Book II:
THE SECOND COMBUSTION
Chapter 5
PISTON
01
–I don’t want to die.
The thoughts were being transmitted to the blood-soaked gun, and every bullet that came flying out of
its muzzle was loaded with sorrow.
–I’m so sorry, Oeufcoque. I’m so sorry.
Now Balot understood the meaning of the word abuse. She was abusing Oeufcoque. She had turned
Oeufcoque into a dangerous tool.
The result was a gun that wept blood. Even after his body had been blown in two, the only thing Balot
could do for himwas to bring himmore blood and tears.
Bullets clashed with bullets, flying through the air and disintegrating into powder, settling over Boiled
and Balot like snowfall.
Boiled’s bullets made short work of the iron perimeter fence at Balot’s side, crumpling a pillar up like
so much paper.
Balot didn’t even look—she just fired and fired. Her gun was empty in a flash, and as she ejected the
spent magazine and the build-up of excess heat, a gush of blood came steaming out.
The gun and her hands were both bright red.
A new magazine clicked into place inside the steel, and the gun was reloaded. It was as if she were
firing Oeufcoque’s flesh and blood in order to shield herself.
She focused on the bullets flying at her.
She could just about keep these away by sheer force of numbers of her own volleys, but her bullets
didn’t even get close to Boiled.
PGF—PseudoGravitational Float—was the name of the technology that protected Boiled. It allowed
himto activate a gravity field around his body and deflect any bullet that came near him.
“Why, Oeufcoque?” he murmured darkly frombeyond his invisible shield.
Boiled fired bullets steeped in murderous intent.
Balot couldn’t hear what he had muttered. But her attitude toward him, about how to deal with him,
was gradually changing.
Take him down. That was what she thought now. The idea of defending herself slipped her mind. All
she could think of now was to stop the man frommoving. That was the only thing she could get Oeufcoque
to do.
But all the bullets Balot fired flew away fromtheir target, their trajectories altered.
Boiled’s gun ran out of bullets, and he opened the cylinder to discard the empty shells onto the roof.
His thick fingers reloaded the gun with bullets and venomous hatred. His eyes remained fixed on Balot
holding her blood-soaked gun.
“How is that girl any different fromme…” His voice was oily, inhuman.
And then the gun was loaded, again, and pointed at Balot, again.
Balot stared at Boiled, unblinking. Her finger was poised over the trigger, ready to fire, but was held
back by something.
Then, seizing the moment, she flew forward, throwing caution to the wind. The instant Boiled fired—
that was when a tiny gap would open up in his PGF to let his bullet out.
One moment, one spot. That was the only opening in Boiled’s invisible and otherwise invincible
shield.
In her desperate volley of dozens of bullets she had discovered it: the enemy’s Achilles’ heel.
Boiled noticed immediately that this was what Balot was aiming for.
A gruesome shadow, almost like a faint smile, appeared on Boiled’s blank face.
Guns still thrust out at each other. The tension between themwas electric.
Blood trickled from a wound on Balot’s forehead, mingling with her sweat and tears and dripping
fromher chin.
“So that’s your usefulness, is it, Oeufcoque,” Boiled said in a heavy voice, firing his gun. “And yet all
that’s really happened is a new monster has been brought into this world.”
A deafening roar resounded across the firmament.
A violent gust of wind blew all around.
The squall fromsome sort of giant flying object, neither plane nor helicopter.
“Oeufcoque! Balot! I’m here!” Shouting from a megaphone, echoing all around, and Balot and Boiled
both looked to the heavens.
Only Balot was visibly surprised by what she saw.
A giant silver egg. An oval shape, over ten meters tall—it was as if a piece of the moon had broken
off and descended toward the rooftop.
“A Humpty, is it? The Broilerhouse is sharpening up its response times,” Boiled muttered, looking up.
“Boiled, you are ordered to withdraw from the scene!” As the egg broadcast the warning, a part of its
body cracked open with a loud noise to reveal a multitude of small hexagonal shapes.
The next moment—and even more noisily—the egg smashed its tip into the roof like that mythical egg
of Columbus. Only in this case it was the concrete rooftop that was crushed into place, not the egg.
“Over here, Balot!” The Doctor appeared in the space that had just opened up, brandishing a rifle and
shouting. “As of six o’clock this afternoon this case has been approved for the highest level of the Life
Preservation Program! All Concerned Parties have been given temporary approval to take up Floating
Residence, and hereafter any attempt to trespass on the residence or its inhabitants will be interpreted as
intent to harma material witness and be punishable under the full extent of Commonwealth law!”
Before the Doctor had even finished speaking Boiled’s gun was trained on the Doctor.
That instant Balot experienced the feeling of blood rushing to her head, as if it had started churning
through her body in reverse.
For she had spotted the one moment, one point, where the chink in Boiled’s armor had opened up.
Boiled fired. Had her voice been working, she probably would have shouted out a war cry.
The bullet flew out of Balot’s gun—and pierced the back of Boiled’s right hand.
Boiled’s aim faltered as he was hit, and his bullet slammed into the side of the silver egg, causing an
impressive but ineffectual explosion of sparks.
The bullet reached him.
Emotions bubbled up inside Balot, and that very moment Oeufcoque cried out in her hands,
“Quickly…to the Doctor!”
Balot snapped upright. Her feelings of wanting to attack Boiled evaporated in an instant, and all she
could now think of was obeying Oeufcoque’s words.
Boiled watched with dusky eyes as Balot ran toward the giant silver egg, ignoring the pain that
wracked her body. He peeled the gun out of his injured right hand, checked that the grip of the gun hadn’t
been hit, and lifted it with his other hand.
“Why… Oeufcoque?” Boiled muttered the same words over and over as he fired at Balot.
Balot read his movements precisely and fired back at him. And the Doctor let rip with his rifle at the
same time. None of the bullets found their target.
Boiled retreated a step. Balot ran faster toward the silver egg. She thought she heard the crack of
another rifle shot, and then the Doctor was hauling her up into the egg.
“Get in and stay inside!” the Doctor shouted, and there were more rifle shots in quick succession.
Without warning the egg started rising. Noiselessly and so smoothly that she didn’t even feel the
sensation of her body being lifted. All she noticed was the ground moving farther and farther away as she
looked on.
Its Gravity Device Engine was evidently a powerful one, as they were up in the air in no time.
“Head as far inside as you can! If you’re near the shell wall then your blood will start moving around.
If your eyes start blurring then you’ll need to lie down. Now, I’m just going to close the shell wall back
up and—”
The Doctor stopped shouting. There was a thud on the outside wall of the egg.
There were steady, rhythmic footsteps.
The Doctor’s expression changed, and he moved toward the entrance, readying his rifle.
Boiled appeared. Revolver in hand, he peered down at the Doctor. He was standing on the wall at a
right angle, bisecting the entrance, a perpendicular line, muzzle pointed at the Doctor. At his feet, the wall
closed back into place, as if it were mending a broken shell.
“Give it up, Boiled. In a few seconds we’ll be at too high an altitude for you to use your abilities,” the
Doctor warned, almost as if he were giving him a lecture. “And I don’t particularly want to get into a
shootout with you.”
But there was no reasoning with Boiled, who just raised his gun.
“Why did Oeufcoque leave me?”
Still pointing the rifle at Boiled, the Doctor’s face now showed a trace of doubt. “You were the one
who left him.”
Then Boiled leapt, brandishing his gun.
“Stop it! Do you really want to be outlawed from the Commonwealth?” the Doctor shouted, but the
blast from his rifle drowned the last part out. The rifle round didn’t even scratch Boiled, and Boiled
punched the Doctor’s slender body, smashing himinto the wall.
Having rushed into the egg, Boiled changed direction.
And that was the moment. Rather than heading inside, Balot had been sitting there on the floor, waiting
for the perfect shot.
Her gun was red. Blood was squelching out of the barrel.
The barrel vibrated. A red object came pounding out. The barrel spat fire, over and over, and even
though Boiled managed to cover his vital organs, the bullets all found their mark, whether on his arms or
his body.
A ghostly scream surged forth from Boiled’s mouth. He’d been too slow to deflect the bullets. As
impressive a figure as Boiled was, he was thrown backward. He scrambled for purchase on the egg, but
his feet wouldn’t reach. He tried to grab hold of the edge of the entrance with his right hand, but the blood
flowing from the wound that Balot had inflicted caused him to slip, losing his grip, and he hurtled into
space.
Boiled’s scream was already tailing off into the distance when the wall closed, cutting him off
completely.
Everything was quiet. Silent, just like the interior of a high-class AirCar.
Balot kept her gun trained on the shell wall. She could no longer lift a finger. Her eyes stared at
something. Bloody fingerprints—left by Boiled when he frantically tried to find something to hold on to as
he was blown away.
Liquid of the same color dripped down fromthe end of her gun and stained the carpet.
Red droplets ran fromthe gun down her wrist, dripping fromher elbow.
The Doctor put his rifle down and knelt down at Balot’s side. He looked nervous.
“Is Oeufcoque injured?”
Balot’s gaze slowly moved fromthe wall and toward the Doctor, and she nodded.
Her hands still gripped the gun.
“What about you? You’ve cut your forehead, I see. Anywhere else?”
In a daze, Balot shook her head. She became aware of her surroundings.
The room they were in was like a villa in a holiday resort. A tall ceiling, with a staircase heading up
to rooms with windows looking out onto a veranda lobby. Chairs were scattered around a chic table, and
the whole place was furnished luxuriously.
The Doctor gently touched Balot’s hands.
“This is a Floating Residence, Humpty-Dumpty. Part of Scramble 09—originally it was military
technology, developed as a flying fortress. The Broilerhouse has given permission for you to use it for a
given period in a designated airspace. It’s VIP treatment for you all the way now. I personally guarantee
to keep you alive, not just as a Trustee but also as a material witness to the second case myself.”
The Doctor’s hand gently lowered Balot’s gun.
“You’re safe, now.”
Balot felt all the tension in her body evaporate and let go of the gun with her right hand as the Doctor
indicated. Blood overflowed, gushing out fromevery crack in the weapon.
The Doctor tried to pick the gun up, but however hard he tried he couldn’t pry it fromher left hand.
As she gripped the blood-soaked gun Balot felt a darkness encroaching on her from all sides. Balot
was in space. She was inside a silver egg that shone in the darkness, and she was underneath the moon.
She understood all of this, neither awake nor dreaming.
The Doctor peeled her rigid fingers fromthe gun, finger by finger.
“We’re flying through the sky as an egg.”
The Doctor’s face suddenly went puzzled. “Which one of us just said that?”
The gun slipped out of Balot’s hands. She heard a song starting to spin around in the back of her mind.
Dish, wash, brush, flush…
She receded fromconsciousness, but the charmcontinued, almost like a prayer, rosary beads and all.
Bash, rush, trash, ash…
The Doctor was saying something. Balot felt like she had turned into an empty vessel. Her body tilted
backward, and she toppled over.
Flash, flesh, wish, finish…
And with these words she lost consciousness.
People from the neighborhood were gathering around the building, watching anxiously as fire engines
appeared on the scene. A number of police patrol cars appeared, closing off the area, and the Hunters and
the firemen all milled around, their roles apparently jumbled together.
Boiled cut across the melee, driven by a sense of purpose. Some Hunters tried to stop him, unsure
where he was heading, but he just flashed his PI license and curtly told them that he was on the heels of a
material witness and that any police questioning would have to come via the Broilerhouse. The Hunters
grumbled some words of abuse, but they let himpass, and he walked on in silence.
Before long Boiled found the gasoline-powered van. An airline company’s logos were plastered
across its body and smoked windows. The door was unlocked.
As Boiled opened the door, he heard the sound of a trigger being cocked.
Boiled looked at the man in the passenger seat who was holding a gun.
“I thought that someone would come. One of the gang…” the man groaned. “Do you know who I am?”
Boiled took one glance at the man’s irregular fingers and nodded silently.
“Medium the Fingernail…that’s my nickname. A hound from the greatest pack of hunting dogs in the
world. Or that’s what we were supposed to be, anyway.” Medium spoke through gritted teeth. His other
hand was wrapped in a blood-soaked cloth. His fingers had all been blown off fromtheir base.
His whole body was covered with blisters, the left side of his face particularly badly. His left eye was
shot through, and blood trickled fromboth his ears. His legs were limp and lifeless, his knees trembling.
Silently Boiled climbed into the driver’s seat. He closed the door and turned the keys that had been
left in the ignition, the gun still pointed at himall the while.
The engine revved, and Boiled spoke just loudly enough to be heard over it.
“Everyone except for you is dead.”
Medium breathed out heavily, lowering his gun, his hand flopping into his lap, as if to say that he
could no longer support its weight.
The vehicle drove off. Mediumstared at the entry wound in the back of Boiled’s right hand.
“So, this PI called Oeufcoque, he can make himself look like his employers, can he?” Medium spoke
with barely suppressed emotion.
Boiled shook his head.
“So that was actually our target, was it? That girl who fired her gun and put me in this state before I
even knew what was going on?”
“He uses special technology to strengthen his employer, enhancing their combined battle skills. It’s all
part of Mardock Scramble 09, one of the emergency measures that the Broilerhouse sometimes takes as
part of their Life Preservation Program.”
When he heard this, Medium crumpled into a weeping wreck. “We were the perfect hunting pack! And
a single bitch ruined it all…”
The gun slipped from his hand. It fell between his legs and slid underneath his seat. Medium noticed,
then stared at his own hand as if to say how pathetic. He opened and closed his fingers, lamenting even as
he did so that he no longer had the strength even to pull the trigger.
“We need to pull it back, don’t we?” Medium looked at Boiled with pleading eyes. “We men, we set
the agenda. It’s men who define what beauty is. We define society, we define war, and we even define
what is feminine—or that’s how it used to be, at least. It was men who ruled the world. The crème de la
crème, the very best. And yet—a woman, a little bitch, did this to me. We need to get our pride back. Isn’t
that right? I’mright, aren’t I?”
Eyes still on the road, Boiled nodded. It was a small but definite movement.
“That’s right. We need to get it back,” he whispered in a low voice. Great globules of tears now
pouring down his face, Medium yelled, voice trembling, “I’m going to kill you! I’ll cut you to pieces and
pass you around to everyone! Just like we all wanted! I’ll tear you to shreds and own all your body
parts!”
02
Balot was in darkness. There was no one near her. She fumbled, trying to escape. She felt that as long
as she remained there, she would be subjected to secret horrors…
As she squirmed, Balot noticed a person’s shadow.
It was the Doctor. He looked her way and took a step back.
“Wait!” She reached for himbut was only quick enough to catch hold of his patchwork gown.
“Where’s Oeufcoque?” Balot said.
Looking uneasy, the Doctor tried to push Balot back into place. As if Balot had no right to follow the
Doctor.
Just then there was a cry of pain from behind the Doctor’s back. Her heart stopped. She realized that
Oeufcoque was in another room, suffering.
“Please, let me see Oeufcoque!”
But the Doctor wore an expression of reproach, as if he blamed her for Oeufcoque’s condition.
“I want to apologize! I just want to say I’msorry! Please…” Balot pleaded.
The Doctor leaned forward, his face filled with doubt. Why? he seemed to want to ask. How come
you’re so attached to him, he’s just a mouse, his face seemed to say.
“He never told me to come out of my shell. He just took me to a warm place. He’s so kind, he’d keep
an egg nice and warmeven if it was all rotten.”
The Doctor tried to push Balot back. Balot struggled desperately to get out of his grip.
“I’m sorry. I’ll apologize. I’m sorry. I want to hear his voice. And feel him in the palm of my hand.
This time, I’ll keep my promise. I won’t do anything to hurt him. I promise.”
She pressed back against the force that was trying to pin her shoulders down. She heard Oeufcoque’s
cries of anguish in the distance, and a voice nearer to her asking why?
“I don’t want to stay here any longer! I want to be where he is!”
The Doctor suddenly let Balot go. He stood over her, like a priest taking confession. Almost as if he
were testing her.
Why was she trying to get away from there? Why was she the one who had to leave? A horribly
familiar question started to emerge, one that contained multitudes of other questions in a single question
—Why me?
And with this question, the bitter taste of the acrid smoke was revived in her mouth.
“I don’t want to die!”
Balot stood up in the darkness, yelling for all she was worth:
“I…WANT…TO…LIVE!”
And sure enough, that very instant, Balot woke up.
≡
Painfully bright white lights shone down into Balot’s eyes from the ceiling. She caught the smell of
antiseptic solution and, noticing someone next to her, twisted her body around to look. She gritted her
teeth in pain.
Her eyes fell on the figure of a young man.
He had the look of an intellectual about him but wore a cherubic smile. Thin blue veins were visible
under the skin of his white forehead. Pale blue eyes stared out at her fromunder his curly ringlets.
All of a sudden she realized that the youth was holding her hand. Reflexively she tried to shake him
off, but he let go of her first. As if he’d sensed Balot’s feelings and acted on them before she even knew
themfor herself.
The young man stood up fromthe bedside chair and stepped away fromBalot as if he were looking for
something. There was nothing he could conceivably have been searching for, though. The roomwas bare.
Other than the bed Balot was lying on and the chair that the young man had just vacated, it was an
empty room.
Everything was stowed away in the walls—it seemed like an expensive private hospital room.
Balot glanced at the door. It had an electric lock, but it was currently off. If she were to touch the panel
in front of the door, it should open. That was if the young man didn’t try and stop her first.
Perhaps he’d sensed Balot’s wariness, for the young man raised both arms in the air and shook his
head. Like a playful child. He seemed to just be interested in Balot.
It was as if he were a kid who’d just returned from his holidays, impatient to catch up with his friends
and swap all the gossip.
Watching the young man carefully, Balot raised a hand to feel what she was wearing. A hospital gown
made from insulating material—just like she’d been wearing when she first met the Doctor. The same
size, performing the same function.
The young man wore clothes of the same material as Balot. He took something from his pants pocket
and rolled it toward Balot. It stopped by her knee. The young man pointed at his ear. Balot picked up the
earphone and, staring at the young man, placed it in her right ear.
–Hello.
The earphone spoke. Balot looked at the young man in surprise.
–I heard that your snarc abilities give you an Interference Rate of over 80 percent. Really amazing!
So I thought this would be easier for you than speaking.
The young man pushed his forelocks apart. Somewhat surprisingly, Balot saw a protuberance on his
forehead, almost like the horn of a young deer.
He tapped his forehead.
–I can speak using this. And listen to what you have to say. So I don’t need earphones.
He used the same finger to roll up his sleeves and rub his upper arm.
–This is what you use to speak with. You might have a good Interference Rate, but your reception
abilities aren’t too developed yet, are they? I imagine that the best you can do is reduce a bit of
electronic data into basic audiovisual signals.
The young man grinned, head tilted to one side. Balot nodded.
–In my case, it’s not that I can’t speak, it’s just that I forget to speak. To breathe as well. So
whenever I do speak it tires me out. You can’t speak either, right?
Balot started to nod again, then stared at the young man’s mouth.
She sensed his pulse and tried to calculate his breathing patterns based on it.
–This is Paradise.
The young man waved his armin a broad circle, indicating his surroundings.
–Originally, it was the Facility for Experimental Space Strategy. Now everyone just calls it
Paradise. I think I can understand why. It’s a very peaceful place, after all.
Balot’s eyes opened wide. Not at what he said. Rather because he wasn’t breathing at all.
–My name’s Tweedledee, the young man said.
–Welcome to the birthplace of all forbidden technologies—Paradise. Rune-Balot. Looks like we’re
brother and sister.
–Can I get you anything? Tweedledee asked. He opened a compartment in the wall, reaching in to
pull out a cup.
–How about a cof ee? My mouth’s sole purpose in life is now to taste things, you see…
Balot didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure if she could trust this Tweedledee, and she had no idea where
she was now—couldn’t make up her mind about the place she was in.
