I think the reason that it seemed so beautiful was that Queen Bee acted the wayshe did. The M girl said so too. As the M girl was bound tighter she said it was like being held bysomeone who loved her. No one else could make her feel that way, only Queen Bee. Queen Bee madethe 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 girlsome time after Queen Bee was arrested. The M girl wason drugs, getting paid to be tied up bythis guy. He was high and strangled her to death. There was atrial then, too, even though theyended up deciding that the man hadn't done anything wrong.And were you there at that trial?Yup. The manager of the brothelthe woman who gave me my namebrought theprosecution, but in the end she lost her case. As a result the Broilerhouse put a mark on us, and theHunters came and arrested all the clients on our books, that's what she told me. Those peopleandthat shopweren't reallythat bad. There were plenty of places that were much worse. In particularthe video workthere was a guy who could film it really welland everyone was clean and gentle. Iheard of plenty of places that were terrible, but no one the manager introduced us to was that bad. Iwas 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 stilland have you seen any of the videos that Iwas in?No.Would you like to?I'm not sure I don't really know. But let's go back a littleyou said arrested? Why was QueenBee 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 beautifulinface and body. She could do anything and would let anyone do anything to her. She never soldherself 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 youunderstand? 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'tsay anything at the trial. I watched Queen Bee's trial. With the rest of the girls. And after that wewatched 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. Alousy Show. That's whatall the girls were saying. I thought so too. No one found out why Queen Bee flipped out. The menjust kept arguing with each other. Queen Bee was grinning and laughing all through her trial.Flashbacks. The men tried desperatelyto ask if something had happened when she was younger, butQueen Bee wouldn't tell them anything. At the end the manager gave Queen Bee a kiss and said,I'm reallysorry. Queen Bee replied,That's okay, love you. And,Goodbye.First degree murderso it was a life sentence for premeditated homicide, I suppose? The womenwere 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 ifthey 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'shappened 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 themas much as you want once this case is resolved.But I bet if I did go and see them I'd only get jealousor be envied myself. We'll end upcompeting 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 byfate. Whether weare loved, or not. The worst thing of all is to die without. But in the end, I think most of us will endup dying precisely because we aren't loved.Eventually the car pulled off the road that was taking them toward South Street and veered toward thecity center. Toward the placethe vast spacewhere the multitude of different streets and townscapescame together.Oeufcoque seemed to be thinking hard about Balot's words.Hey, Oeufcoque.Uh-huh?Do you think they'll ask me about myfather 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 theiradvantage to destabilize you emotionally by asking you questions about him, then, yes, they probablywill.Will the case fail if they prove that I'm crazy?Well, uh, yesWhat 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, statusmanipulation, 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 lethim do to me? Will they ask me what clothes I was wearing? They'll say that the man did nothingwrong, because of how I allowed them to keep me, or because I wanted it. That's what they alwayssay at trial.I have no intention of letting themget 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. Andno one will listen to me either. When there are plenty of girls like thatIt 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 notdamaged. Ameans 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. Notlike this.Balot, you'reI have nightmares whenever I sleep. Always. And particularly since the incident with Shell. Doyou have dreams, Oeufcoque?Not often, no. But I can tell when you're having nightmares. It's your smell, whenever you're asleepI don't want to die while I'm feeling this way. This much I know. But I'm scared. So scared Ican barely move. Really. I could excavate fossils, or become a poet or a scholarbut none of thatwould explain anything. I don't believe that having ambitions or dreams for the future can explainanything. All I know is that I want what I want right at this moment. Because I've never ever wantedsomething and then got it.Balotyou'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 bydisciplining 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, Ican't say which way of fighting is better. Nevertheless, I want you to understand our way of doing battle.We mean to discover everythingto determine why you were almost killedand to do this we're usingthe plan we devised while you were in your coma, which we'll modify as we go along based on yourreactions now that you're awake.And that's enough of an explanation for you? That by listening to my grumbling, and gettinglots 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!' Atthe moment, all I'm doing is projecting a constructed image of myself onto this city. I may be the scourgeof the shadowy underbelly of this place, but when it comes down to it I'm nothing more than a shadowmyself.