And if she couldn’t make up her mind for herself then she wanted someone she could trust.
–Where’s the Doctor? Balot asked Tweedledee. She wasn’t so much snarcing him by interfering
with the currents in the air anymore; it was more like she was thinking the words at him.
–The Doctor? Oh, you mean Dr. Easter? He seems to be busy at the moment.
–Will you let me see him?
She tried to stand, but her whole body was aching. Her muscles cried out in pain. Heat compresses
were wrapped around both her wrists, with similar patches all over her body.
With a jerk, Balot thrust both legs out of the bed. There was a pair of slippers to the side of the bed,
and she struggled to reach them.
–Bruises all over. But your bones seem fine at least! Something about Balot’s condition seemed to
amuse Tweedledee.
–You really would be better of resting, you know. If you don’t like cof ee, there are plenty of other
drinks on of er—take your pick.
–I want to see the Doctor.
–What do you need him for?
–I want to speak to him. To ask him if I can trust this place—and you.
Tweedledee didn’t quite seemto understand what Balot meant.
–I can try and answer any questions you have in the meantime. But eventually he seemed to get that
this wasn’t enough for Balot.
–Dr. Easter is probably working on Oeufcoque’s maintenance at the moment. It’s just that the
other doctors might get a bit fussy about having outsiders in the lab.
–You said we were brother and sister?
Tweedledee thought about this for a while. He watched Balot put her slippers on.
–Ah, I get you, he said, smiling sweetly.
They left the room, and Balot’s eyes were assaulted by vivid green. They were on an open terrace.
One side of the corridor wall and ceiling was made out of glass, framed in steel. Beyond the glass was
the thick green foliage of closely planted trees, and through the narrow gaps between the trees she could
see that the space sloped gently downward.
Inside the thick, reinforced glass it was warm and comfortable. The sunlight beat down on Balot and
Tweedledee, casting distinctive shadows.
–I wonder if everyone on the outside is like you?
–What do you mean?
–Hmm, not sure how best to put it, Tweedledee muttered in his mind, seemingly enjoying himself. He
even enjoyed the sound of the slippers as they flip-flopped along the corridor.
–Like a know-it-all Eve.
–Eve?
–I wonder if Adam felt the same way when Eve gave him the forbidden fruit from the Tree of
Knowledge. That he just couldn’t refuse her. Regardless of what was right or wrong.
Balot leaned in toward him.
–Who are you, exactly? And what are you doing here?
–I was born severely handicapped. I probably wouldn’t have survived childhood anyway, my
parents thought, so they donated my body to research—military experiments. So I ended up in
Paradise.
–Your own parents—?
–Yup, never even seen their faces, Tweedledee said, as if he didn’t have a single worry in the world.
–Oh, and by “experiments” I’m talking about experimental procedures to give me back my bodily
functions. I was only able to start moving at all because I was brought here. And I’ve lived here ever
since. Once every three years I’m allowed outside with the doctors in order to collect data, but it’s far
more relaxing inside, to be honest.
Balot nodded. This was indeed a comforting place. There was hardly anyone around, and they were
safe and sound inside their airtight glass birdcage. There were automated vacuum cleaners built into the
lower parts of all the walls, and the air conditioning kept everything at a constant temperature and
humidity. There wasn’t a trace of dust anywhere, and the surfaces were all gleaming.
Even though she wore slippers over her bare feet and only had a robe on, she felt no chill or any sense
of discomfort. Just like when she first woke up in the former mortuary, right back at the start of the case.
This was the birthplace of all forbidden technologies—so Tweedledee told her. In other words, this
was the laboratory where Oeufcoque and the Doctor were based before they went off to become Trustees
in charge of Scramble 09 cases. Balot didn’t even hazard a guess as to why she might now be in such a
place, but rather she asked,
–Was it the Doctor who gave you that horn on your head?
She wasn’t really thinking about what she was saying.
Tweedledee’s eyes flickered, and he shook his head.
–No. My thing here just decided to grow of its own accord, something to do with the influence of
the technology used to accelerate my sensory perception.
–But the Doctor did use to work here?
–Dr. Easter is the youngest member of the team here. He’s known as the Black Sheep.
–Black Sheep?
–When it became necessary for a scapegoat to accept responsibility for the alleged war crimes, he
voluntarily put himself forward as the sacrificial lamb. Well, there were a few who had to do this, but
Dr. Easter was a special case.
–In what wayspecial?
–Out of all the researchers, he was the biggest advocate of the view that their research should be
turned over for the benefit of civilians. So, when the Three Magi put forward their proposal for
Scramble 09, he was the first volunteer. Even though he’d go straight to prison if it failed. That’s why
he’s the Black Sheep.
–Three Magi?
–The three founders of Paradise. Two of them have left, of course, so it’s just the One Wise Man at
the moment.
–The two who left set up Mardock Scramble? Balot asked, thinking that the conversation was
starting to take a strange turn. It wasn’t really hitting home that they were now talking about how she,
ultimately, was rescued just a little while ago.
–No, one of them originated the idea of Mardock Scramble, but the other one thought of a dif erent
path and opposed the abolition of the Research Facility.
–A different path?
–She founded OctoberCorp.
Balot’s footsteps stopped abruptly.
–What’s the matter?
Tweedledee looked puzzled. Balot shook her head absentmindedly. She felt as if she’d just been told
why she was killed and why she was saved all at once.
Suddenly Balot remembered what the Doctor had said right at the very start, when they first met.
OctoberCorp—whose usefulness consisted of supplying a steady stream of amusement to the denizens of
Mardock City—was his nemesis, against everything that he and Oeufcoque stood for.
Still, Balot had no idea what she was supposed to do with this information at the moment.
–Is Oeufcoque also known as a Black Sheep? Balot asked. She resumed walking.
–Nah, he’s the Golden Egg. All the other researchers at Paradise wanted a piece of him.
Tweedledee giggled.
–But all he wanted to do was get outside. And the researcher who founded Scramble 09 was also
Oeufcoque’s inventor, you see. So no one could stop him from leaving Paradise. But everyone says
they never imagined in a million years he’d end up teaming up with the Black Sheep or the Rusty Gun.
He suddenly turned to Balot as if he’d just noticed her for the first time.
–The Rusty Gun is a man that you know. Dimsdale-Boiled.
Only when he spoke his name did she actually get it.
–Sounds like you’re the one who knows everything.
Balot shrugged her shoulders, bracing herself against the pain that inevitably followed.
She was beginning to relax around this young man, so intelligent and yet so innocent. The idea of
conflict seemed to be an alien concept to this Tweedledee. He had the placid demeanor of someone who
had never been troubled by any sort of disturbances during his upbringing—and yet he wasn’t excessively
clingy or needy.
Hand on the wall, Balot moved on, dragging her whole body along with her. Her muscles were
inflamed, and in particular both her wrists were swollen. Yet Tweedledee made no effort to help her or
even to adjust his pace to match hers. He talked as he liked and walked as he liked. Not selfishly, exactly,
for every once in a while he paused to give Balot the opportunity to catch up. He showed no sign of
irritation or impatience.
He’s probably used to this , Balot thought. Tweedledee sees people in a far worse state than me on a
daily basis. That was the feeling she got fromhim.
As she was thinking this, three people emerged fromaround a corner.
All were old. A man wearing a black hat, a man in an electric wheelchair, and a woman wearing
sunglasses were in the midst of a lively conversation as they headed toward Balot and Tweedledee.
The man wearing the black hat was the first to notice Balot and Tweedledee, and stopped.
“Ah, Tweedledee, taking that young lady for a walk, are you?”
–Yes, I’m showing her around, Tweedledee informed them. All three of the elders had hearing aids
embedded in their inner ears; Tweedledee transmitted his speech directly to the devices.
The man took his hat off and bowed to Balot. Thousands of little connector terminals were planted in
his head, so many that they almost looked like a second set of hair.
“Is this young lady a new experimental candidate, Tweedledee?”
–No. She’s a client of Dr. Easter.
“Client…? From the outside world?” the man asked, puzzled. “Dr. Easter’s lab seems to have its
lights on at the moment—is he back with us? Is he conducting some unauthorized experiments on his own?
Without publishing an official code name?”
–Her name’s Balot. Rune-Balot.
“I’msure that no such code name has been registered,” the man answered.
The old woman beside him was next to speak, blue eyes twinkling behind her sunglasses. “The
regenerative metal fibers seem to suit her very well. Beautiful skin. Have you measured her Interference
Rate yet? Do you know how far she is into her threshold of consciousness?”
–She’s over 80 percent.
“How marvelous.” The old woman’s eyes and ears were fully mechanized, and her electronically
produced voice was indistinguishable fromthe real thing.
The man in the wheelchair scooted around to Balot’s flank and asked, “Is it the aftereffects of the
Lightite skin graft that makes her unable to walk straight?”
Balot shook her head. She wasn’t sure how best to answer this question.
“I think that Pod Number 3 is free at the moment. Let’s have her swim in the Sheep-Dip Craft for a
while. She hasn’t shared her data yet, has she? Her muscle pulse may have been overridden by the sudden
acceleration of her senses,” the man in the wheelchair continued, happily letting everything go right over
Balot’s head.
–She has an appointment with Dr. Easter right now.
When Tweedledee said this, the man in the wheelchair assumed a sullen expression. “And do you
have a good reason for monopolizing her data?”
–Dr. Easter said it’s because she’s a civilian.
The word civilian seemed to have a magical effect on the three old people, who drew back
immediately.
“You’ll be sure to get data that we can usefully adapt, at least?” The man in the wheelchair pressed his
point nonetheless.
Balot was bewildered by this exchange, and a sense of discomfort closed in on her.
–We have to hurry, I’m afraid. And we really don’t know much about the details.
Tweedledee spoke quickly, as if he had sensed Balot’s feelings.
“Well, we’ll file a request for data sharing. Until then, be sure not to upset your biorhythm.” The tall
man placed his hat back on his head. The old woman gave Balot a bow. “Take care of yourself, young
lady. I’d love to have tea with someone with as much aptitude as you. Tweedledee, you’ll have tea with
me, won’t you?”
–I’ll think about it.
The old woman laughed. Then the three old people fell back into their previous lively conversation
and were gone.
–You have to watch their tea parties—they go on for a while. They pile on the medication in order
to conduct their little examinations. And then there’s their biorhythmic indices and inspections…
Watching the backs of the three old people as they disappeared down the corridor, Balot thought about
how they differed fromthe Doctor.
She wouldn’t have said that they were bad people in any way. But she couldn’t imagine herself ever
becoming friendly with them.
–The Doctor tried to restore myvoice for me. Without myeven having to ask.
–Huh?
–I can’t imagine those three ever doing the same.
Tweedledee shrugged his shoulders, as if to say So what? No big deal.
But it was a big deal. Balot understood all too well why the Doctor and Oeufcoque had wanted to
leave this facility for the outside world.
They arrived at a door that was tightly shut, and Tweedledee turned around.
–You really need to see Dr. Easter right now?
–Oeufcoque’s in there too, right?
Tweedledee gave a look to say I see it all now.
–So it was Oeufcoque that you wanted to see.
Tweedledee looked at the intercomon the door.
–But he’s in the middle of maintenance at the moment. He’s lost half his body, so I wonder if he’ll
be able to speak.
His words pierced Balot to her core.
Tweedledee manipulated the intercom, snarcing it, and the signal light started flashing.
–What is it? Oh, it’s you, Tweedledee. What do you want? came the Doctor’s voice.
–Rune-Balot is awake.
–Balot?
There was a rattling commotion frominside, and by and by the door slid open sideways.
“I thought I told you to come and call me the moment Balot regained consciousness!” The Doctor
appeared in the doorway, unimpressed.
–I thought it would be quicker to bring her here directly to you. Tweedledee still spoke through the
intercom.
“She’s a civilian, you know. Officially we need special dispensation to get her permission to even
walk down the corridors…” The Doctor sighed as he pushed his spectacles back up onto the bridge of his
nose. The graphs and numbers that had been showing on his Tech Glasses—on the monitor in his
spectacles—disappeared, and his blue eyes were now fixed on Balot.
“I’ll explain why we’re all here later. Right now, I need you to rest your body.”
Balot stared back at the Doctor and asked,
–Where’s Oeufcoque?
“He’s under treatment. From me. You don’t need to worry about him.” The Doctor seemed to be
blocking Balot’s way, both physically and with his words. “Remember how you didn’t want him to see
you naked? Well, consider that he doesn’t want you to see him in his present state for very much the same
reason. Also, he’s in some sort of shock. I don’t know exactly why…but I think it’s best if you let him
alone for now, just for the time being.”
When Balot heard this she was filled with such sadness that her eyes went dark. And yet, wasn’t it
none other than Oeufcoque who had taught her not to just ignore her sadness, but to try and do something
about it?
–Oeufcoque said that we were partners…
“Well, I’mnot—”
–I want to apologize. I just want to sayI’m sorry.
The Doctor averted his eyes, troubled, and Balot took advantage of this.
–Please.
Balot slipped by him. She had read the Doctor’s movements completely.
“Hey, Balot!” Taken aback, the Doctor reached out to try and stop her, but he couldn’t even make
contact—she dodged nimbly out of his grasp.
–Even though it was such a struggle for her to walk this far…
Tweedledee was full of admiration, as if he had watched an impressive display of showmanship, and
pulled the Doctor’s armback.
–What harm can she do? She just wants to say hello.
The Doctor opened his mouth to speak but remained silent.
Balot went on into the room.
Instruments were scattered all around, and in the middle there was a cylindrical water tank. It was
about as wide as Balot, and it was full of liquid, with something unrecognizable floating on the surface.
She couldn’t tell at first glance whether this was Oeufcoque or not, but her intuition told her that it
was.
Flesh and steel spiraled out fromsomething that looked like a vivid red human embryo.
She realized in an instant that this was Oeufcoque’s body, turned inside out.
It had a gentle pulse, and it was living inside the nearly clear liquid, basking in the warmth of the red
blood swirling around the body.
Balot touched the water tank with her hand. Then she rested her forehead on it, closing her eyes as if to
pray a silent prayer.
The clumps of flesh and steel stirred. They seemed to have noticed Balot’s presence. Here and there
they started turning squishily, contracting.
Forehead still on the water tank, Balot shook her head.
The Doctor, who was watching this, turned back to Tweedledee. “Are they having a conversation?”
Tweedledee shrugged his shoulders.
–“I’m sorry I was so useless, and that I put you in danger as a result. Forgive me,” that’s what
he’s saying.
The Doctor nodded. And then?
–“I love you.”
“Oeufcoque said that?”
–No, the girl.
Tweedledee seemed amazed.
Then Balot planted a kiss on the outside of the water tank. Softly, carefully. Then she came away from
the tank and walked back toward the Doctor.
–He says he’s going to sleep for a while.
Balot raised her eyebrows, scowling.
–Will he be okay?
She knew that if she stopped scowling she’d start crying.
“It’s my job to make sure he will be.” The Doctor spoke with a serious face, pushing his glasses up
again, when Tweedledee tapped his arm.
–Hey, can I take her down to the pool? She’s scheduled to go there soon, isn’t she?
The Doctor’s face hardened somewhat. “She’s not using that until I’ve gone over a few things with
her. She’s owed an explanation. She’s going to be leaving the facility soon. Along with us.”
–I get it. You don’t want Eve to accidentally taste the forbidden fruit, right? I get it. As long as she
doesn’t have temptation placed right before her eyes, she’ll be able to resist.
03
–I don’t have to breathe, ever.
Tweedledee spoke as a school student might boast about what a fine home he came from.
–According to the doctors, I’m a Complete Individual. That’s my thing.
–A Complete Individual?
–Means I’m not dependent on my environment. That my core is even tougher than my shell—I’m
completely hard-boiled.
Clopping along in her slippers, Balot considered the meaning of these words.
Everywhere in the building seemed to be divided by glass panes. It was like being in a giant box—all
the slopes were covered in iron and concrete and glass.
Grinning, Tweedledee told Balot all about the facility and himself. Balot felt a bit like a transfer
student. As if she were supposed to be here, and indeed, were destined to stay here fromnow on.
–I don’t have to breathe. And I barely eat. Even when I do eat, all I have is a bit of light. And I
don’t even really need that.
–You don’t eat?
Balot seemed surprised again, much to Tweedledee’s obvious delight.
–My body needs to change its fluids every once in a while. The challenge is to make that exchange
as simple as possible, apparently.
–Can you taste things?
–Sure, I can taste. I can even feel hungry if I want to. By snarcing my insides, of course. But most of
the time I don’t feel anything. Back then, I thought I might taste cof ee again, as it’s been a while, and
I tried to remember what it was like to feel thirsty, but then you said you didn’t want any.
–Sorry.
She didn’t actually feel particularly apologetic—she just didn’t know what else to say.
–No worries. It’s not as if I actually needed to drink anything. I have thousands of little hard drives
embedded inside my head, so I can bring up lots of senses or tastes anytime I want.
–So it’s like you have a libraryinside your head?
Tweedledee made a funny face.
Then, he seemed to understand. Balot realized in that instant that Tweedledee had looked something up
in the dictionary inside his mind. What a library was.
–That’s right. There are lots of books and dictionaries in here. And I can replay audio and visuals
too. More or less any stimulus that can be processed by the five senses, in fact. But I try not to cram
too much in. My snarc abilities seem to suit me better. It’s dif erent with other people, of course—some
people find that the more information they’re weighed down with, the more they want to acquire
additional information… What about you? Do you want to store something inside yourself?
–No, it’s okay. When I need to use a library, I’ll go to a library.
–I wonder if you’ll be able to stop yourself from becoming like us.
–I’m not sure. I don’t really know what “like us” means.
–Complete Individuals, that’s what I’m talking about , Tweedledee said, as if that phrase explained
everything.
Eventually the glass-clad corridor came to a dead end. A sturdy electronic lock was on the door, and
Tweedledee had to submit to retina and fingerprint scans to get it to open.
The thick doors slid apart.
–Welcome to the Inner Courtyard. The heart of Paradise.
Balot stared out into an expanse of tropical rainforest. Colorful flowers and fruit spread out before
her, as far as the eye could see. She looked up and saw all sorts of trees stretching up to a high ceiling and
sensed that there was another ceiling above it, replete with an artificial lighting rig. The light felt just like
real sunlight, and there was a certain mellowness in the air. A warm breeze drifted all around, caressing
her face and clothes, making her feel extremely comfortable.
–Amazing… Balot spoke her true feelings this time. She was genuinely moved.
–It’s nice here. Tweedledee’s voice was proud, triumphant even, and he snarced the doors so that
they closed shut behind him.
A path made out of plastic divided the foliage, and Tweedledee walked down it, heading deep into the
undergrowth. Balot followed after him.
Here and there was a clearing. It looked exactly like the sort of conservation area that Balot had seen
on television and in magazines. The only difference was that there were big umbrellas in the clearing, a
bit like beach parasols, and underneath them were tables and chairs, or in some cases complicatedlooking
equipment.
They came across the trio of old people that they had bumped into earlier. The man with the hat and
the woman with sunglasses lounged back on what looked like deck chairs and were engaged in what
seemed like a lively debate with the man in the wheelchair.
They soon passed the group, and Balot followed Tweedledee deeper into the undergrowth. This really
was some room. It may have indeed been airtight, but it was such a vast space that it was a struggle for
Balot to think of it as such.
Balot suddenly realized that the path was sloping downward. They seemed to be heading underground.
But there was no trace of the damp and dark that one usually associated with the underground—this still
felt like a lush and beautiful park.
Balot noticed a number of people scattered around, lying under the bowers of the trees, all wearing
similar clothes to Tweedledee. They all had unusually pale skin, and some of them were in wheelchairs.
They all seemed content to stare up into the sky in silence.
Balot sensed something going back and forth between them, and she realized that they were all deep in
conversation.
It was a strange sight. With eyes half closed, barely even twitching, they were engaged in vigorous
conversation.
–People who’ve stopped moving, Tweedledee explained.
–Just as I forget to breathe, these people forget to move. Some of them do still want to move about
occasionally, so they use wheelchairs.
–Theycan’t walk anymore?
–Oh, I’m sure they could, if it came down to it. They just don’t really need to.
–So why are you walking about, then?
–The doctors seem to think it’s due to dif ering motivations. I wasn’t able to move when I was born,
so I must be delighted with the fact that I can move now, or something like that. Still, in time, I might
forget to walk as well.
–Are there no others here who walk?
–Oh, there are. Shall I introduce you to some of them?
–No, you’re quite enough.
She hadn’t meant it in a particularly complimentary way, but Tweedledee seemed pleased.
–Okay, well, how about I introduce you to just one other. My lover. Balot was surprised.
–Your lover?
–Yup. That’s the term I use, anyway. And vice versa. It seems a fitting term. Whenever we’re
together, we feel like sweethearts.
Tweedledee’s footsteps sped up. Balot did her best to keep pace.
Curiously, she didn’t sweat at all. It was as if the air were gently wiping her body down. Air designed
to give people a calm, pleasant feeling all over. To the extent that you never wanted to move again.
–Can you swim?
Tweedledee asked, and Balot nodded.
–Then let’s go for a swim together. It should be good for your muscles too; it’ll help get them back
to normal.
Suddenly she understood what he was talking about.
The trees opened up, and in the clearing was a giant pool carved into the greenery, an impressive
oblong pool; she could barely see the opposite shore, and the water seemed very deep.
There were no people in the vicinity of the pool, but rather lots of animals—monkeys, and a type of
rodent that Balot couldn’t quite identify—that were swimming or splashing about.
Balot knelt down to put her hand to the water. She noticed some ripples coming toward her. She
realized that they were generated to keep the water circulating. Without warning the ripples changed to
waves. The next moment a smooth blue object flew up into the air, scattering light all around. It landed
back into the water with a huge splash, spraying water all around.
Balot was soaked through. She saw the thing that had just jumped stick its snout forward.
–Who’s this, Tweedledee? Never seen it before. You brought it, did you?
The snouty-thing’s voice echoed in Balot’s earphones, much to her surprise.
–That’s right. She’s called Rune-Balot.
Tweedledee jumped into the pool. He had taken his clothes off without Balot noticing and was now
naked. There was a splash when he hit the water, spraying Balot again as she stood there.
Tweedledee swamup to the snouty-thing, gave it a big hug, and planted a kiss on its head.
–She’s Oeufcoque’s lover. I brought her here because I wanted to introduce you.
Balot hadn’t quite expected Tweedledee to introduce her in this way.
–Hey, baby. I’m Tweedledum, the thing said to her. It seemed to have nothing to hide, anyway.
–I know my name’s similar to his, but mine’s the original. After all, some of my brain cells were
transplanted into his brain.
It thrust its body out of the water and prodded her face with its pointy snout.
–So, little lady, how about a ride on my back? I’ll take you to heaven and back, baby.
Balot was a little bewildered. It was the first time she’d ever been propositioned by a dolphin.
–Hey, I’m the original! Part of my brain is transplanted in you too, don’t forget. And let’s not
forget that your linguistic consciousness is based on my language skills… Tweedledee tried to
interject, but Tweedledumhadn’t finished yet.
–Shut it, you slag! There’s no contest. You’re the one who toddles around based on my mobility
consciousness. You wouldn’t be walking without me.
–And you wouldn’t be talking without me.
Then the two turned to Balot. What do you think? Talk about being put on the spot.
Balot felt a little funny in the head, but it wasn’t the worst feeling in the world.
Above all, Tweedledee was probably the only person in the world who would introduce Oeufcoque
as her lover.
–Tweedledum, are you a girl?
Balot spoke to change the subject. Tweedledumsnorted spume fromhis nostrils.
–Hey, you’re a human, right? Don’t be so narrow-minded—you’ll end up a slave to convention. I’m
male, and this guy’s brother, and lover, and homosexual partner. We even do it all the time.
He spoke rather triumphantly, and it was hard to tell how much was true and how much was
Tweedledum’s fevered imagination.
–What are those eyes?
Not particularly wanting to pursue her line of inquiry any further, Balot changed the subject to the
metal objects that covered the space between Tweedledum’s brow and cheeks. They looked like giant
dolphin sunglasses.
–They’re neat, huh? Wanna try on a pair yourself, babe? Tweedledum answered, rather unhelpfully,
but Tweedledee shrugged his shoulders and answered Balot’s question properly.
–They’re for access—an auxiliary function. They can act as visual organs too, but we don’t really
need to rely on our sense of sight in the first place.
–Access?
–This pool is a giant computer terminal.
–What do you mean?
–Why don’t you come for a swim too? Then you’ll see for yourself. Balot seemed to have fallen into
a pattern of doing whatever the two wanted. She thought about it for a second, then sat down at the edge of
the pool. She lowered her legs into the water and immediately felt convinced that she wouldn’t drown.
Balot plunged into the water, as invited. It was wonderfully clean water—transparent and soft. It was
a little bit on the chilly side, but even this felt like a good thing, appeasing the inflamed bruises that
covered her body.
She immersed her whole body in water, then bobbed around, sticking her head above the surface.
Tweedledee looked at the emerging face of Balot with an odd expression.
–The doctors get a bit fussy when we get our clothes wet, so best you take them of , you know.
–I’m fine as I am. If I want to take them off, I’ll take them off.
Suddenly Tweedledum was underneath her, lifting her up. It was the first time she had ever been on a
dolphin’s back. Her body floated up and slid along the surface as if she were running.
Her shoulders relaxed unconsciously. If her voice had worked, she’d be laughing loudly by now.
–Hold on tight, baby. I’ll show you this pool’s true colors.
Tweedledumwas on a natural high.
–Welcome to the other ocean!
At this moment in time, Balot had no idea that before long this would lead directly on to the next stage
of her case. All she was concerned about for the time being was closing her mouth. For Tweedledum had
just plunged underwater. Tweedledee was by their side, swimming like a fish.
Balot opened her eyes, but they could see only a small part of her surroundings, so she sensed them
instead. They were indeed in some sort of computer terminal. Wireless communication equipment was
growing out of one of the walls and the floor. And spread out before her was a vast, deep ocean. She
realized that she was confronted with the gateway to a giant sea of electronic data.
–Take me back up!
She wasn’t sure how much longer her breath would last, and started to panic.
–Right away, missy, brought to you in style! Tweedledum said with a flourish, starting the ascent in
his own inimitable style. It wasn’t a sudden ascent, but rather a careful and steady climb that took Balot’s
body into account. It could indeed have been described as a stylish ascent.
They reached the surface, and Balot drew a deep breath, pushing her wet hair out of her face.
–Scary, dark, and big. She voiced her first impressions of the pool.
Tweedledumgave another great snort fromhis nostrils.
–It’s like Spaceship Earth herself; mostly water, there to be experienced and lived in. This is the
key to transmitting data to almost anywhere in the world. You can swim almost anywhere, as long as
you have permission.
Then Tweedledee emerged, floating face-up on the surface of the water.
–Not that anyone’s been given permission over the last ten years, right, Tweedledum?
–Still, we’re free to splash about in Paradise’s database as much as we like. Shall we head back
down, babe?
–I’m okayfor now, thanks. I’m not sure my breath will hold up.
Balot gently pushed away fromTweedledum, heading backward in the water.
She tried to swim on her own but found herself tangled up in her clothes. She tried to take them off,
turning around as she did so. Suddenly some air escaped from her mouth—her earphone was about to
dislodge, and, flustered, she tried to hold its clasp in place. Tweedledum moved in swiftly to prop her
body up, helping to keep her afloat. Balot stripped off her sodden clothes, and Tweedledee collected
them, spreading themout neatly by the side of the pool for her.
Balot wasn’t wearing any underwear. Fully nude now, she entrusted her naked body to the water. It
was as if all her aches and pains had dissolved into the pool. She felt no anxiety, no awkwardness.
Neither of the other two made any effort to touch her body unnecessarily. They didn’t even seem
particularly interested in it.
Tweedledum appeared to be constantly accessing the database, picking up pieces of information and
passing themon to Tweedledee, laughing, flirting, even.
Both Tweedledee’s and Tweedledum’s bodies appeared to be covered in scars. Fragments of metal
and plastic also seemed to be protruding fromvarious parts of their bodies—chest and sides in particular.
To the extent that you could say that their bodies were almost mangled. And yet neither of them seemed
remotely self-conscious about these modfications—they didn’t seemto be bothered in the slightest.
Balot watched the two of themfrolicking about and thought about what Tweedledee had said.
The Complete Individual, swimming though an electronic ocean. A complete world—like an egg. This
jungle, in its airtight chamber, was designed to be detached, kept apart, from something. But what? She
couldn’t tell.
The duo’s laughter permeated the jungle. The laughter of those untroubled by the threat of the outside
world—or of decay fromwithin.
To realize the dreamof sunny side up—a life without trouble, without consequence—and to eventually
arrive at a state of such tranquillity that you no longer needed to move. Balot wasn’t sure whether to be
envious or scornful of such a lifestyle.
All of a sudden she yearned to speak to Oeufcoque and the Doctor. She wanted them to tell her what
she ought to do. But, as they weren’t here right now, she guessed that it would be up to her to work that
out for herself.
So, as she swamalong, she tried to think as the Doctor and Oeufcoque would think.
The Doctor and Oeufcoque would be brainstorming, thinking up various strategies as to how best to
proceed. What would those strategies be, those threads of ideas? This was a competition, and a game. At
one end of those threads was the man called Shell. Shell was trying to protect something, and that was
why he’d had Boiled and the assassins pull on their end of the thread…
Suddenly, it dawned on Balot—there was something she needed to find.
–Hey, do you think that we’d be able to get permission for me to use this pool?
Tweedledee was taken aback.
–Gosh, I didn’t think Eve was going to ask to eat the forbidden fruit of her own accord!
The Doctor’s words came flooding back to Balot. She’s not using that until I’ve gone over a few
things with her. She’s owed an explanation. Balot realized that the Doctor must have been talking about
the computer terminal in the pool. And she knew in an instant what exactly it was that she would be using
it for.
–What are you going to look up?
Tweedledumwas excited now.
–There’s this man who’s hidden his past. I want to know where it is.
–Past? Whose past?
–A man called Shell-Septinos. An employee at OctoberCorp.
Tweedledee and Tweedledumturned to each other.
–What shall we do?
–You should go call the Professor, Tweedledee. I don’t want to end up disposed of just for opening
up an outside line without of icial clearance, you know.
–You’re right.
Tweedledee pushed up against the ledge of the pool and jumped out.
He brushed the water off his body and slipped into his pants.
–Wait here, Balot. I’ll introduce you to the god of Paradise.
He headed off straight back into the rainforest, leaving Balot behind.
Balot swamwith Tweedledumas they waited for Tweedledee’s return.
As she gave herself up to the water, her medicinal compresses began peeling off, and even the
bandages on her wrists started to come loose. Eventually all her bandages started floating to the surface,
and before long they were swallowed up by small contraptions at the edge of the pool that looked like
miniature garbage disposal chutes.
It truly was a well-designed pool. The water was maintained at a perfect temperature, and it was kept
constantly clean.
–What did Tweedledee mean by “god of Paradise”?
–Oh, just that he’s easy to anger—the wrath of god and all that.
Then Balot heard laughter. Through her earphone, but also with something at the back of her mind,
using her interference abilities, her snarc. It was almost like telepathy. And it seemed to be unaffected by
whether she was on the surface of the water or underneath it.
–He’s the Supreme Warden of all of Paradise’s creatures—that’s one of his titles, anyway. If I said
that he was one of the Three Magi, would that ring a bell?
–I heard that the Three Magi made this place…but I don’t know the details.
–Not to worry, babe, all will be revealed shortly, Tweedledum said as if to say that was the end of
the matter, and dived below Balot. Her body was lifted up, and Tweedledum’s head appeared right in
front of her, nostrils flaring.
–Are you the only one who lives here, Tweedledum?
–Nah, there’s plenty of others, but I’m the best value. Should I call the rest here? Some of them are
at death’s door, though.
–It’s okay. I don’t really want anyone to die on my account.
Tweedledumlaughed again.
–Not many of the others can really speak like me, anyway. It probably wouldn’t be much fun.
–The others—are they all dolphins too?
–The majority, yeah, but not all. There’s also whales, but they’re too big to make it into this
section. There’s also sharks and orcas, but they’re in the minority, and they’re blocked from entering
here, so don’t you worry. I don’t really get on with those guys, truth be told. Tweedledee is pretty good
at handling them, though.
Balot was clinging to Tweedledum’s back now, and she snarced Tweedledum’s silver sunglasses
directly.
–You know Oeufcoque, right?
–Yeah, I know him. He was here up until about six years ago. He’s just like me, a creature that was
created to order on commission from the military.
–Did you get along with him?
–I got along with him well enough, yeah. I have no problems with that type of person. He’s a good
egg. Handy having him around too. He’s not perfect, of course, plenty of character flaws, but basically
I’d say he’s a good choice for a lover, babe.
–It’s onlyyou two who refer to him in that way.
–What do you mean?
–He doesn’t seem to think of me in that way.
–Unrequited love, is it?
Balot didn’t answer for a long time. Eventually Tweedledumbroke the silence with a cheerful laugh.
–Well, he’s a half-baked little thing, always indecisive and wishywashy. “I might only be a little
mouse, but I’m a thinking mouse,” that’s the sort of thing he used to bellow. He’d do well to chill out a
little.
–He finds it hard to tell a lie.
–Yeah, his species snif s out emotions through body odor, Tweedledum said frankly, as if that
explained everything. Seeing that it didn’t, he shook his head and continued.
–He doesn’t even really understand what it is to tell a lie. That’s what makes him so awkward and
indecisive. What a guy to fall for, right? Well, you’ll have plenty of time to work it out. It’ll test your
patience, though.
Balot laughed in spite of herself. She’d never thought the day would come that she would listen to a
dolphin giving her advice on how to love a mouse. The whole world had gone crazy—but was none the
worse for it. The world had always been a crazy place, and it might as well go that extra mile and get it
over with.
My reality is just that—my reality. As she thought this, she relaxed, and her emotions seemed to
extend even further. Not that they hadn’t been spreading before, but now she felt that they had finally
reached her heart. She was thawing.
–I did a terrible thing to Oeufcoque.
–Hey, where did that come from?
Tweedledumslowed down, surprised.
–I used him so hard that I ended up abusing him. And even then, he protected me to the bitter
end.
–Okay, I get it now. He’s back here for maintenance because of—
–Because of me. I’m the one who made Oeufcoque suffer like that.
–Well, he’s half immortal. You don’t need to worry too much.
–Immortal? He won’t die?
Balot was astonished. Tweedledumlaughed and returned to the side of the pool.
–He has a multidimensional body. When his body’s injured in one dimension, it can be repaired
from another dimension. That’s the great advantage of a Living Unit. He won’t die unless you blow
him to pieces in all the dif erent dimensions, or crush the nucleus of his life. He does have a life span,
though.
–Life span?
–Yeah, that’s the weak point of a Living Unit. All living creatures die sometime. As a matter of
course. That’s the first principle of this sort of unit. And that’s what’s so remarkable about Oeufcoque.
–What do you mean?
Balot felt startled, and she grabbed onto the ledge to steady herself. She stared at Tweedledum, feeling
that the conversation was entering dangerous territory.
–Obesity.
Tweedledum’s voice was curiously meek.
–Mice gain weight all through their natural lives. They grow bigger and bigger. Can’t help it—
something to do with their metabolism, So, even if you use longevity-enhancing procedures, as long as
the weight issue remains, sooner or later they end up crushed to death by their own body mass.
However much you try shunting your weight of into dif erent dimensions, in the end you can’t
outsmart Mother Nature.
–A disease? And is there no cure?
–Not sure you can really call it a disease, babe. More like the inevitable course of nature. That’s
why, according to Oeufcoque, he first felt the need to leave this place—when he first had his intimation
of mortality, as he put it.
–What does that even mean?
Tweedledumstopped for a moment.
–Ah, who knows? It’s not as if I’m ever even going to be leaving this place. Ask him yourself, why
don’t you?
Balot nodded, realizing that she’d touched on a sensitive subject. But she couldn’t stop herself from
asking:
–What about you—have you ever wanted to leave this place?
She regretted asking the question as soon as the words had been transmitted. Tweedledum lifted his
face into the air.
–How would I live?
Balot couldn’t answer. Indeed, it wasn’t really a question that Tweedledum was asking—rather, he
was giving an answer. It hit home sharply. But Tweedledumcontinued in a gentler vein.
–I have this ocean. I have peace, and I have plenty of stimulation and excitement. Maybe
everything’s an experiment, but there’s a certain pride in knowing that my existence is , in and of itself,
at the forefront of cutting-edge research. And, above all, I have Tweedledee. Nah, babe, I can’t leave
here, but I also wouldn’t want to, even if I could. But what about you, eh? Why don’t you settle down
here? With your Oeufcoque.
–What, me…?
–The outside is just full of danger, right? Locking out the outside world—that’s one way to ensure
that life thrives.
But Balot ever so gently shook her head. She whispered back,
–I made mychoice. To live outside the shell—to survive.
–I get it…
And then Tweedledum cried out for the first time. A fine, pure cry that seemed to squeeze Balot’s
chest tight.
–I wonder what the real ocean’s like…
She heard his words just as clearly as she heard his keening cry.
–They’re back, babe.
Tweedledum spoke, and Balot rested her upper body on the ledge of the pool, sensing Tweedledee
coming toward themthrough the forest.
She thought that he was supposed to be bringing somebody with him to introduce to her, but he seemed
to be on his own, carrying a boxlike object. A large one. From a distance it looked something like a
birdcage.
–Hi, sorry to keep you waiting.
Soon Tweedledee was back with them, smiling.
Balot went to pull herself out of the water with both arms, but her body suddenly became stiff.
Tweedledee was indeed carrying a birdcage. Or at least something that looked just like one.
And inside it was a human head.
Tweedledee stopped walking and stood still. He was still grinning, evidently enjoying Balot’s
surprise.
The face inside the cage had the same expression.
“Hello, Rune-Balot. I’m the Supreme Warden of Paradise,” said the face inside the birdcage. He was
a man, on the old side of middle aged. His bright white hair was cleanly cropped, and he was closely
shaven. His slender face was etched with deep wrinkles, but he had a refined, gentle expression. The only
thing that was at all odd about him was the fact that he didn’t seem to have any body parts other than his
head.
“Everyone calls me Professor. Professor Faceman, that is. Quite an appropriate name for someone in
my present state, don’t you think? Some people go one step further and call me Facemanin-the-Cage.
Which is truer still, wouldn’t you say?”
Balot had forgotten about even her own nakedness and was staring at the Faceman-in-the-Cage, as he
put it.
“Table!” Faceman ordered. Doing as he was told, Tweedledee interfered with—snarced—the ground
by the poolside, and a white plane emerged, folding out to take the formof a round table.
Tweedledee placed the birdcage on the table. Then he undressed again, quickly. His role now
complete, he jumped straight back into the pool without a moment’s hesitation.
Faceman watched, a serene smile on his lips, and then spun around slowly in his cage to face Balot.
Balot slipped back into the pool without thinking.
“Try snarcing my cage. We should be able to converse.”
–Yes, sir, Balot replied reflexively. Faceman laughed indulgently.
Balot felt Tweedledee splashing about behind her, but her eyes remained fixed on Faceman.
“I’ve taken the liberty of examining your data. Such wonderful aptitude. But if it’s left unchecked, the
technology you’ve had implanted in you is likely to have an influence on your maturity, your emotional
well-being. Have you noticed yourself becoming overstressed because of this?”
Balot shook her head. Without realizing it, she was touching her throat and the surrounding area on her
neck.