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 nowsurrounded by police tape used to cordon off the crime scene.It was the place where she had diedthe spot where she was nearly burned to death, trapped insideher 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 andsuccumbed to the overwhelming desire to shout with all her heartbut all that emerged was a breath thatsounded like a draft leaking through a crack in the wall.There's nothing that I really want to do. Everyoneall the girls I know, anywaydon't get todo what they want, theyjust live without, until their lives are messed up by drugs or men. All I wantis 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 asproof of your usefulness, and anyway, you're supposed to do whatever I ask. So, love me.You meanlike 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 someonelike 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 himforcefully, completely. Oeufcoque's eyes opened wide, and he took a stepback in Balot's hand. He was trembling.M-my primary defensesyou can penetrate them? In an instant, just like thatWon't you answer me?Uhumwait a momentsowell, you're my client, and you're the official Concerned Party inthis case, so it's my responsibility to protect you. And if there's anything unsatisfactory about my conductthen 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-dancingmouse. Nothing more. I think there's some sort of misunderstanding. Do you think that all it takes is a wishfrom you and I can turn into a full-fledged humana grown manfor your convenience? Impossible, I'mafraid. 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 theHunter I told you about?Oeufcoque breathed a deep, exhausted sigh. So deep his suspenders seemed to slacken. Look, do youthink 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 timeOeufcoque had properly seen Balot's facial expression.That's not what I meant. Just thatAs far as you're concerned, whatever I may be, I'm here to protect you, to become your weapon inorder to keep you out of harm's way. Whereas youyou need to keep yourself alive and win the right tosurvive, to live.A new buddy.WhatYou said those words to me right on this spot. When I was all burnt up. You said that I'd beyour new partner. As you looked into myeyes.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 avoidedturning into a drug addict like mymother.Even so, we're talking out of the ordinary here. You had third-degree burns over pretty much yourentire body. And yet you maintained consciousness. To the extent that you can remember precisely whatother beings were saying.Balot bit down on her lips with a disconsolate expression. She was trying to cope with a lonelinessthat was so bitterly cold that it felt like her heart might freeze over. Oeufcoque noticed this and plonkedhimself down on the palmof 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 allsorts 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 partnerI 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 stuckhis paw out as if he were conceding total defeat and said, Well, then, let's go with that for now. All thebest, partner.Balot gave hima fingertip to return his handshake, then snarced him.Balot. I want you to call me bymy name.Uh, sure, but what about your real nameIt'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 waythat you're called Oeufcoque 'cause you're so soft.Is that so? Okay. I get it. Well, all the best, then, Balot. I'm Oeufcoque. My personality might be softboiled,but I'm not so half-baked that I don't have a PI's license from the Broilerhouse, so I'm fullyqualified to supervise a case as Trustee. Scramble 09 cases being my specialty. Mind you, they doconsider me to be human, of course.And so do I.Before he had a chance to resist Balot gave Oeufcoque a kiss on his little head.And for the third time, Oeufcoque's red eyes, usually so sophisticated and mature, grew as wide assaucers.Balot got Oeufcoque to turn into a choker again, faced the scorched earth that spread out from her feet,and waved goodbye. Ever so softly.06The monitor on the Doctor's desk displayed a number of emergency signals when the pair returned totheir hideaway. Each one a summons fromthe public prosecutor.The Doctor himself was in the lab at the rear. He was grappling with a microscope, both arms deepinside what appeared to be some sort of fish tank.Hey, Doc, looks like the DA's trying to overload