She was trying—not very successfully—to imagine what it would be like to have a body that didn’t
continue below the neckline.
“Well, it might have made you feel bad, at least. Access to all your battle data stored up inside
Oeufcoque-Penteano—those were my terms for your use of the facility.”
–Terms? Even as Balot spoke, she put two and two together.
–So you’re healing Oeufcoque’s injuries in exchange for information about me?
“Exactly. Hasn’t Dr. Easter explained all this to you?”
–No, he’s been too busytreating Oeufcoque…
But she wasn’t about to get downhearted because of this. After all, Oeufcoque’s injuries—and
everything else—were her fault in the first place. She was determined to do anything to help Oeufcoque
recover.
“I wonder if I could have a look at how your transplanted metal fiber is doing?”
Faceman only had to ask, and Balot was out of the pool, showing himher body.
It wasn’t at all like when she used to have to do this when she was on the job. Rather, it was like
receiving a medical examination froma doctor.
“You’re still in puberty, I see. And so there are places where the fibers aren’t fully fixed yet, in order
to anticipate any future growth spurts. Splendid. A most appropriate measure. It looks like we have no
worries on this front.”
Balot stood still, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
“I was most impressed by the results of the analysis of your data—how tough you are. There was a
time when we had to put an inordinate stress on military developments, you see. It wasn’t a particularly
pleasant period, but even so, we had our targets, something to work toward. Your very existence is a
work of art, as far as I’m concerned. Exquisite—and tenacious. You’re unique, a one and only, formed by
a happy coincidence of a number of factors all falling into place—or would you rather I didn’t talk about
you in such terms?”
In all honesty, no, she didn’t particularly like it. She’d had all sorts of unpleasant experiences since
she was first treated like an object.
But then Faceman—still smiling his gentle smile—continued in a different vein, asking, “Oh, but this
is rather unfair—a one-sided exchange of data. Is there anything you want to ask about me in return?”
Balot was a little perplexed. She’d never asked anyone why they were only a head before and wasn’t
quite sure what the correct etiquette was. In the end, she ended up asking in a roundabout way.
–Is Faceman your real name, sir?
“No, it’s my nickname in the lab. My real name’s Charles Ludwig. But there’s no one who refers to me
as such anymore—including myself. As far as I’m concerned, I’m one of my own research subjects.
Although that could just be an excuse for my longevity measures, to keep myself alive for as long as
possible, I suppose.”
–Longevity?
“I had a few cancers gnawing away at my body, you see. The only thing to do was to get rid of it once
and for all,” Faceman told her, as if he were talking about a routine everyday operation. “Having said
that, we probably could have saved my body using some of the technologies we developed here—but I
decided that my appearance now was more appropriate for me. You see, in addition to supervising the
whole of the facility, I’m in charge of a number of different research projects. Twenty bodies wouldn’t be
enough to withstand all the exhausting work that I’d have to put myself through. And if no body would be
strong enough, I decided I’d rather have no body at all and stick to being the headquarters, literally as
well as metaphorically—even if it’s a bit of a strained metaphor…”
–But isn’t it inconvenient?
Balot asked without really thinking, but Faceman just smiled proudly. “What do you think this cage is
for? The wiring isn’t just some handicraft, you know. It’s cutting-edge technology that creates ideal air
conditions. Every single wire filters out impurities—keeping the air inside fresh—and they also regulate
the temperature and humidity. Even as we speak, subtle vibrations are flowing through the air, cleaning
off my dead skin, purifying my surfaces, helping me to maintain a healthy metabolism. Far more agreeable
than using your hands to clean your face with soap and water. On top of that, the two-inch-thick base of
the cage has electronic interference capabilities, life-support systems, a gravity device, a hard disc with
all relevant data, communications equipment, shock-absorbency devices—even self-defense mechanisms
—everything you can think of, all built in.”
It was quite a fluent exposition. Balot could almost imagine his chest jutting out in pride as he reeled
off the list, and the incongruity made it hard for Balot to suppress a rising smile.
And then it was Faceman’s turn to cast a mischievous glance at the table. She realized that he had
interfered, snarced it. A silver object emerged frombelow the table, taking the formof a pipe chair.
“Do have a seat.”
Balot did as she was told. But it didn’t feel like she was being ordered about. Rather, it seemed like
Faceman was genuinely enjoying her company.
“I enjoy watching you—you’re a walking, talking reminder of just how gifted Dr. Easter is. But…you
know, there was a time when he—and everyone else at the facility—was repudiated by society. I’m sure
that Dr. Easter has told you all about it…”
–“Everything turned topsy-turvy.” Balot quoted the words the Doctor had once said to her.
–What exactly happened then, sir?
“The Commonwealth government placed certain constraints on our scientific and technological
research programs. Many of our discoveries were used in the Continental War, and they were too
successful—they wreaked all sorts of havoc. This inevitably had an influence on the city’s decision to
restrict our postwar research. The idea of using our technology on civilians was regarded with deep
suspicion—prone to cause social unrest—and our experiments were declared dangerous.”
–Who decided all this?
“People. Many of the people living in this city. And, with our future at stake, we at the facility decided
that we needed to take drastic measures. So the Three Magi—myself included—all came up with our
respective plans.”
–Three Magi…?
Faceman responded to Balot’s murmur with a silent smile and nod. “One of us appealed to the
potential usefulness of the forbidden technology to society, and pushed the Scramble 09 bill through, got
the Broilerhouse to recognize it. The same law that allows you to live right now—and permits Dr. Easter
and Oeufcoque their continued existences.”
–You said “one of us.” Which one?
“He left this world not long after the bill passed. Murdered.”
Balot’s eyes opened wide.
“By the hand of assassins hired by one of the other Three Magi. She suggested that the technology
developed here should be made to perform a different sort of usefulness for society—one that met the
needs of the city far better than Mardock Scramble 09. By providing pleasure and amusement, legal or
illegal.”
–OctoberCorp…
Faceman nodded. Balot felt that she was starting to understand why the Doctor called OctoberCorp his
nemesis. The man who had given him, and Oeufcoque, their raison d’être—he’d been murdered by them.
–But how did the quarrel ever get that far? You used to be friends, right?
“The dispute started over differences in thought as to what constituted usefulness for society. This
wasn’t your ordinary laboratory debate; each one of us ended up staking our very existences on our
views. In particular, it was inevitable that the Scramble 09 faction—with its insistence on legal validity
at all costs—would end up clashing with OctoberCorp, with its ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ approach to law.
They were now both in a dilemma, forced to fight each other for the right to survive, whether they wanted
to or not. Even now, although the influence of the Three Magi has long since waned, the protégés continue
the struggle wherever they can.”
–Is the person who founded OctoberCorp still alive?
“She’s alive. She’s nominally still the director of OctoberCorp. But her condition isn’t so different
frommine. She’s completely paralyzed, apparently, with only a portion of her brain still functioning.
–And what about the last of the Three Magi?
Balot barely dared ask. But Faceman just smiled as calmly as ever and said, “The last of the Three
Magi put forward the solution that was most favored by society, by the people of Mardock City. That is to
say, complete isolation of all research.”
–Isolation?
“That’s right. A total blockade. All research and trials to be completed within the facility and then
kept here. Our data never leave the facility. The civil authorities accept us—with strings attached, of
course—and even provide funding so that we can continue.”
–Staying here, forever?
“That’s right. This is the eternal Inner Courtyard. We call ourselves scientists, but really we’re wild
beasts who’ve voluntarily chosen to enter a cage—as a condition of our continued survival.” Faceman
laughed from within his birdcage. “Paradise doesn’t turn away visitors from the outside world. But
whenever a visitor comes, it has to be under a strict set of conditions. Break those conditions and it’s
punishable under Commonwealth law. And the most important condition of all is…no unauthorized use of
this equipment here to try and contact the outside world. Violating this condition is a felony.”
Balot digested these words.
Faceman’s gray eyes were fixed on Balot. He had evidently given his reply to Balot’s request to use
the computer terminal that was this pool.
But there had to be more to his reply—a qualification. Balot was convinced of this.
–But I think that the Doctor wants me to use this thing.
“Yes, and we’ve already received his proposal, Rune-Balot. If truth be told, I’m deeply interested in
seeing just how good you are at utilizing this Parallel Transmission Core.” So saying, he glanced at the
pool and whispered, “It’s down to Scramble 09.”
As ever, as if this phrase held all the answers.
“The moment you use this Transmission Core is the moment you become a suspect for premeditated
criminal conduct against the Commonwealth. But if we can prove that your actions are in no way criminal
but rather a measure to preserve your life, then we should be able to dispel that suspicion.”
–I understand.
“But there’s no reason to put you at any sort of further risk. You’re the Concerned Party in this case,
and you should leave it all to Dr. Easter and Oeufcoque to solve.”
–I just feel that if I don’t do something myself, I’ll end up getting killed.
“Not if you remain here.” Faceman spoke in a voice so gentle that it was almost cruel. “This place is a
true closed environment—far safer and more pleasant than any prison.”
Balot nodded repeatedly. She understood Faceman’s thoughts, his ideology. But it wasn’t what she
wanted, not fromthe Doctor or Oeufcoque.
–Oeufcoque told me that he’d think about what it meant to live together, with me.
“By ‘live together,’ I’m assuming that you’re referring to how you adapt to society? Well, whether you
choose the Mardock Scramble 09 path or the OctoberCorp path, you’re still throwing yourself into the
diseased core of society. After all, a civilian with fancy technology is still a civilian…”
–Oeufcoque and the Doctor saved mylife, Balot answered back, pressing her case.
–I think that I can change. Because of those people.
“Yes, but it won’t be more than a partial change—a personal transformation, if you like. What
humanity needs is fundamental reform. Paradise may be closed off to the masses at the moment, but I
firmly believe that one day it will be the model for all mankind. The world will join us in Paradise. This
place is the pinnacle of technology and ideology, after all.”
Balot was silent. She had never thought about the world in quite such terms before.
“There’s something that Oeufcoque once said to me. That he would die one day. And in realizing this
fact, he had felt a sense of identity for the first time—the thing that psychologists call the ego. That’s why
he needed to do something. The budding sprouts of self-fulfillment—it wouldn’t have been fair for anyone
to try and stop him,” Faceman said in a soft tone. “But we…we’re like actors who haven’t learned their
lines yet—who don’t even have a script. In our harsh reality, improvisation is the order of the day. We
don’t know how the plot is meant to unfold, and there’s no director standing in the wings ready to prompt
us. We’re just thrown straight on stage and left to get on with it—and this is what we’re told. Live. Until
you die. That’s the wild for you. We may be social creatures, but we’re still wild animals. But we don’t
have to live lives of improvisation forever. We need a world that frees people from the pressure of
constantly having to improvise. A world like this one, Paradise. That is what it means to be civilized.”
Then he looked straight at Balot with his gentle eyes. “In time, as your body starts to mature, your
natural aptitude for your abilities will have a strong influence on your mental development. It could even
drive you to the brink of madness. If that happens, will society as we know it be there to save you?”
Balot pondered this question for a moment. Her answer came to her much quicker than she had
expected.
–At the beginning I was so scared of becoming the Concerned Party for this case. Now, though,
it feels like the right decision, and I’m glad I made it. Society might not be able to rescue me. But it
did at least show me that there was such a thing as a path to salvation.
“As the victim in the case? You fight in order to request permission from society for your own
existence?”
Balot nodded and then shook her head a split second later, as if to contradict herself. Both were her
true feelings.
–I used to be a victim, an object. I was always under the influence of some exterior force. Of
someone or something. And, in the end, I was killed for it. But fortunately I was brought back and
became a survival case. So if I’m offered the opportunity to help with some other case, one with
nothing to do with Shell or OctoberCorp, to be the one to solve it, then I’d like to take it.
Faceman smiled benignly, as if he were a priest listening to confession from one of his flock. “So,
you’re prepared to be in the same position as Oeufcoque and the Doctor, are you? You know that if you
fail to solve your cases, your very existence is likely to be seen as a threat to society?”
–I understand, sir.
“Very well, then. As long as we get our valuable samples of your precious data, you go ahead and
swimanywhere you like within the pool. We will just sit and observe your criminal acts.”
–Yes, sir.
“Tweedledumshould brief you on how to use the Transmission Core.”
–Thank you verymuch.
Balot was genuinely grateful. She realized that the bargain that she’d just struck was a big one, with
her own life at stake. Curiously, though, she felt neither fear nor agitation. All she could think was that she
had done the obvious thing.
Suddenly there was the sensation of another person approaching the pool.
Dr. Easter approached, combing his tie-dyed hair upward.
He had the impatient look of someone waiting for a conversation to come to an end.
“Ah, Dr. Easter. I’ve just been listening to the valuable opinions of your client.”
“Professor…we’re most grateful for your cooperation.”
“Will you sojourn here for long, do you think?”
“Sadly, we have work to be getting back to…”
“Important work, no doubt?”
“Yes.”
The Doctor then turned to Balot. “I’ve finished my maintenance work on Oeufcoque.”
Balot searched for something to snarc so that she could reply, but while she was looking the Doctor
carried on. “So, it looks like the Professor has put you in the picture?”
Balot nodded.
Faceman smiled. “She seems to have made up her mind to taste of the Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge,
Dr. Easter.”
The Doctor was a little hesitant now. “I don’t want you to end up as an outlaw from the
Commonwealth, of course. Your use of the Transmission Core will be under my name. All you need to do
is work on finding Shell’s weak spot, whatever it is.”
–That’s fine. I want you to show me how you guys do battle, Balot answered, as Faceman permitted
her to speak through his cage.
And then Balot realized for the first time that she was fully naked.
In a fluster, she scrabbled around for her clothes, but they were nowhere to be seen, and the Doctor
took off his gown and placed it over her shoulders.
Faceman whispered, “And the eyes of Eve were opened, and she knew that she was naked.”
04
Eden and Sodom both at once: such was the night view of the postwar boomtown that spread out
across the base of the rolling hills on the North Side of Mardock City.
It was a glittering pleasure garden to the peace activists, and the media folk and the materialistic
youths—known collectively as the postwar generation—and it was vice personified for the war
generation to whomhaving a son in the navy was the ultimate, most glorious social virtue.
Rich and poor alike poured into the city from the provinces, even from the Commonwealth’s capital
city seventy miles to the north, all aiming for this little region on the slopes, seeking work or pleasure.
The skyscraper hotels that stood halfway up the hills epitomized the thriving prosperity of the postwar
years, and at the same time seemed to lord it over the regions below.
Inside one of the hotel rooms was Boiled. A room equivalent to economy class in a passenger plane.
From the fortieth floor down were lots of single rooms filled with people who looked after the needs of
guests staying on the more luxurious upper floors.
It was in one such room that Boiled was taking a shower, washing himself from his head down,
watching blood sluice off his body and down the drain.
The back of his right hand was peppered with holes and spilling blood. Bullets had pierced his hand
cleanly and come out the other side, unlike the bullets in his arm that were now lodged inside him. He
placed his mouth to the area of skin around his wounds and sucked the blood out. Along with the blood
came a hard object.
He spat the hard thing out in the bathtub. A bullet. He rinsed his blood-soaked mouth out with water
fromthe shower. Squashed bullets and fragments of steel rolled across the bottomof the bathtub.
There was a toilet next to the bathtub, and on top of the cistern were a butter knife and fork from the
room, both covered in blood, trailing red lines across the white porcelain.
Boiled had used these to pry shrapnel fromof his body.
Boiled closed his eyes and flexed his muscles one by one, to check that they were all still working
properly.
After a while, he slowly opened his eyes, picking up each metal fragment one by one, then he turned
the shower off and got out of the bathtub and stood in front of the sink.
The fogged-up mirror showed a faint reflection of his body—a rippling torso of living, breathing iron.
There were also a number of wounds in his chest and stomach.
Boiled placed every last fragment of steel in the trash can, patted his wounds down with a towel, and
applied antiseptic lotion before taking some pills that promoted accelerated skin growth. He applied
gauze to the open wounds and wrapped himself in bandages and dressings as necessary. No blood seeped
out anymore. The wounds were, once again, just wounds. Nothing to worry about.
He exited the bathroom, dried himself off, and put his clothes on. He strapped a holster to his side,
picking up his gun in his hands. He passed it back from left to right a number of times, double-checked
that it was fully loaded with bullets, then slid the revolver away in its holster.
He strapped his wristwatch on and had his special-order jacket in his hands when the telephone rang.
He lifted the receiver.
–Boiled?
Shell’s voice.
“Speaking.”
–Come up to my room, will you? There’s something I want to show you.
He sounded happy. There was laughter in the background. The melodious voice of a woman.
“I’ll be right there.” Boiled put the phone down, left the room, and boarded an elevator. The buttons
on the inside panel ran only as far as the fortieth floor, and Boiled took out a card from his pocket and
slotted it into the space below the panel.
The display light for the sixty-sixth floor appeared automatically, and the elevator ascended.
When he stepped out of the elevator, Boiled was confronted with a scene far removed from the
previous one.
The corridors were wide, decorated in shades of blue. The carpet was plush and soft, dampening any
footfall to near silence.
The crystal chandeliers twinkled, giving off a fine light that seemed to blend seamlessly into the clean
air.
The walls were dotted with paintings—valuable enough that there would have been plenty of people
glad even for just their frames.
Boiled stood in front of the door he’d come for. He knocked using the brass knocker—antique, analog,
no cheap digital electronic intercom here—and the door opened immediately to reveal Shell in a smart
suit.
“Come in, Boiled!” He smiled sharply and beckoned for Boiled to enter.
A pleasant voice bubbled forth fromthe adjoining room.
“Over here! Come and have a look at this!”
They entered the bedroom, where a girl was bouncing up and down on a double bed, giggling. She
looked to be about twenty. Her blonde hair had probably been arranged neatly at some point in the
evening, but now it was straggled across her face.
The woman saw the two entering and stopped laughing. Standing on top of the bed, she cried out
—Ah!—in a loud voice, as if to tell themsomething. Watching this, Shell burst into a low chuckle himself.
“A proper airhead,” he said, and sat down on the sofa. “Let me introduce you. This is Ms. Octavia,
aka Ms. Eyes Wide Shut—the hidden shame of a famous family. She’s the daughter of one of
OctoberCorp’s directors, but she’s not quite up to the task… In other words, she’s defective goods and
won’t ever find a buyer. Her existence was supposed to have been top secret, but I discovered her and let
the cat out of the bag, and now I get to keep her.”
The girl shouted something through her laughter. It could have been the name of a TV show, or some
snacks that she wanted, or even a person’s name—neither Shell nor Boiled had any idea what she had just
said or what she wanted.
“She’s the physical embodiment of my business plan. I borrowed her for about half an hour so that you
could see her face. My glorious wife!”
“When’s the ceremony?” asked Boiled.
“We sign contracts at the end of the month. It would have been earlier too, if it hadn’t been for that
pesky trial.”
Then Shell’s tone of voice changed, just as when a comedian suddenly turned to a serious part of his
set. “By the way, Boiled—on another matter, I seem to remember I’d asked you to take care of a little
business for me.”
Eyes still fixed on the girl, Boiled answered softly. “There was more to it than I imagined.”
“More than you imagined? How?” asked Shell.
“They’re using every trick up their sleeve to obstruct us. They’ve fortified their client; she’s battleready.
We should now think of her as another member of the opposition, not just as a civilian.”
“What does all that mean?”
“She’s now a competent adversary,” said Boiled.
“You make it sound like you’ve been in a war!”
“Not that far off, actually.”
Boiled turned fromthe girl to Shell. Shell’s expression had changed completely.
“Well, then, let’s have some battlefield reports from the mighty Mr. Boiled!” Shell’s eyes were tinged
with a harsh light.
“I wounded an opposition PI. I know where he’s being treated. I’ll be heading there shortly.”
“Marvelous. You’ll be the nuclear warhead that blasts them to pieces. And you’ll also tidy up the
mushroomcloud and the black rain that falls afterwards, right?”
“Except there’s one thing that’s somewhat unusual.”
“Unusual? Give it a break,” Shell waved his hand dismissively, but behind his angry face there was a
glimpse of a different emotion peeking through. “Everything’s unusual these days. The girl that should
have died in my dreams is alive, accusing me of crimes that I can’t even remember committing. I’m in the
middle of a huge deal and I’m being held back. And? Has the girl decided to leave me alone in order to
run for office, because she needs to focus on her campaign for president of the Commonwealth or
something?”
“There was an unusual petition filed at the Broilerhouse.”
“Ach, there’s always something unusual down there in the amazing world of the Broilerhouse.
Unusual petitions are probably more common than usual ones down there.”
“Blank sheets of paper have been submitted as the indictment sheets for the next trial,” said Boiled.
“Their usual trick of not publishing the charges until the last minute in order to throw us off, right?”
asked Shell.
“If it’s just a bluff then all’s well and good. But there’s a possibility that they’re in the middle of a
new investigation now, even as we speak.”
Shell stopped in his tracks, and his expression was wiped off his face.
“I don’t know how they’re managing it exactly, but it’s not impossible that the opposition is looking
for the key to your impending big deal,” Boiled informed himin a whisper.
Shell’s eyes started shining even more fiercely.
“So, Mr. Shell, where exactly is the key?” asked Boiled.
“You don’t need to know that.” Shell’s expression was grim, but there was a wobble in his voice.
Their conversation was interrupted by a shrill shriek of pleasure. The girl seemed to be delighted by
Shell’s fear.
“Shut up!” Shell cried. But the girl wouldn’t stop laughing.
“I…I can turn into a new person whenever I want. That’s my big deal. My past is just…” Shell glared
at the woman on the bed, suppressing his own agitation. “I’ve already forgotten what the girl’s face
looked like even.”
Slowly, he turned around to look at Boiled. His eyes were bloodshot and shone abnormally bright.
“Such a little girl—why can’t you just wring her neck, then snap it off for me in the bargain? Haven’t I
given you enough money? Are you trying to muscle in on my deal that I have lined up? Is that it?”
“You’re talking nonsense, Mr. Shell. Try and calmdown.”
“Kill her!” Shell was screaming now, just as shrill as the girl on the bed. “Kill that bitch who dares to
try and pursue me!”
His words tailed off into a shriek, and he collapsed onto a sofa, shaking his head and trying to calm
himself down.
“You know what you need to do, right? It’s simple enough. Right? You need to take that gun in your
pocket and pump its contents right into the girl.”
Boiled nodded, silent.
“Why should I have to…that girl…always… Why…why am scared? What am I scared of? What is
there about that girl that should frighten me so?” Shell was mumbling to himself now, half delirious.
Boiled didn’t know either. The memories that held the answer to these questions had been sucked
cleanly out of Shell’s mind and hidden in a secret location.
Boiled looked at the woman on the bed again. There’s something I want to show you, he had said. In
other words, Shell was frightened. Frightened of nothing more than a woman.
“A woman, again…” Boiled murmured in a voice too quiet for Shell to hear. There was always a
woman involved behind the scenes of all Shell’s transactions. And now, this woman that was right in
front of their eyes seemed to know what Shell was running from and how far he was likely to fall as a
result.
The woman continued to laugh. She was enjoying herself.
≡
Boiled left Shell’s roomand headed straight for the parking lot in the hotel basement.
He headed for a blue gasoline-fueled car. The windows were tinted, stopping outsiders from seeing
in. He opened the door to the driver’s seat and heard a click. The trigger of a gun being pulled back. But it
was more of a courtesy action than anything else.
Not even bothering to look at the passenger seat, Boiled sat down in the driver’s seat and closed the
door behind him.
“How’s it going, boss?” Medium asked in a hoarse voice as he returned the firing hammer back into
place.
“Fine.” Boiled stuck his keys in the ignition as he answered. Medium’s face was covered in creases.
“How’s your condition?”
“Fine and dandy, thanks for asking, boss.”
Two red lights flickered in Medium’s eyes, visible behind his sunglasses.
His face was covered in patches of slightly different colors. His hair was neatly shaved, and his
shining head also revealed the odd patch of unusual coloring. One side of his head still had stitches in and
was covered with layer upon layer of translucent antibacterial tape.
“What happened to your injured fingers?”
“Here.” Medium lifted his left hand, now covered in a black glove. He balled his hand into a fist, and
there was a grating noise. “Makeshift electronic parts—but they should stand up okay in battle. We don’t
really have the time for me to leisurely transplant a new set, do we? So, unleash me whenever you’re
ready!” Medium bared his teeth. His breathing was rough, and his knees were shaking restlessly. He was
just like a dog drooling in anticipation of feeding time.
“Are you on drugs?” Boiled asked.
“Just some stimulants. The aftereffects of the electricity are so bad that I can hardly use my hands and
feet when I’m sober. Don’t worry, I’m used to using them. I’m not about to go flying off the handle.
Anyway, more importantly, have a look at this.” Medium took a PDA-style monitor out of his jacket
pocket and handed it to Boiled.
The monitor displayed a map centered around the city, with a red line showing the wake of a boat.
“This is Flesh’s legacy. Using his hacking routes, we’ve managed to penetrate both Air Traffic
Control and the Broilerhouse, just as you requested. It wasn’t strong enough to track that flying egg or tell
us where it landed, though.”
“We have enough for now.” Boiled folded the monitor up and returned it to Medium.
“There’s one region where boats seem to cross paths a number of times, with overlapping wakes. The
route that the Broilerhouse uses.”
“You know their whereabouts?” asked Medium.
“The outskirts of the city. It’ll be a while. Get some sleep. Staying high for too long ruins your
stamina,” said Boiled.
“I’ll be okay. I’m so looking forward to meeting that little kitten again that I’ll go anywhere. Just say
the word. Where do you want me to attack?”
Boiled turned the key in the ignition. “Paradise.”
The engine roared to life, and Mediumwhooped with joy.
≡
They entered the trunk road from the northwest of Mardock City, and Medium took some capsules,
prompting Boiled to murmur, without any emotion, “Heroic Pills…”
“Yeah, we’re not talking about the adulterated crap you get in Times Square, though. This is the real
thing, pure and unspoiled. Will you try one too, boss?”
Boiled was about to shake his head to say no, but then he stopped himself mid-action.
“Just the one.” Boiled stuck his hand out. Grinning, Medium dropped a single capsule into Boiled’s
massive palm.
Boiled swallowed it, and Mediumasked, “How is it?”
“Not much difference.”
“It’ll kick in soon, and you’ll start to feel happy.”
“The back of my head is starting to feel itchy,” said Boiled. Medium was visibly disappointed.
“Boss…why did you try one if you’re not in the mood?”
“I have a client who’s addicted, and I wanted to understand the effects for myself. But it looks like
that’s beyond me.”
“It certainly seems that Welldone was right about you, boss—you’re a proper hunting dog. You’ll do
whatever it takes to catch your prey. I could wish for a bit more of a sense of humor, though.”
Boiled made no effort to respond. Instead, he said, “We’re heading to the Broilerhouse now, in order
to check a few things out with night duty.”
“Roger that, boss. Shall I drive for a while?”
“No need. You rest your body,” said Boiled.
“Still, you’re holding up well, considering you don’t take any drugs. When exactly do you get a chance
to go to bed?”
“I’ve forgotten how to sleep,” said Boiled.
Mediumgrinned. “Good one, boss. Glad to see you’ve got a sense of humor after all.”
“I haven’t slept for nine years.”
“That’s the spirit, Mr. Iron Man. Although you’ll need to work on your facial expression—it’s still a
bit dour,” said Medium.
Without another word, Boiled stopped off at a motel they were passing by and, out of Medium’s
earshot, contacted the Broilerhouse using a dedicated line.
Boiled climbed back into the car and was just about to turn the key again when he stayed his hand for a
moment, thinking.
He was thinking about the last time he’d slept—had he dreamt anything then?
The answer was no.
Boiled started the car and drove off
Book II:
THE SECOND COMBUSTION
Chapter 5
PISTON
01
–I don’t want to die.
The thoughts were being transmitted to the blood-soaked gun, and every bullet that came flying out of
its muzzle was loaded with sorrow.
–I’m so sorry, Oeufcoque. I’m so sorry.
Now Balot understood the meaning of the word abuse. She was abusing Oeufcoque. She had turned
Oeufcoque into a dangerous tool.
The result was a gun that wept blood. Even after his body had been blown in two, the only thing Balot
could do for himwas to bring himmore blood and tears.
Bullets clashed with bullets, flying through the air and disintegrating into powder, settling over Boiled
and Balot like snowfall.
Boiled’s bullets made short work of the iron perimeter fence at Balot’s side, crumpling a pillar up like
so much paper.
Balot didn’t even look—she just fired and fired. Her gun was empty in a flash, and as she ejected the
spent magazine and the build-up of excess heat, a gush of blood came steaming out.
The gun and her hands were both bright red.
A new magazine clicked into place inside the steel, and the gun was reloaded. It was as if she were
firing Oeufcoque’s flesh and blood in order to shield herself.
She focused on the bullets flying at her.
She could just about keep these away by sheer force of numbers of her own volleys, but her bullets
didn’t even get close to Boiled.
PGF—PseudoGravitational Float—was the name of the technology that protected Boiled. It allowed
himto activate a gravity field around his body and deflect any bullet that came near him.
“Why, Oeufcoque?” he murmured darkly frombeyond his invisible shield.
Boiled fired bullets steeped in murderous intent.
Balot couldn’t hear what he had muttered. But her attitude toward him, about how to deal with him,
was gradually changing.
Take him down. That was what she thought now. The idea of defending herself slipped her mind. All
she could think of now was to stop the man frommoving. That was the only thing she could get Oeufcoque
to do.
But all the bullets Balot fired flew away fromtheir target, their trajectories altered.
Boiled’s gun ran out of bullets, and he opened the cylinder to discard the empty shells onto the roof.
His thick fingers reloaded the gun with bullets and venomous hatred. His eyes remained fixed on Balot
holding her blood-soaked gun.
“How is that girl any different fromme…” His voice was oily, inhuman.
And then the gun was loaded, again, and pointed at Balot, again.
Balot stared at Boiled, unblinking. Her finger was poised over the trigger, ready to fire, but was held
back by something.
Then, seizing the moment, she flew forward, throwing caution to the wind. The instant Boiled fired—
that was when a tiny gap would open up in his PGF to let his bullet out.
One moment, one spot. That was the only opening in Boiled’s invisible and otherwise invincible
shield.
In her desperate volley of dozens of bullets she had discovered it: the enemy’s Achilles’ heel.
Boiled noticed immediately that this was what Balot was aiming for.
A gruesome shadow, almost like a faint smile, appeared on Boiled’s blank face.
Guns still thrust out at each other. The tension between themwas electric.
Blood trickled from a wound on Balot’s forehead, mingling with her sweat and tears and dripping
fromher chin.
“So that’s your usefulness, is it, Oeufcoque,” Boiled said in a heavy voice, firing his gun. “And yet all
that’s really happened is a new monster has been brought into this world.”
A deafening roar resounded across the firmament.
A violent gust of wind blew all around.
The squall fromsome sort of giant flying object, neither plane nor helicopter.
“Oeufcoque! Balot! I’m here!” Shouting from a megaphone, echoing all around, and Balot and Boiled
both looked to the heavens.
Only Balot was visibly surprised by what she saw.
A giant silver egg. An oval shape, over ten meters tall—it was as if a piece of the moon had broken
off and descended toward the rooftop.
“A Humpty, is it? The Broilerhouse is sharpening up its response times,” Boiled muttered, looking up.
“Boiled, you are ordered to withdraw from the scene!” As the egg broadcast the warning, a part of its
body cracked open with a loud noise to reveal a multitude of small hexagonal shapes.
The next moment—and even more noisily—the egg smashed its tip into the roof like that mythical egg
of Columbus. Only in this case it was the concrete rooftop that was crushed into place, not the egg.
“Over here, Balot!” The Doctor appeared in the space that had just opened up, brandishing a rifle and
shouting. “As of six o’clock this afternoon this case has been approved for the highest level of the Life
Preservation Program! All Concerned Parties have been given temporary approval to take up Floating
Residence, and hereafter any attempt to trespass on the residence or its inhabitants will be interpreted as
intent to harma material witness and be punishable under the full extent of Commonwealth law!”
Before the Doctor had even finished speaking Boiled’s gun was trained on the Doctor.
That instant Balot experienced the feeling of blood rushing to her head, as if it had started churning
through her body in reverse.
For she had spotted the one moment, one point, where the chink in Boiled’s armor had opened up.
Boiled fired. Had her voice been working, she probably would have shouted out a war cry.
The bullet flew out of Balot’s gun—and pierced the back of Boiled’s right hand.
Boiled’s aim faltered as he was hit, and his bullet slammed into the side of the silver egg, causing an
impressive but ineffectual explosion of sparks.
The bullet reached him.
Emotions bubbled up inside Balot, and that very moment Oeufcoque cried out in her hands,
“Quickly…to the Doctor!”
Balot snapped upright. Her feelings of wanting to attack Boiled evaporated in an instant, and all she
could now think of was obeying Oeufcoque’s words.
Boiled watched with dusky eyes as Balot ran toward the giant silver egg, ignoring the pain that
wracked her body. He peeled the gun out of his injured right hand, checked that the grip of the gun hadn’t
been hit, and lifted it with his other hand.
“Why… Oeufcoque?” Boiled muttered the same words over and over as he fired at Balot.
Balot read his movements precisely and fired back at him. And the Doctor let rip with his rifle at the
same time. None of the bullets found their target.
Boiled retreated a step. Balot ran faster toward the silver egg. She thought she heard the crack of
another rifle shot, and then the Doctor was hauling her up into the egg.
“Get in and stay inside!” the Doctor shouted, and there were more rifle shots in quick succession.
Without warning the egg started rising. Noiselessly and so smoothly that she didn’t even feel the
sensation of her body being lifted. All she noticed was the ground moving farther and farther away as she
looked on.
Its Gravity Device Engine was evidently a powerful one, as they were up in the air in no time.
“Head as far inside as you can! If you’re near the shell wall then your blood will start moving around.
If your eyes start blurring then you’ll need to lie down. Now, I’m just going to close the shell wall back
up and—”
The Doctor stopped shouting. There was a thud on the outside wall of the egg.
There were steady, rhythmic footsteps.
The Doctor’s expression changed, and he moved toward the entrance, readying his rifle.
Boiled appeared. Revolver in hand, he peered down at the Doctor. He was standing on the wall at a
right angle, bisecting the entrance, a perpendicular line, muzzle pointed at the Doctor. At his feet, the wall
closed back into place, as if it were mending a broken shell.
“Give it up, Boiled. In a few seconds we’ll be at too high an altitude for you to use your abilities,” the
Doctor warned, almost as if he were giving him a lecture. “And I don’t particularly want to get into a
shootout with you.”
But there was no reasoning with Boiled, who just raised his gun.
“Why did Oeufcoque leave me?”
Still pointing the rifle at Boiled, the Doctor’s face now showed a trace of doubt. “You were the one
who left him.”
Then Boiled leapt, brandishing his gun.
“Stop it! Do you really want to be outlawed from the Commonwealth?” the Doctor shouted, but the
blast from his rifle drowned the last part out. The rifle round didn’t even scratch Boiled, and Boiled
punched the Doctor’s slender body, smashing himinto the wall.
Having rushed into the egg, Boiled changed direction.
And that was the moment. Rather than heading inside, Balot had been sitting there on the floor, waiting
for the perfect shot.
Her gun was red. Blood was squelching out of the barrel.
The barrel vibrated. A red object came pounding out. The barrel spat fire, over and over, and even
though Boiled managed to cover his vital organs, the bullets all found their mark, whether on his arms or
his body.
A ghostly scream surged forth from Boiled’s mouth. He’d been too slow to deflect the bullets. As
impressive a figure as Boiled was, he was thrown backward. He scrambled for purchase on the egg, but
his feet wouldn’t reach. He tried to grab hold of the edge of the entrance with his right hand, but the blood
flowing from the wound that Balot had inflicted caused him to slip, losing his grip, and he hurtled into
space.
Boiled’s scream was already tailing off into the distance when the wall closed, cutting him off
completely.
Everything was quiet. Silent, just like the interior of a high-class AirCar.
Balot kept her gun trained on the shell wall. She could no longer lift a finger. Her eyes stared at
something. Bloody fingerprints—left by Boiled when he frantically tried to find something to hold on to as
he was blown away.
Liquid of the same color dripped down fromthe end of her gun and stained the carpet.
Red droplets ran fromthe gun down her wrist, dripping fromher elbow.
The Doctor put his rifle down and knelt down at Balot’s side. He looked nervous.
“Is Oeufcoque injured?”
Balot’s gaze slowly moved fromthe wall and toward the Doctor, and she nodded.
Her hands still gripped the gun.
“What about you? You’ve cut your forehead, I see. Anywhere else?”
In a daze, Balot shook her head. She became aware of her surroundings.
The room they were in was like a villa in a holiday resort. A tall ceiling, with a staircase heading up
to rooms with windows looking out onto a veranda lobby. Chairs were scattered around a chic table, and
the whole place was furnished luxuriously.
The Doctor gently touched Balot’s hands.
“This is a Floating Residence, Humpty-Dumpty. Part of Scramble 09—originally it was military
technology, developed as a flying fortress. The Broilerhouse has given permission for you to use it for a
given period in a designated airspace. It’s VIP treatment for you all the way now. I personally guarantee
to keep you alive, not just as a Trustee but also as a material witness to the second case myself.”
The Doctor’s hand gently lowered Balot’s gun.
“You’re safe, now.”
Balot felt all the tension in her body evaporate and let go of the gun with her right hand as the Doctor
indicated. Blood overflowed, gushing out fromevery crack in the weapon.
The Doctor tried to pick the gun up, but however hard he tried he couldn’t pry it fromher left hand.
As she gripped the blood-soaked gun Balot felt a darkness encroaching on her from all sides. Balot
was in space. She was inside a silver egg that shone in the darkness, and she was underneath the moon.
She understood all of this, neither awake nor dreaming.
The Doctor peeled her rigid fingers fromthe gun, finger by finger.
“We’re flying through the sky as an egg.”
The Doctor’s face suddenly went puzzled. “Which one of us just said that?”
The gun slipped out of Balot’s hands. She heard a song starting to spin around in the back of her mind.
Dish, wash, brush, flush…
She receded fromconsciousness, but the charmcontinued, almost like a prayer, rosary beads and all.
Bash, rush, trash, ash…
The Doctor was saying something. Balot felt like she had turned into an empty vessel. Her body tilted
backward, and she toppled over.
Flash, flesh, wish, finish…
And with these words she lost consciousness.
People from the neighborhood were gathering around the building, watching anxiously as fire engines
appeared on the scene. A number of police patrol cars appeared, closing off the area, and the Hunters and
the firemen all milled around, their roles apparently jumbled together.
Boiled cut across the melee, driven by a sense of purpose. Some Hunters tried to stop him, unsure
where he was heading, but he just flashed his PI license and curtly told them that he was on the heels of a
material witness and that any police questioning would have to come via the Broilerhouse. The Hunters
grumbled some words of abuse, but they let himpass, and he walked on in silence.
Before long Boiled found the gasoline-powered van. An airline company’s logos were plastered
across its body and smoked windows. The door was unlocked.
As Boiled opened the door, he heard the sound of a trigger being cocked.
Boiled looked at the man in the passenger seat who was holding a gun.
“I thought that someone would come. One of the gang…” the man groaned. “Do you know who I am?”
Boiled took one glance at the man’s irregular fingers and nodded silently.