the circuits, Oeufcoque said jokingly. The Doctorjust shrugged without turning around.Doesn't concern me, said the Doctor. I've done all I can for them over there. Now we've just gotto get on with things the best we can, make ourselves useful.Balot stood there, isolated from the other two who seemed happy to exchange banter without evenlooking at each other.Suddenly she felt mischievous. She playfully bumped the Doctor's back with the box she was carrying.Watch it! the Doctor complained, breaking away from the fish tank and turning toward Balot.That's quite a big boxwhat's in it?A fancy new suit for you, Doc. Balot wants you to wear it at the trial. A condition of her appearing,explained Oeufcoque as he disentangled himself from Balot's neck and stoodnow a mouseon hershoulder.And you picked it out, did you, Miss Rune-Balot? asked the Doctor.Balot nodded. It was the last thing she'd bought on their shopping trip.Well, er, I do already own my own clothes for formal occasions, you know continued the Doctor.Unfortunately, Doctor, your sense of style isn't particularly to our client's taste. Oeufcoque pointedat the Doctor's hair. The mottled, dyed mess. Then Oeufcoque mimed bunching up his own hair, as if tosay, Do something about your hair, will you?Well, fine, all you had to do was say so earlier, you know, said the Doctor. And what's my ownsense of style got to do with anything? The public prosecutor is doing everything he can to try to force usto make things easy for them, accept a summary hearing instead of a proper trialBalot looked offended. She pushed the box toward the Doctor.You just don't get it, do you, Doc? Our client is sensitive and whimsical. You've got to respond toher feelings properly, or else before long we'll find a request has been filed for new Trustees for thiscase, Oeufcoque said in a grave tone of voice, leaning over Balot's shoulder.Well, someone's been doing their research, the Doctor said, his lips curled.Then he looked at the sizes written on the box and nodded. A perfect fit.An easy enough feat for Balot, with her newfound abilities. But Balot just pointed at the monitor,disgruntled.The Doctor didn't seem too bothered about it. Rather his attention kept drifting back to the contents ofthe fish tank.Don't worry about that. You've changed your mind about attending the trial, so that changeseverything at their end too, the Doctor said, holding the box under his arm nonchalantly while touchingthe fish tank with his other hand.There are still a few tests I need to run on these babies. When you stop and think about it, it's quite atask, after all. Trying to completely regenerate something that was still in middevelopment in the firstplace. It's not like you'd want to make do with a cheap substitute or anything.Balot frowned. She had no idea what the Doctor was going on about.What exactly are you up to, Doc? asked Oeufcoque, sensing Balot's confusion.What do you mean, what'? I'mlooking at ways of getting Balot's voice working again, of course!Now Balot's mouth gaped open. She remembered the Doctor's words fromearlier.Now we've just got to get on with things the best we can, make ourselves useful. That was definitelywhat the Doctor had said. And she hadn't taken the words in properly, not at first. But now, all of asudden, a wave of emotion rose up inside her, as if escaping through a hidden crack. I've met them at lastthat was how she felt about the odd pair, man and mouse. She realized that her heart had never dared lether feel this way before, ever, so afraid she was of being betrayed.Oh. And, thank you, Balot. For the suit. I accept it gratefully. I'll have to keep quiet about it in myreport to the Broilerhouse, though, as it might be interpreted as a bribe from the Concerned Party. But Ilike this sort of gesture now and then. Reminds me of back when I was a civilian The Doctor trailedoff.Balot bowed with a flourish. She wanted to thank Oeufcoque and the Doctor. But no voice came out ofher throat, so, instead, she grabbed the Doctor's box away fromhimand planted a kiss on it.Oeufcoque was thrown fromher shoulder by the sudden movement. He landed skillfully on the desk.The Doctor was now holding the box, which had been thrust back into his arms by Balot. She did aquick turnabout and ran out of the room, with the Doctor still staring at her. The door slammed shut with abang.The Doctor stared at the door before turning to look at Oeufcoque. What was that about? he askedthe mouse.I don't know. It looked like she was overjoyed for a moment, but then she was gripped bycontradicting emotionsshame and fear. Oh dear. She may be starting to have her doubts as to ourusefulness.Are you sure about that? Look at this, the Doctor said, hoisting the box around toward Oeufcoque toflaunt the poppy-red kiss mark.That's a human trait, isn't it, Doctor? We can interpret that as a sign of gratitude?Exactly, Oeufcoque. Do you know what? I think she quite likes us.The next moment Oeufcoque and the Doctor were up, jumping for joy like a pair of children.Balot