“Medium the Fingernail…that’s my nickname. A hound from the greatest pack of hunting dogs in the
world. Or that’s what we were supposed to be, anyway.” Medium spoke through gritted teeth. His other
hand was wrapped in a blood-soaked cloth. His fingers had all been blown off fromtheir base.
His whole body was covered with blisters, the left side of his face particularly badly. His left eye was
shot through, and blood trickled fromboth his ears. His legs were limp and lifeless, his knees trembling.
Silently Boiled climbed into the driver’s seat. He closed the door and turned the keys that had been
left in the ignition, the gun still pointed at himall the while.
The engine revved, and Boiled spoke just loudly enough to be heard over it.
“Everyone except for you is dead.”
Medium breathed out heavily, lowering his gun, his hand flopping into his lap, as if to say that he
could no longer support its weight.
The vehicle drove off. Mediumstared at the entry wound in the back of Boiled’s right hand.
“So, this PI called Oeufcoque, he can make himself look like his employers, can he?” Medium spoke
with barely suppressed emotion.
Boiled shook his head.
“So that was actually our target, was it? That girl who fired her gun and put me in this state before I
even knew what was going on?”
“He uses special technology to strengthen his employer, enhancing their combined battle skills. It’s all
part of Mardock Scramble 09, one of the emergency measures that the Broilerhouse sometimes takes as
part of their Life Preservation Program.”
When he heard this, Medium crumpled into a weeping wreck. “We were the perfect hunting pack! And
a single bitch ruined it all…”
The gun slipped from his hand. It fell between his legs and slid underneath his seat. Medium noticed,
then stared at his own hand as if to say how pathetic. He opened and closed his fingers, lamenting even as
he did so that he no longer had the strength even to pull the trigger.
“We need to pull it back, don’t we?” Medium looked at Boiled with pleading eyes. “We men, we set
the agenda. It’s men who define what beauty is. We define society, we define war, and we even define
what is feminine—or that’s how it used to be, at least. It was men who ruled the world. The crème de la
crème, the very best. And yet—a woman, a little bitch, did this to me. We need to get our pride back. Isn’t
that right? I’mright, aren’t I?”
Eyes still on the road, Boiled nodded. It was a small but definite movement.
“That’s right. We need to get it back,” he whispered in a low voice. Great globules of tears now
pouring down his face, Medium yelled, voice trembling, “I’m going to kill you! I’ll cut you to pieces and
pass you around to everyone! Just like we all wanted! I’ll tear you to shreds and own all your body
parts!”
02
Balot was in darkness. There was no one near her. She fumbled, trying to escape. She felt that as long
as she remained there, she would be subjected to secret horrors…
As she squirmed, Balot noticed a person’s shadow.
It was the Doctor. He looked her way and took a step back.
“Wait!” She reached for himbut was only quick enough to catch hold of his patchwork gown.
“Where’s Oeufcoque?” Balot said.
Looking uneasy, the Doctor tried to push Balot back into place. As if Balot had no right to follow the
Doctor.
Just then there was a cry of pain from behind the Doctor’s back. Her heart stopped. She realized that
Oeufcoque was in another room, suffering.
“Please, let me see Oeufcoque!”
But the Doctor wore an expression of reproach, as if he blamed her for Oeufcoque’s condition.
“I want to apologize! I just want to say I’msorry! Please…” Balot pleaded.
The Doctor leaned forward, his face filled with doubt. Why? he seemed to want to ask. How come
you’re so attached to him, he’s just a mouse, his face seemed to say.
“He never told me to come out of my shell. He just took me to a warm place. He’s so kind, he’d keep
an egg nice and warmeven if it was all rotten.”
The Doctor tried to push Balot back. Balot struggled desperately to get out of his grip.
“I’m sorry. I’ll apologize. I’m sorry. I want to hear his voice. And feel him in the palm of my hand.
This time, I’ll keep my promise. I won’t do anything to hurt him. I promise.”
She pressed back against the force that was trying to pin her shoulders down. She heard Oeufcoque’s
cries of anguish in the distance, and a voice nearer to her asking why?
“I don’t want to stay here any longer! I want to be where he is!”
The Doctor suddenly let Balot go. He stood over her, like a priest taking confession. Almost as if he
were testing her.
Why was she trying to get away from there? Why was she the one who had to leave? A horribly
familiar question started to emerge, one that contained multitudes of other questions in a single question
—Why me?
And with this question, the bitter taste of the acrid smoke was revived in her mouth.
“I don’t want to die!”
Balot stood up in the darkness, yelling for all she was worth:
“I…WANT…TO…LIVE!”
And sure enough, that very instant, Balot woke up.
≡
Painfully bright white lights shone down into Balot’s eyes from the ceiling. She caught the smell of
antiseptic solution and, noticing someone next to her, twisted her body around to look. She gritted her
teeth in pain.
Her eyes fell on the figure of a young man.
He had the look of an intellectual about him but wore a cherubic smile. Thin blue veins were visible
under the skin of his white forehead. Pale blue eyes stared out at her fromunder his curly ringlets.
All of a sudden she realized that the youth was holding her hand. Reflexively she tried to shake him
off, but he let go of her first. As if he’d sensed Balot’s feelings and acted on them before she even knew
themfor herself.
The young man stood up fromthe bedside chair and stepped away fromBalot as if he were looking for
something. There was nothing he could conceivably have been searching for, though. The roomwas bare.
Other than the bed Balot was lying on and the chair that the young man had just vacated, it was an
empty room.
Everything was stowed away in the walls—it seemed like an expensive private hospital room.
Balot glanced at the door. It had an electric lock, but it was currently off. If she were to touch the panel
in front of the door, it should open. That was if the young man didn’t try and stop her first.
Perhaps he’d sensed Balot’s wariness, for the young man raised both arms in the air and shook his
head. Like a playful child. He seemed to just be interested in Balot.
It was as if he were a kid who’d just returned from his holidays, impatient to catch up with his friends
and swap all the gossip.
Watching the young man carefully, Balot raised a hand to feel what she was wearing. A hospital gown
made from insulating material—just like she’d been wearing when she first met the Doctor. The same
size, performing the same function.
The young man wore clothes of the same material as Balot. He took something from his pants pocket
and rolled it toward Balot. It stopped by her knee. The young man pointed at his ear. Balot picked up the
earphone and, staring at the young man, placed it in her right ear.
–Hello.
The earphone spoke. Balot looked at the young man in surprise.
–I heard that your snarc abilities give you an Interference Rate of over 80 percent. Really amazing!
So I thought this would be easier for you than speaking.
The young man pushed his forelocks apart. Somewhat surprisingly, Balot saw a protuberance on his
forehead, almost like the horn of a young deer.
He tapped his forehead.
–I can speak using this. And listen to what you have to say. So I don’t need earphones.
He used the same finger to roll up his sleeves and rub his upper arm.
–This is what you use to speak with. You might have a good Interference Rate, but your reception
abilities aren’t too developed yet, are they? I imagine that the best you can do is reduce a bit of
electronic data into basic audiovisual signals.
The young man grinned, head tilted to one side. Balot nodded.
–In my case, it’s not that I can’t speak, it’s just that I forget to speak. To breathe as well. So
whenever I do speak it tires me out. You can’t speak either, right?
Balot started to nod again, then stared at the young man’s mouth.
She sensed his pulse and tried to calculate his breathing patterns based on it.
–This is Paradise.
The young man waved his armin a broad circle, indicating his surroundings.
–Originally, it was the Facility for Experimental Space Strategy. Now everyone just calls it
Paradise. I think I can understand why. It’s a very peaceful place, after all.
Balot’s eyes opened wide. Not at what he said. Rather because he wasn’t breathing at all.
–My name’s Tweedledee, the young man said.
–Welcome to the birthplace of all forbidden technologies—Paradise. Rune-Balot. Looks like we’re
brother and sister.
–Can I get you anything? Tweedledee asked. He opened a compartment in the wall, reaching in to
pull out a cup.
–How about a cof ee? My mouth’s sole purpose in life is now to taste things, you see…
Balot didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure if she could trust this Tweedledee, and she had no idea where
she was now—couldn’t make up her mind about the place she was in.
And if she couldn’t make up her mind for herself then she wanted someone she could trust.
–Where’s the Doctor? Balot asked Tweedledee. She wasn’t so much snarcing him by interfering
with the currents in the air anymore; it was more like she was thinking the words at him.
–The Doctor? Oh, you mean Dr. Easter? He seems to be busy at the moment.
–Will you let me see him?
She tried to stand, but her whole body was aching. Her muscles cried out in pain. Heat compresses
were wrapped around both her wrists, with similar patches all over her body.
With a jerk, Balot thrust both legs out of the bed. There was a pair of slippers to the side of the bed,
and she struggled to reach them.
–Bruises all over. But your bones seem fine at least! Something about Balot’s condition seemed to
amuse Tweedledee.
–You really would be better of resting, you know. If you don’t like cof ee, there are plenty of other
drinks on of er—take your pick.
–I want to see the Doctor.
–What do you need him for?
–I want to speak to him. To ask him if I can trust this place—and you.
Tweedledee didn’t quite seemto understand what Balot meant.
–I can try and answer any questions you have in the meantime. But eventually he seemed to get that
this wasn’t enough for Balot.
–Dr. Easter is probably working on Oeufcoque’s maintenance at the moment. It’s just that the
other doctors might get a bit fussy about having outsiders in the lab.
–You said we were brother and sister?
Tweedledee thought about this for a while. He watched Balot put her slippers on.
–Ah, I get you, he said, smiling sweetly.
They left the room, and Balot’s eyes were assaulted by vivid green. They were on an open terrace.
One side of the corridor wall and ceiling was made out of glass, framed in steel. Beyond the glass was
the thick green foliage of closely planted trees, and through the narrow gaps between the trees she could
see that the space sloped gently downward.
Inside the thick, reinforced glass it was warm and comfortable. The sunlight beat down on Balot and
Tweedledee, casting distinctive shadows.
–I wonder if everyone on the outside is like you?
–What do you mean?
–Hmm, not sure how best to put it, Tweedledee muttered in his mind, seemingly enjoying himself. He
even enjoyed the sound of the slippers as they flip-flopped along the corridor.
–Like a know-it-all Eve.
–Eve?
–I wonder if Adam felt the same way when Eve gave him the forbidden fruit from the Tree of
Knowledge. That he just couldn’t refuse her. Regardless of what was right or wrong.
Balot leaned in toward him.
–Who are you, exactly? And what are you doing here?
–I was born severely handicapped. I probably wouldn’t have survived childhood anyway, my
parents thought, so they donated my body to research—military experiments. So I ended up in
Paradise.
–Your own parents—?
–Yup, never even seen their faces, Tweedledee said, as if he didn’t have a single worry in the world.
–Oh, and by “experiments” I’m talking about experimental procedures to give me back my bodily
functions. I was only able to start moving at all because I was brought here. And I’ve lived here ever
since. Once every three years I’m allowed outside with the doctors in order to collect data, but it’s far
more relaxing inside, to be honest.
Balot nodded. This was indeed a comforting place. There was hardly anyone around, and they were
safe and sound inside their airtight glass birdcage. There were automated vacuum cleaners built into the
lower parts of all the walls, and the air conditioning kept everything at a constant temperature and
humidity. There wasn’t a trace of dust anywhere, and the surfaces were all gleaming.
Even though she wore slippers over her bare feet and only had a robe on, she felt no chill or any sense
of discomfort. Just like when she first woke up in the former mortuary, right back at the start of the case.
This was the birthplace of all forbidden technologies—so Tweedledee told her. In other words, this
was the laboratory where Oeufcoque and the Doctor were based before they went off to become Trustees
in charge of Scramble 09 cases. Balot didn’t even hazard a guess as to why she might now be in such a
place, but rather she asked,
–Was it the Doctor who gave you that horn on your head?
She wasn’t really thinking about what she was saying.
Tweedledee’s eyes flickered, and he shook his head.
–No. My thing here just decided to grow of its own accord, something to do with the influence of
the technology used to accelerate my sensory perception.
–But the Doctor did use to work here?
–Dr. Easter is the youngest member of the team here. He’s known as the Black Sheep.
–Black Sheep?
–When it became necessary for a scapegoat to accept responsibility for the alleged war crimes, he
voluntarily put himself forward as the sacrificial lamb. Well, there were a few who had to do this, but
Dr. Easter was a special case.
–In what wayspecial?
–Out of all the researchers, he was the biggest advocate of the view that their research should be
turned over for the benefit of civilians. So, when the Three Magi put forward their proposal for
Scramble 09, he was the first volunteer. Even though he’d go straight to prison if it failed. That’s why
he’s the Black Sheep.
–Three Magi?
–The three founders of Paradise. Two of them have left, of course, so it’s just the One Wise Man at
the moment.
–The two who left set up Mardock Scramble? Balot asked, thinking that the conversation was
starting to take a strange turn. It wasn’t really hitting home that they were now talking about how she,
ultimately, was rescued just a little while ago.
–No, one of them originated the idea of Mardock Scramble, but the other one thought of a dif erent
path and opposed the abolition of the Research Facility.
–A different path?
–She founded OctoberCorp.
Balot’s footsteps stopped abruptly.
–What’s the matter?
Tweedledee looked puzzled. Balot shook her head absentmindedly. She felt as if she’d just been told
why she was killed and why she was saved all at once.
Suddenly Balot remembered what the Doctor had said right at the very start, when they first met.
OctoberCorp—whose usefulness consisted of supplying a steady stream of amusement to the denizens of
Mardock City—was his nemesis, against everything that he and Oeufcoque stood for.
Still, Balot had no idea what she was supposed to do with this information at the moment.
–Is Oeufcoque also known as a Black Sheep? Balot asked. She resumed walking.
–Nah, he’s the Golden Egg. All the other researchers at Paradise wanted a piece of him.
Tweedledee giggled.
–But all he wanted to do was get outside. And the researcher who founded Scramble 09 was also
Oeufcoque’s inventor, you see. So no one could stop him from leaving Paradise. But everyone says
they never imagined in a million years he’d end up teaming up with the Black Sheep or the Rusty Gun.
He suddenly turned to Balot as if he’d just noticed her for the first time.
–The Rusty Gun is a man that you know. Dimsdale-Boiled.
Only when he spoke his name did she actually get it.
–Sounds like you’re the one who knows everything.
Balot shrugged her shoulders, bracing herself against the pain that inevitably followed.
She was beginning to relax around this young man, so intelligent and yet so innocent. The idea of
conflict seemed to be an alien concept to this Tweedledee. He had the placid demeanor of someone who
had never been troubled by any sort of disturbances during his upbringing—and yet he wasn’t excessively
clingy or needy.
Hand on the wall, Balot moved on, dragging her whole body along with her. Her muscles were
inflamed, and in particular both her wrists were swollen. Yet Tweedledee made no effort to help her or
even to adjust his pace to match hers. He talked as he liked and walked as he liked. Not selfishly, exactly,
for every once in a while he paused to give Balot the opportunity to catch up. He showed no sign of
irritation or impatience.
He’s probably used to this , Balot thought. Tweedledee sees people in a far worse state than me on a
daily basis. That was the feeling she got fromhim.
As she was thinking this, three people emerged fromaround a corner.
All were old. A man wearing a black hat, a man in an electric wheelchair, and a woman wearing
sunglasses were in the midst of a lively conversation as they headed toward Balot and Tweedledee.
The man wearing the black hat was the first to notice Balot and Tweedledee, and stopped.
“Ah, Tweedledee, taking that young lady for a walk, are you?”
–Yes, I’m showing her around, Tweedledee informed them. All three of the elders had hearing aids
embedded in their inner ears; Tweedledee transmitted his speech directly to the devices.
The man took his hat off and bowed to Balot. Thousands of little connector terminals were planted in
his head, so many that they almost looked like a second set of hair.
“Is this young lady a new experimental candidate, Tweedledee?”
–No. She’s a client of Dr. Easter.
“Client…? From the outside world?” the man asked, puzzled. “Dr. Easter’s lab seems to have its
lights on at the moment—is he back with us? Is he conducting some unauthorized experiments on his own?
Without publishing an official code name?”
–Her name’s Balot. Rune-Balot.
“I’msure that no such code name has been registered,” the man answered.
The old woman beside him was next to speak, blue eyes twinkling behind her sunglasses. “The
regenerative metal fibers seem to suit her very well. Beautiful skin. Have you measured her Interference
Rate yet? Do you know how far she is into her threshold of consciousness?”
–She’s over 80 percent.
“How marvelous.” The old woman’s eyes and ears were fully mechanized, and her electronically
produced voice was indistinguishable fromthe real thing.
The man in the wheelchair scooted around to Balot’s flank and asked, “Is it the aftereffects of the
Lightite skin graft that makes her unable to walk straight?”
Balot shook her head. She wasn’t sure how best to answer this question.
“I think that Pod Number 3 is free at the moment. Let’s have her swim in the Sheep-Dip Craft for a
while. She hasn’t shared her data yet, has she? Her muscle pulse may have been overridden by the sudden
acceleration of her senses,” the man in the wheelchair continued, happily letting everything go right over
Balot’s head.
–She has an appointment with Dr. Easter right now.
When Tweedledee said this, the man in the wheelchair assumed a sullen expression. “And do you
have a good reason for monopolizing her data?”
–Dr. Easter said it’s because she’s a civilian.
The word civilian seemed to have a magical effect on the three old people, who drew back
immediately.
“You’ll be sure to get data that we can usefully adapt, at least?” The man in the wheelchair pressed his
point nonetheless.
Balot was bewildered by this exchange, and a sense of discomfort closed in on her.
–We have to hurry, I’m afraid. And we really don’t know much about the details.
Tweedledee spoke quickly, as if he had sensed Balot’s feelings.
“Well, we’ll file a request for data sharing. Until then, be sure not to upset your biorhythm.” The tall
man placed his hat back on his head. The old woman gave Balot a bow. “Take care of yourself, young
lady. I’d love to have tea with someone with as much aptitude as you. Tweedledee, you’ll have tea with
me, won’t you?”
–I’ll think about it.
The old woman laughed. Then the three old people fell back into their previous lively conversation
and were gone.
–You have to watch their tea parties—they go on for a while. They pile on the medication in order
to conduct their little examinations. And then there’s their biorhythmic indices and inspections…
Watching the backs of the three old people as they disappeared down the corridor, Balot thought about
how they differed fromthe Doctor.
She wouldn’t have said that they were bad people in any way. But she couldn’t imagine herself ever
becoming friendly with them.
–The Doctor tried to restore myvoice for me. Without myeven having to ask.
–Huh?
–I can’t imagine those three ever doing the same.
Tweedledee shrugged his shoulders, as if to say So what? No big deal.
But it was a big deal. Balot understood all too well why the Doctor and Oeufcoque had wanted to
leave this facility for the outside world.
They arrived at a door that was tightly shut, and Tweedledee turned around.
–You really need to see Dr. Easter right now?
–Oeufcoque’s in there too, right?
Tweedledee gave a look to say I see it all now.
–So it was Oeufcoque that you wanted to see.
Tweedledee looked at the intercomon the door.
–But he’s in the middle of maintenance at the moment. He’s lost half his body, so I wonder if he’ll
be able to speak.
His words pierced Balot to her core.
Tweedledee manipulated the intercom, snarcing it, and the signal light started flashing.
–What is it? Oh, it’s you, Tweedledee. What do you want? came the Doctor’s voice.
–Rune-Balot is awake.
–Balot?
There was a rattling commotion frominside, and by and by the door slid open sideways.
“I thought I told you to come and call me the moment Balot regained consciousness!” The Doctor
appeared in the doorway, unimpressed.
–I thought it would be quicker to bring her here directly to you. Tweedledee still spoke through the
intercom.
“She’s a civilian, you know. Officially we need special dispensation to get her permission to even
walk down the corridors…” The Doctor sighed as he pushed his spectacles back up onto the bridge of his
nose. The graphs and numbers that had been showing on his Tech Glasses—on the monitor in his
spectacles—disappeared, and his blue eyes were now fixed on Balot.
“I’ll explain why we’re all here later. Right now, I need you to rest your body.”
Balot stared back at the Doctor and asked,
–Where’s Oeufcoque?
“He’s under treatment. From me. You don’t need to worry about him.” The Doctor seemed to be
blocking Balot’s way, both physically and with his words. “Remember how you didn’t want him to see
you naked? Well, consider that he doesn’t want you to see him in his present state for very much the same
reason. Also, he’s in some sort of shock. I don’t know exactly why…but I think it’s best if you let him
alone for now, just for the time being.”
When Balot heard this she was filled with such sadness that her eyes went dark. And yet, wasn’t it
none other than Oeufcoque who had taught her not to just ignore her sadness, but to try and do something
about it?
–Oeufcoque said that we were partners…
“Well, I’mnot—”
–I want to apologize. I just want to sayI’m sorry.
The Doctor averted his eyes, troubled, and Balot took advantage of this.
–Please.
Balot slipped by him. She had read the Doctor’s movements completely.
“Hey, Balot!” Taken aback, the Doctor reached out to try and stop her, but he couldn’t even make
contact—she dodged nimbly out of his grasp.
–Even though it was such a struggle for her to walk this far…
Tweedledee was full of admiration, as if he had watched an impressive display of showmanship, and
pulled the Doctor’s armback.
–What harm can she do? She just wants to say hello.
The Doctor opened his mouth to speak but remained silent.
Balot went on into the room.
Instruments were scattered all around, and in the middle there was a cylindrical water tank. It was
about as wide as Balot, and it was full of liquid, with something unrecognizable floating on the surface.
She couldn’t tell at first glance whether this was Oeufcoque or not, but her intuition told her that it
was.
Flesh and steel spiraled out fromsomething that looked like a vivid red human embryo.
She realized in an instant that this was Oeufcoque’s body, turned inside out.
It had a gentle pulse, and it was living inside the nearly clear liquid, basking in the warmth of the red
blood swirling around the body.
Balot touched the water tank with her hand. Then she rested her forehead on it, closing her eyes as if to
pray a silent prayer.
The clumps of flesh and steel stirred. They seemed to have noticed Balot’s presence. Here and there
they started turning squishily, contracting.
Forehead still on the water tank, Balot shook her head.
The Doctor, who was watching this, turned back to Tweedledee. “Are they having a conversation?”
Tweedledee shrugged his shoulders.
–“I’m sorry I was so useless, and that I put you in danger as a result. Forgive me,” that’s what
he’s saying.
The Doctor nodded. And then?
–“I love you.”
“Oeufcoque said that?”
–No, the girl.
Tweedledee seemed amazed.
Then Balot planted a kiss on the outside of the water tank. Softly, carefully. Then she came away from
the tank and walked back toward the Doctor.
–He says he’s going to sleep for a while.
Balot raised her eyebrows, scowling.
–Will he be okay?
She knew that if she stopped scowling she’d start crying.
“It’s my job to make sure he will be.” The Doctor spoke with a serious face, pushing his glasses up
again, when Tweedledee tapped his arm.
–Hey, can I take her down to the pool? She’s scheduled to go there soon, isn’t she?
The Doctor’s face hardened somewhat. “She’s not using that until I’ve gone over a few things with
her. She’s owed an explanation. She’s going to be leaving the facility soon. Along with us.”
–I get it. You don’t want Eve to accidentally taste the forbidden fruit, right? I get it. As long as she
doesn’t have temptation placed right before her eyes, she’ll be able to resist.
03
–I don’t have to breathe, ever.
Tweedledee spoke as a school student might boast about what a fine home he came from.
–According to the doctors, I’m a Complete Individual. That’s my thing.
–A Complete Individual?
–Means I’m not dependent on my environment. That my core is even tougher than my shell—I’m
completely hard-boiled.
Clopping along in her slippers, Balot considered the meaning of these words.
Everywhere in the building seemed to be divided by glass panes. It was like being in a giant box—all
the slopes were covered in iron and concrete and glass.
Grinning, Tweedledee told Balot all about the facility and himself. Balot felt a bit like a transfer
student. As if she were supposed to be here, and indeed, were destined to stay here fromnow on.
–I don’t have to breathe. And I barely eat. Even when I do eat, all I have is a bit of light. And I
don’t even really need that.
–You don’t eat?
Balot seemed surprised again, much to Tweedledee’s obvious delight.
–My body needs to change its fluids every once in a while. The challenge is to make that exchange
as simple as possible, apparently.
–Can you taste things?
–Sure, I can taste. I can even feel hungry if I want to. By snarcing my insides, of course. But most of
the time I don’t feel anything. Back then, I thought I might taste cof ee again, as it’s been a while, and
I tried to remember what it was like to feel thirsty, but then you said you didn’t want any.
–Sorry.
She didn’t actually feel particularly apologetic—she just didn’t know what else to say.
–No worries. It’s not as if I actually needed to drink anything. I have thousands of little hard drives
embedded inside my head, so I can bring up lots of senses or tastes anytime I want.
–So it’s like you have a libraryinside your head?
Tweedledee made a funny face.
Then, he seemed to understand. Balot realized in that instant that Tweedledee had looked something up
in the dictionary inside his mind. What a library was.
–That’s right. There are lots of books and dictionaries in here. And I can replay audio and visuals
too. More or less any stimulus that can be processed by the five senses, in fact. But I try not to cram
too much in. My snarc abilities seem to suit me better. It’s dif erent with other people, of course—some
people find that the more information they’re weighed down with, the more they want to acquire
additional information… What about you? Do you want to store something inside yourself?
–No, it’s okay. When I need to use a library, I’ll go to a library.
–I wonder if you’ll be able to stop yourself from becoming like us.
–I’m not sure. I don’t really know what “like us” means.
–Complete Individuals, that’s what I’m talking about , Tweedledee said, as if that phrase explained
everything.
Eventually the glass-clad corridor came to a dead end. A sturdy electronic lock was on the door, and
Tweedledee had to submit to retina and fingerprint scans to get it to open.
The thick doors slid apart.
–Welcome to the Inner Courtyard. The heart of Paradise.
Balot stared out into an expanse of tropical rainforest. Colorful flowers and fruit spread out before
her, as far as the eye could see. She looked up and saw all sorts of trees stretching up to a high ceiling and
sensed that there was another ceiling above it, replete with an artificial lighting rig. The light felt just like
real sunlight, and there was a certain mellowness in the air. A warm breeze drifted all around, caressing
her face and clothes, making her feel extremely comfortable.
–Amazing… Balot spoke her true feelings this time. She was genuinely moved.
–It’s nice here. Tweedledee’s voice was proud, triumphant even, and he snarced the doors so that
they closed shut behind him.
A path made out of plastic divided the foliage, and Tweedledee walked down it, heading deep into the
undergrowth. Balot followed after him.
Here and there was a clearing. It looked exactly like the sort of conservation area that Balot had seen
on television and in magazines. The only difference was that there were big umbrellas in the clearing, a
bit like beach parasols, and underneath them were tables and chairs, or in some cases complicatedlooking
equipment.
They came across the trio of old people that they had bumped into earlier. The man with the hat and
the woman with sunglasses lounged back on what looked like deck chairs and were engaged in what
seemed like a lively debate with the man in the wheelchair.
They soon passed the group, and Balot followed Tweedledee deeper into the undergrowth. This really
was some room. It may have indeed been airtight, but it was such a vast space that it was a struggle for
Balot to think of it as such.
Balot suddenly realized that the path was sloping downward. They seemed to be heading underground.
But there was no trace of the damp and dark that one usually associated with the underground—this still
felt like a lush and beautiful park.
Balot noticed a number of people scattered around, lying under the bowers of the trees, all wearing
similar clothes to Tweedledee. They all had unusually pale skin, and some of them were in wheelchairs.
They all seemed content to stare up into the sky in silence.
Balot sensed something going back and forth between them, and she realized that they were all deep in
conversation.
It was a strange sight. With eyes half closed, barely even twitching, they were engaged in vigorous
conversation.
–People who’ve stopped moving, Tweedledee explained.
–Just as I forget to breathe, these people forget to move. Some of them do still want to move about
occasionally, so they use wheelchairs.
–Theycan’t walk anymore?
–Oh, I’m sure they could, if it came down to it. They just don’t really need to.
–So why are you walking about, then?
–The doctors seem to think it’s due to dif ering motivations. I wasn’t able to move when I was born,
so I must be delighted with the fact that I can move now, or something like that. Still, in time, I might
forget to walk as well.
–Are there no others here who walk?
–Oh, there are. Shall I introduce you to some of them?
–No, you’re quite enough.
She hadn’t meant it in a particularly complimentary way, but Tweedledee seemed pleased.
–Okay, well, how about I introduce you to just one other. My lover. Balot was surprised.
–Your lover?
–Yup. That’s the term I use, anyway. And vice versa. It seems a fitting term. Whenever we’re
together, we feel like sweethearts.
Tweedledee’s footsteps sped up. Balot did her best to keep pace.
Curiously, she didn’t sweat at all. It was as if the air were gently wiping her body down. Air designed
to give people a calm, pleasant feeling all over. To the extent that you never wanted to move again.
–Can you swim?
Tweedledee asked, and Balot nodded.
–Then let’s go for a swim together. It should be good for your muscles too; it’ll help get them back
to normal.
Suddenly she understood what he was talking about.
The trees opened up, and in the clearing was a giant pool carved into the greenery, an impressive
oblong pool; she could barely see the opposite shore, and the water seemed very deep.
There were no people in the vicinity of the pool, but rather lots of animals—monkeys, and a type of
rodent that Balot couldn’t quite identify—that were swimming or splashing about.
Balot knelt down to put her hand to the water. She noticed some ripples coming toward her. She
realized that they were generated to keep the water circulating. Without warning the ripples changed to
waves. The next moment a smooth blue object flew up into the air, scattering light all around. It landed
back into the water with a huge splash, spraying water all around.
Balot was soaked through. She saw the thing that had just jumped stick its snout forward.
–Who’s this, Tweedledee? Never seen it before. You brought it, did you?
The snouty-thing’s voice echoed in Balot’s earphones, much to her surprise.
–That’s right. She’s called Rune-Balot.
Tweedledee jumped into the pool. He had taken his clothes off without Balot noticing and was now
naked. There was a splash when he hit the water, spraying Balot again as she stood there.
Tweedledee swamup to the snouty-thing, gave it a big hug, and planted a kiss on its head.
–She’s Oeufcoque’s lover. I brought her here because I wanted to introduce you.
Balot hadn’t quite expected Tweedledee to introduce her in this way.
–Hey, baby. I’m Tweedledum, the thing said to her. It seemed to have nothing to hide, anyway.
–I know my name’s similar to his, but mine’s the original. After all, some of my brain cells were
transplanted into his brain.
It thrust its body out of the water and prodded her face with its pointy snout.
–So, little lady, how about a ride on my back? I’ll take you to heaven and back, baby.
Balot was a little bewildered. It was the first time she’d ever been propositioned by a dolphin.
–Hey, I’m the original! Part of my brain is transplanted in you too, don’t forget. And let’s not
forget that your linguistic consciousness is based on my language skills… Tweedledee tried to
interject, but Tweedledumhadn’t finished yet.
–Shut it, you slag! There’s no contest. You’re the one who toddles around based on my mobility
consciousness. You wouldn’t be walking without me.
–And you wouldn’t be talking without me.
Then the two turned to Balot. What do you think? Talk about being put on the spot.
Balot felt a little funny in the head, but it wasn’t the worst feeling in the world.
Above all, Tweedledee was probably the only person in the world who would introduce Oeufcoque
as her lover.
–Tweedledum, are you a girl?
Balot spoke to change the subject. Tweedledumsnorted spume fromhis nostrils.
–Hey, you’re a human, right? Don’t be so narrow-minded—you’ll end up a slave to convention. I’m
male, and this guy’s brother, and lover, and homosexual partner. We even do it all the time.
He spoke rather triumphantly, and it was hard to tell how much was true and how much was
Tweedledum’s fevered imagination.
–What are those eyes?
Not particularly wanting to pursue her line of inquiry any further, Balot changed the subject to the
metal objects that covered the space between Tweedledum’s brow and cheeks. They looked like giant
dolphin sunglasses.
–They’re neat, huh? Wanna try on a pair yourself, babe? Tweedledum answered, rather unhelpfully,
but Tweedledee shrugged his shoulders and answered Balot’s question properly.
–They’re for access—an auxiliary function. They can act as visual organs too, but we don’t really
need to rely on our sense of sight in the first place.
–Access?
–This pool is a giant computer terminal.
–What do you mean?
–Why don’t you come for a swim too? Then you’ll see for yourself. Balot seemed to have fallen into
a pattern of doing whatever the two wanted. She thought about it for a second, then sat down at the edge of
the pool. She lowered her legs into the water and immediately felt convinced that she wouldn’t drown.
Balot plunged into the water, as invited. It was wonderfully clean water—transparent and soft. It was
a little bit on the chilly side, but even this felt like a good thing, appeasing the inflamed bruises that
covered her body.
She immersed her whole body in water, then bobbed around, sticking her head above the surface.
Tweedledee looked at the emerging face of Balot with an odd expression.
–The doctors get a bit fussy when we get our clothes wet, so best you take them of , you know.
–I’m fine as I am. If I want to take them off, I’ll take them off.
Suddenly Tweedledum was underneath her, lifting her up. It was the first time she had ever been on a
dolphin’s back. Her body floated up and slid along the surface as if she were running.
Her shoulders relaxed unconsciously. If her voice had worked, she’d be laughing loudly by now.
–Hold on tight, baby. I’ll show you this pool’s true colors.
Tweedledumwas on a natural high.
–Welcome to the other ocean!
At this moment in time, Balot had no idea that before long this would lead directly on to the next stage
of her case. All she was concerned about for the time being was closing her mouth. For Tweedledum had
just plunged underwater. Tweedledee was by their side, swimming like a fish.
Balot opened her eyes, but they could see only a small part of her surroundings, so she sensed them
instead. They were indeed in some sort of computer terminal. Wireless communication equipment was
growing out of one of the walls and the floor. And spread out before her was a vast, deep ocean. She
realized that she was confronted with the gateway to a giant sea of electronic data.
–Take me back up!
She wasn’t sure how much longer her breath would last, and started to panic.
–Right away, missy, brought to you in style! Tweedledum said with a flourish, starting the ascent in
his own inimitable style. It wasn’t a sudden ascent, but rather a careful and steady climb that took Balot’s
body into account. It could indeed have been described as a stylish ascent.
They reached the surface, and Balot drew a deep breath, pushing her wet hair out of her face.
–Scary, dark, and big. She voiced her first impressions of the pool.
Tweedledumgave another great snort fromhis nostrils.
–It’s like Spaceship Earth herself; mostly water, there to be experienced and lived in. This is the
key to transmitting data to almost anywhere in the world. You can swim almost anywhere, as long as
you have permission.
Then Tweedledee emerged, floating face-up on the surface of the water.
–Not that anyone’s been given permission over the last ten years, right, Tweedledum?
–Still, we’re free to splash about in Paradise’s database as much as we like. Shall we head back
down, babe?
–I’m okayfor now, thanks. I’m not sure my breath will hold up.
Balot gently pushed away fromTweedledum, heading backward in the water.
She tried to swim on her own but found herself tangled up in her clothes. She tried to take them off,
turning around as she did so. Suddenly some air escaped from her mouth—her earphone was about to
dislodge, and, flustered, she tried to hold its clasp in place. Tweedledum moved in swiftly to prop her
body up, helping to keep her afloat. Balot stripped off her sodden clothes, and Tweedledee collected
them, spreading themout neatly by the side of the pool for her.
Balot wasn’t wearing any underwear. Fully nude now, she entrusted her naked body to the water. It
was as if all her aches and pains had dissolved into the pool. She felt no anxiety, no awkwardness.
Neither of the other two made any effort to touch her body unnecessarily. They didn’t even seem
particularly interested in it.
Tweedledum appeared to be constantly accessing the database, picking up pieces of information and
passing themon to Tweedledee, laughing, flirting, even.
Both Tweedledee’s and Tweedledum’s bodies appeared to be covered in scars. Fragments of metal
and plastic also seemed to be protruding fromvarious parts of their bodies—chest and sides in particular.
To the extent that you could say that their bodies were almost mangled. And yet neither of them seemed
remotely self-conscious about these modfications—they didn’t seemto be bothered in the slightest.
Balot watched the two of themfrolicking about and thought about what Tweedledee had said.
The Complete Individual, swimming though an electronic ocean. A complete world—like an egg. This
jungle, in its airtight chamber, was designed to be detached, kept apart, from something. But what? She
couldn’t tell.
The duo’s laughter permeated the jungle. The laughter of those untroubled by the threat of the outside
world—or of decay fromwithin.
To realize the dreamof sunny side up—a life without trouble, without consequence—and to eventually
arrive at a state of such tranquillity that you no longer needed to move. Balot wasn’t sure whether to be
envious or scornful of such a lifestyle.
All of a sudden she yearned to speak to Oeufcoque and the Doctor. She wanted them to tell her what
she ought to do. But, as they weren’t here right now, she guessed that it would be up to her to work that
out for herself.
So, as she swamalong, she tried to think as the Doctor and Oeufcoque would think.
The Doctor and Oeufcoque would be brainstorming, thinking up various strategies as to how best to
proceed. What would those strategies be, those threads of ideas? This was a competition, and a game. At
one end of those threads was the man called Shell. Shell was trying to protect something, and that was
why he’d had Boiled and the assassins pull on their end of the thread…
Suddenly, it dawned on Balot—there was something she needed to find.
–Hey, do you think that we’d be able to get permission for me to use this pool?
Tweedledee was taken aback.
–Gosh, I didn’t think Eve was going to ask to eat the forbidden fruit of her own accord!
The Doctor’s words came flooding back to Balot. She’s not using that until I’ve gone over a few
things with her. She’s owed an explanation. Balot realized that the Doctor must have been talking about
the computer terminal in the pool. And she knew in an instant what exactly it was that she would be using
it for.
–What are you going to look up?
Tweedledumwas excited now.
–There’s this man who’s hidden his past. I want to know where it is.
–Past? Whose past?
–A man called Shell-Septinos. An employee at OctoberCorp.
Tweedledee and Tweedledumturned to each other.
–What shall we do?
–You should go call the Professor, Tweedledee. I don’t want to end up disposed of just for opening
up an outside line without of icial clearance, you know.
–You’re right.
Tweedledee pushed up against the ledge of the pool and jumped out.
He brushed the water off his body and slipped into his pants.
–Wait here, Balot. I’ll introduce you to the god of Paradise.
He headed off straight back into the rainforest, leaving Balot behind.
Balot swamwith Tweedledumas they waited for Tweedledee’s return.
As she gave herself up to the water, her medicinal compresses began peeling off, and even the
bandages on her wrists started to come loose. Eventually all her bandages started floating to the surface,
and before long they were swallowed up by small contraptions at the edge of the pool that looked like
miniature garbage disposal chutes.
It truly was a well-designed pool. The water was maintained at a perfect temperature, and it was kept
constantly clean.
–What did Tweedledee mean by “god of Paradise”?
–Oh, just that he’s easy to anger—the wrath of god and all that.
Then Balot heard laughter. Through her earphone, but also with something at the back of her mind,
using her interference abilities, her snarc. It was almost like telepathy. And it seemed to be unaffected by
whether she was on the surface of the water or underneath it.
–He’s the Supreme Warden of all of Paradise’s creatures—that’s one of his titles, anyway. If I said
that he was one of the Three Magi, would that ring a bell?
–I heard that the Three Magi made this place…but I don’t know the details.
–Not to worry, babe, all will be revealed shortly, Tweedledum said as if to say that was the end of
the matter, and dived below Balot. Her body was lifted up, and Tweedledum’s head appeared right in
front of her, nostrils flaring.