returned to her assigned quarters and locked the door securely.Both the electric lock and the chain. Then she took out the day's purchases and lined them up on herdesk.She picked up the Eject Poster and stuck it on the wall.Resting on the bed, holding her knees to her body, she snarced the projector on and chose somepictures of fossils.She stared into the air, watching pictures of hundreds of different spiral shells appear and disappear.She tried to fade out of consciousness, project herself into the blank space, just like she always used to.She couldn't do it. And she couldn't stop crying.It was as if all the day's events had crept up on her and exploded all at once. As if they'd piled up bitby bit into a mountain before collapsing in a landslide.She'd run away from the misery of not being able to speak when she wanted to, but before long shestarted wondering whether this had really been necessary, whether it wasn't an over-reaction. The thoughtof this made her tears fall even harder.She stayed in that position for a long time, but eventually she rose back up, her breathing now soundinglike a cold winter wind. She took the lipstick out of her jacket pocket and wrote in big letters on the wallwhere the endless shells were appearing and disappearing with dizzying speed:THEY ARE RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.Then, right below that:YOU HAVE NOBODY, NOWHERE.And then again:THEY ARE RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.Crying without being able to make a sound was tougher than she'd imagined. Almost all the air in herbody seemed to want to escape through the void that was her mouth. Her insides were as hard as steel.Balot endured. Just as she had endured everything up to now. Pushing her whole body to its limits.But unlike the previous occasions, she didn't need to kill herself this time. This much she was sure of.The fossils swirled across her body and the wall like a whirlpool, floating up, then disappearing.Why me? The question was now about to get yet another answer.There's one problem, though, said Oeufcoque. What's the definition of love?The Doctor pulled away from the water tank and turned toward Oeufcoque with a surprisedexpression. Should I interpret this as a sign of a new ego developing, Oeufcoque?No, just a request for information, pure and simple. I think I'mgoing to have to be able to answer thisquestion with, er, a degree of flexibility.Well, it's a difficult enough question to answer in any case, particularly when you're trying to lumpall different kinds of love together. There's familial love, neighborly love, agapethat's godly loveallsorts, explained the Doctor.Seems complicated. But I'mjust asking about the need to be loved, said Oeufcoque.What, you want me to make a female version of you? But you're unique, a miracle prototype. Even ifthe army were to resume their program, I'mnot sure if we could make a femaleNot me, her! I'mtalking about Balot!Ah, I see. The Doctor nodded. But then he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and asked,doubtfully, By you? You're saying that she's looking for something fromyou?She's looking for foundation, for some sort of emotional stability I'm guessing that's the best wayof explaining it. According to my intuitionmy noseshe's got all these qualities, these needs. Becauseshe's never been in a decent environment. To survive in the world that she's been living in, she's neededsome sort of foundation, or stability. And she calls this love.Oh, I know all too well how sharp your nose is, interjected the Doctor. Within the teamresponsible for you, most of the researchers feared you from the bottom of their souls. They were afraidthat you'd show up all their inadequacies. You'd analyze people as if they were nothing more than the sumof their chemical parts.You're talking about a long time ago, Doc. That was then and this is now. I know a lot more now thanI used to.I'msure. So, what exactly is it that you're trying to say, Oeufcoque?I want to protect the girl. But I'mnot sure what more I should be doing.Well, I know what you should be doing. But I don't know what the right thing is, said the Doctor.It's as if she's trying to treat me like a human.I didn't realize that this wasn't what you wanted, Oeufcoque. I treat you like a human, and so did yourformer partners. It's just what happens naturally.It's different, though. Something's different from what happened before. Something's changing insideme. She's made the decision to appear in the courtroom, and that's fine. But it makes me feel terrible, as ifI'd done something inexcusable.Hmm. The Doctor looked Oeufcoque up and down as if he were inspecting some rare specimen.I think I should try to be drier, more detached, continued Oeufcoque.Uh-huh, the Doctor mumbled, and then continued, sympathetically, but that's not really who youare, is it?He spoke with a serious expression. Oeufcoque rolled over on the desk onto his side and sigheddeeply. His little body seemed to wilt, and he looked smaller than ever.