–Are you the only one who lives here, Tweedledum?
–Nah, there’s plenty of others, but I’m the best value. Should I call the rest here? Some of them are
at death’s door, though.
–It’s okay. I don’t really want anyone to die on my account.
Tweedledumlaughed again.
–Not many of the others can really speak like me, anyway. It probably wouldn’t be much fun.
–The others—are they all dolphins too?
–The majority, yeah, but not all. There’s also whales, but they’re too big to make it into this
section. There’s also sharks and orcas, but they’re in the minority, and they’re blocked from entering
here, so don’t you worry. I don’t really get on with those guys, truth be told. Tweedledee is pretty good
at handling them, though.
Balot was clinging to Tweedledum’s back now, and she snarced Tweedledum’s silver sunglasses
directly.
–You know Oeufcoque, right?
–Yeah, I know him. He was here up until about six years ago. He’s just like me, a creature that was
created to order on commission from the military.
–Did you get along with him?
–I got along with him well enough, yeah. I have no problems with that type of person. He’s a good
egg. Handy having him around too. He’s not perfect, of course, plenty of character flaws, but basically
I’d say he’s a good choice for a lover, babe.
–It’s onlyyou two who refer to him in that way.
–What do you mean?
–He doesn’t seem to think of me in that way.
–Unrequited love, is it?
Balot didn’t answer for a long time. Eventually Tweedledumbroke the silence with a cheerful laugh.
–Well, he’s a half-baked little thing, always indecisive and wishywashy. “I might only be a little
mouse, but I’m a thinking mouse,” that’s the sort of thing he used to bellow. He’d do well to chill out a
little.
–He finds it hard to tell a lie.
–Yeah, his species snif s out emotions through body odor, Tweedledum said frankly, as if that
explained everything. Seeing that it didn’t, he shook his head and continued.
–He doesn’t even really understand what it is to tell a lie. That’s what makes him so awkward and
indecisive. What a guy to fall for, right? Well, you’ll have plenty of time to work it out. It’ll test your
patience, though.
Balot laughed in spite of herself. She’d never thought the day would come that she would listen to a
dolphin giving her advice on how to love a mouse. The whole world had gone crazy—but was none the
worse for it. The world had always been a crazy place, and it might as well go that extra mile and get it
over with.
My reality is just that—my reality. As she thought this, she relaxed, and her emotions seemed to
extend even further. Not that they hadn’t been spreading before, but now she felt that they had finally
reached her heart. She was thawing.
–I did a terrible thing to Oeufcoque.
–Hey, where did that come from?
Tweedledumslowed down, surprised.
–I used him so hard that I ended up abusing him. And even then, he protected me to the bitter
end.
–Okay, I get it now. He’s back here for maintenance because of—
–Because of me. I’m the one who made Oeufcoque suffer like that.
–Well, he’s half immortal. You don’t need to worry too much.
–Immortal? He won’t die?
Balot was astonished. Tweedledumlaughed and returned to the side of the pool.
–He has a multidimensional body. When his body’s injured in one dimension, it can be repaired
from another dimension. That’s the great advantage of a Living Unit. He won’t die unless you blow
him to pieces in all the dif erent dimensions, or crush the nucleus of his life. He does have a life span,
though.
–Life span?
–Yeah, that’s the weak point of a Living Unit. All living creatures die sometime. As a matter of
course. That’s the first principle of this sort of unit. And that’s what’s so remarkable about Oeufcoque.
–What do you mean?
Balot felt startled, and she grabbed onto the ledge to steady herself. She stared at Tweedledum, feeling
that the conversation was entering dangerous territory.
–Obesity.
Tweedledum’s voice was curiously meek.
–Mice gain weight all through their natural lives. They grow bigger and bigger. Can’t help it—
something to do with their metabolism, So, even if you use longevity-enhancing procedures, as long as
the weight issue remains, sooner or later they end up crushed to death by their own body mass.
However much you try shunting your weight of into dif erent dimensions, in the end you can’t
outsmart Mother Nature.
–A disease? And is there no cure?
–Not sure you can really call it a disease, babe. More like the inevitable course of nature. That’s
why, according to Oeufcoque, he first felt the need to leave this place—when he first had his intimation
of mortality, as he put it.
–What does that even mean?
Tweedledumstopped for a moment.
–Ah, who knows? It’s not as if I’m ever even going to be leaving this place. Ask him yourself, why
don’t you?
Balot nodded, realizing that she’d touched on a sensitive subject. But she couldn’t stop herself from
asking:
–What about you—have you ever wanted to leave this place?
She regretted asking the question as soon as the words had been transmitted. Tweedledum lifted his
face into the air.
–How would I live?
Balot couldn’t answer. Indeed, it wasn’t really a question that Tweedledum was asking—rather, he
was giving an answer. It hit home sharply. But Tweedledumcontinued in a gentler vein.
–I have this ocean. I have peace, and I have plenty of stimulation and excitement. Maybe
everything’s an experiment, but there’s a certain pride in knowing that my existence is , in and of itself,
at the forefront of cutting-edge research. And, above all, I have Tweedledee. Nah, babe, I can’t leave
here, but I also wouldn’t want to, even if I could. But what about you, eh? Why don’t you settle down
here? With your Oeufcoque.
–What, me…?
–The outside is just full of danger, right? Locking out the outside world—that’s one way to ensure
that life thrives.
But Balot ever so gently shook her head. She whispered back,
–I made mychoice. To live outside the shell—to survive.
–I get it…
And then Tweedledum cried out for the first time. A fine, pure cry that seemed to squeeze Balot’s
chest tight.
–I wonder what the real ocean’s like…
She heard his words just as clearly as she heard his keening cry.
–They’re back, babe.
Tweedledum spoke, and Balot rested her upper body on the ledge of the pool, sensing Tweedledee
coming toward themthrough the forest.
She thought that he was supposed to be bringing somebody with him to introduce to her, but he seemed
to be on his own, carrying a boxlike object. A large one. From a distance it looked something like a
birdcage.
–Hi, sorry to keep you waiting.
Soon Tweedledee was back with them, smiling.
Balot went to pull herself out of the water with both arms, but her body suddenly became stiff.
Tweedledee was indeed carrying a birdcage. Or at least something that looked just like one.
And inside it was a human head.
Tweedledee stopped walking and stood still. He was still grinning, evidently enjoying Balot’s
surprise.
The face inside the cage had the same expression.
“Hello, Rune-Balot. I’m the Supreme Warden of Paradise,” said the face inside the birdcage. He was
a man, on the old side of middle aged. His bright white hair was cleanly cropped, and he was closely
shaven. His slender face was etched with deep wrinkles, but he had a refined, gentle expression. The only
thing that was at all odd about him was the fact that he didn’t seem to have any body parts other than his
head.
“Everyone calls me Professor. Professor Faceman, that is. Quite an appropriate name for someone in
my present state, don’t you think? Some people go one step further and call me Facemanin-the-Cage.
Which is truer still, wouldn’t you say?”
Balot had forgotten about even her own nakedness and was staring at the Faceman-in-the-Cage, as he
put it.
“Table!” Faceman ordered. Doing as he was told, Tweedledee interfered with—snarced—the ground
by the poolside, and a white plane emerged, folding out to take the formof a round table.
Tweedledee placed the birdcage on the table. Then he undressed again, quickly. His role now
complete, he jumped straight back into the pool without a moment’s hesitation.
Faceman watched, a serene smile on his lips, and then spun around slowly in his cage to face Balot.
Balot slipped back into the pool without thinking.
“Try snarcing my cage. We should be able to converse.”
–Yes, sir, Balot replied reflexively. Faceman laughed indulgently.
Balot felt Tweedledee splashing about behind her, but her eyes remained fixed on Faceman.
“I’ve taken the liberty of examining your data. Such wonderful aptitude. But if it’s left unchecked, the
technology you’ve had implanted in you is likely to have an influence on your maturity, your emotional
well-being. Have you noticed yourself becoming overstressed because of this?”
Balot shook her head. Without realizing it, she was touching her throat and the surrounding area on her
neck.
She was trying—not very successfully—to imagine what it would be like to have a body that didn’t
continue below the neckline.
“Well, it might have made you feel bad, at least. Access to all your battle data stored up inside
Oeufcoque-Penteano—those were my terms for your use of the facility.”
–Terms? Even as Balot spoke, she put two and two together.
–So you’re healing Oeufcoque’s injuries in exchange for information about me?
“Exactly. Hasn’t Dr. Easter explained all this to you?”
–No, he’s been too busytreating Oeufcoque…
But she wasn’t about to get downhearted because of this. After all, Oeufcoque’s injuries—and
everything else—were her fault in the first place. She was determined to do anything to help Oeufcoque
recover.
“I wonder if I could have a look at how your transplanted metal fiber is doing?”
Faceman only had to ask, and Balot was out of the pool, showing himher body.
It wasn’t at all like when she used to have to do this when she was on the job. Rather, it was like
receiving a medical examination froma doctor.
“You’re still in puberty, I see. And so there are places where the fibers aren’t fully fixed yet, in order
to anticipate any future growth spurts. Splendid. A most appropriate measure. It looks like we have no
worries on this front.”
Balot stood still, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
“I was most impressed by the results of the analysis of your data—how tough you are. There was a
time when we had to put an inordinate stress on military developments, you see. It wasn’t a particularly
pleasant period, but even so, we had our targets, something to work toward. Your very existence is a
work of art, as far as I’m concerned. Exquisite—and tenacious. You’re unique, a one and only, formed by
a happy coincidence of a number of factors all falling into place—or would you rather I didn’t talk about
you in such terms?”
In all honesty, no, she didn’t particularly like it. She’d had all sorts of unpleasant experiences since
she was first treated like an object.
But then Faceman—still smiling his gentle smile—continued in a different vein, asking, “Oh, but this
is rather unfair—a one-sided exchange of data. Is there anything you want to ask about me in return?”
Balot was a little perplexed. She’d never asked anyone why they were only a head before and wasn’t
quite sure what the correct etiquette was. In the end, she ended up asking in a roundabout way.
–Is Faceman your real name, sir?
“No, it’s my nickname in the lab. My real name’s Charles Ludwig. But there’s no one who refers to me
as such anymore—including myself. As far as I’m concerned, I’m one of my own research subjects.
Although that could just be an excuse for my longevity measures, to keep myself alive for as long as
possible, I suppose.”
–Longevity?
“I had a few cancers gnawing away at my body, you see. The only thing to do was to get rid of it once
and for all,” Faceman told her, as if he were talking about a routine everyday operation. “Having said
that, we probably could have saved my body using some of the technologies we developed here—but I
decided that my appearance now was more appropriate for me. You see, in addition to supervising the
whole of the facility, I’m in charge of a number of different research projects. Twenty bodies wouldn’t be
enough to withstand all the exhausting work that I’d have to put myself through. And if no body would be
strong enough, I decided I’d rather have no body at all and stick to being the headquarters, literally as
well as metaphorically—even if it’s a bit of a strained metaphor…”
–But isn’t it inconvenient?
Balot asked without really thinking, but Faceman just smiled proudly. “What do you think this cage is
for? The wiring isn’t just some handicraft, you know. It’s cutting-edge technology that creates ideal air
conditions. Every single wire filters out impurities—keeping the air inside fresh—and they also regulate
the temperature and humidity. Even as we speak, subtle vibrations are flowing through the air, cleaning
off my dead skin, purifying my surfaces, helping me to maintain a healthy metabolism. Far more agreeable
than using your hands to clean your face with soap and water. On top of that, the two-inch-thick base of
the cage has electronic interference capabilities, life-support systems, a gravity device, a hard disc with
all relevant data, communications equipment, shock-absorbency devices—even self-defense mechanisms
—everything you can think of, all built in.”
It was quite a fluent exposition. Balot could almost imagine his chest jutting out in pride as he reeled
off the list, and the incongruity made it hard for Balot to suppress a rising smile.
And then it was Faceman’s turn to cast a mischievous glance at the table. She realized that he had
interfered, snarced it. A silver object emerged frombelow the table, taking the formof a pipe chair.
“Do have a seat.”
Balot did as she was told. But it didn’t feel like she was being ordered about. Rather, it seemed like
Faceman was genuinely enjoying her company.
“I enjoy watching you—you’re a walking, talking reminder of just how gifted Dr. Easter is. But…you
know, there was a time when he—and everyone else at the facility—was repudiated by society. I’m sure
that Dr. Easter has told you all about it…”
–“Everything turned topsy-turvy.” Balot quoted the words the Doctor had once said to her.
–What exactly happened then, sir?
“The Commonwealth government placed certain constraints on our scientific and technological
research programs. Many of our discoveries were used in the Continental War, and they were too
successful—they wreaked all sorts of havoc. This inevitably had an influence on the city’s decision to
restrict our postwar research. The idea of using our technology on civilians was regarded with deep
suspicion—prone to cause social unrest—and our experiments were declared dangerous.”
–Who decided all this?
“People. Many of the people living in this city. And, with our future at stake, we at the facility decided
that we needed to take drastic measures. So the Three Magi—myself included—all came up with our
respective plans.”
–Three Magi…?
Faceman responded to Balot’s murmur with a silent smile and nod. “One of us appealed to the
potential usefulness of the forbidden technology to society, and pushed the Scramble 09 bill through, got
the Broilerhouse to recognize it. The same law that allows you to live right now—and permits Dr. Easter
and Oeufcoque their continued existences.”
–You said “one of us.” Which one?
“He left this world not long after the bill passed. Murdered.”
Balot’s eyes opened wide.
“By the hand of assassins hired by one of the other Three Magi. She suggested that the technology
developed here should be made to perform a different sort of usefulness for society—one that met the
needs of the city far better than Mardock Scramble 09. By providing pleasure and amusement, legal or
illegal.”
–OctoberCorp…
Faceman nodded. Balot felt that she was starting to understand why the Doctor called OctoberCorp his
nemesis. The man who had given him, and Oeufcoque, their raison d’être—he’d been murdered by them.
–But how did the quarrel ever get that far? You used to be friends, right?
“The dispute started over differences in thought as to what constituted usefulness for society. This
wasn’t your ordinary laboratory debate; each one of us ended up staking our very existences on our
views. In particular, it was inevitable that the Scramble 09 faction—with its insistence on legal validity
at all costs—would end up clashing with OctoberCorp, with its ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ approach to law.
They were now both in a dilemma, forced to fight each other for the right to survive, whether they wanted
to or not. Even now, although the influence of the Three Magi has long since waned, the protégés continue
the struggle wherever they can.”
–Is the person who founded OctoberCorp still alive?
“She’s alive. She’s nominally still the director of OctoberCorp. But her condition isn’t so different
frommine. She’s completely paralyzed, apparently, with only a portion of her brain still functioning.
–And what about the last of the Three Magi?
Balot barely dared ask. But Faceman just smiled as calmly as ever and said, “The last of the Three
Magi put forward the solution that was most favored by society, by the people of Mardock City. That is to
say, complete isolation of all research.”
–Isolation?
“That’s right. A total blockade. All research and trials to be completed within the facility and then
kept here. Our data never leave the facility. The civil authorities accept us—with strings attached, of
course—and even provide funding so that we can continue.”
–Staying here, forever?
“That’s right. This is the eternal Inner Courtyard. We call ourselves scientists, but really we’re wild
beasts who’ve voluntarily chosen to enter a cage—as a condition of our continued survival.” Faceman
laughed from within his birdcage. “Paradise doesn’t turn away visitors from the outside world. But
whenever a visitor comes, it has to be under a strict set of conditions. Break those conditions and it’s
punishable under Commonwealth law. And the most important condition of all is…no unauthorized use of
this equipment here to try and contact the outside world. Violating this condition is a felony.”
Balot digested these words.
Faceman’s gray eyes were fixed on Balot. He had evidently given his reply to Balot’s request to use
the computer terminal that was this pool.
But there had to be more to his reply—a qualification. Balot was convinced of this.
–But I think that the Doctor wants me to use this thing.
“Yes, and we’ve already received his proposal, Rune-Balot. If truth be told, I’m deeply interested in
seeing just how good you are at utilizing this Parallel Transmission Core.” So saying, he glanced at the
pool and whispered, “It’s down to Scramble 09.”
As ever, as if this phrase held all the answers.
“The moment you use this Transmission Core is the moment you become a suspect for premeditated
criminal conduct against the Commonwealth. But if we can prove that your actions are in no way criminal
but rather a measure to preserve your life, then we should be able to dispel that suspicion.”
–I understand.
“But there’s no reason to put you at any sort of further risk. You’re the Concerned Party in this case,
and you should leave it all to Dr. Easter and Oeufcoque to solve.”
–I just feel that if I don’t do something myself, I’ll end up getting killed.
“Not if you remain here.” Faceman spoke in a voice so gentle that it was almost cruel. “This place is a
true closed environment—far safer and more pleasant than any prison.”
Balot nodded repeatedly. She understood Faceman’s thoughts, his ideology. But it wasn’t what she
wanted, not fromthe Doctor or Oeufcoque.
–Oeufcoque told me that he’d think about what it meant to live together, with me.
“By ‘live together,’ I’m assuming that you’re referring to how you adapt to society? Well, whether you
choose the Mardock Scramble 09 path or the OctoberCorp path, you’re still throwing yourself into the
diseased core of society. After all, a civilian with fancy technology is still a civilian…”
–Oeufcoque and the Doctor saved mylife, Balot answered back, pressing her case.
–I think that I can change. Because of those people.
“Yes, but it won’t be more than a partial change—a personal transformation, if you like. What
humanity needs is fundamental reform. Paradise may be closed off to the masses at the moment, but I
firmly believe that one day it will be the model for all mankind. The world will join us in Paradise. This
place is the pinnacle of technology and ideology, after all.”
Balot was silent. She had never thought about the world in quite such terms before.
“There’s something that Oeufcoque once said to me. That he would die one day. And in realizing this
fact, he had felt a sense of identity for the first time—the thing that psychologists call the ego. That’s why
he needed to do something. The budding sprouts of self-fulfillment—it wouldn’t have been fair for anyone
to try and stop him,” Faceman said in a soft tone. “But we…we’re like actors who haven’t learned their
lines yet—who don’t even have a script. In our harsh reality, improvisation is the order of the day. We
don’t know how the plot is meant to unfold, and there’s no director standing in the wings ready to prompt
us. We’re just thrown straight on stage and left to get on with it—and this is what we’re told. Live. Until
you die. That’s the wild for you. We may be social creatures, but we’re still wild animals. But we don’t
have to live lives of improvisation forever. We need a world that frees people from the pressure of
constantly having to improvise. A world like this one, Paradise. That is what it means to be civilized.”
Then he looked straight at Balot with his gentle eyes. “In time, as your body starts to mature, your
natural aptitude for your abilities will have a strong influence on your mental development. It could even
drive you to the brink of madness. If that happens, will society as we know it be there to save you?”
Balot pondered this question for a moment. Her answer came to her much quicker than she had
expected.
–At the beginning I was so scared of becoming the Concerned Party for this case. Now, though,
it feels like the right decision, and I’m glad I made it. Society might not be able to rescue me. But it
did at least show me that there was such a thing as a path to salvation.
“As the victim in the case? You fight in order to request permission from society for your own
existence?”
Balot nodded and then shook her head a split second later, as if to contradict herself. Both were her
true feelings.
–I used to be a victim, an object. I was always under the influence of some exterior force. Of
someone or something. And, in the end, I was killed for it. But fortunately I was brought back and
became a survival case. So if I’m offered the opportunity to help with some other case, one with
nothing to do with Shell or OctoberCorp, to be the one to solve it, then I’d like to take it.
Faceman smiled benignly, as if he were a priest listening to confession from one of his flock. “So,
you’re prepared to be in the same position as Oeufcoque and the Doctor, are you? You know that if you
fail to solve your cases, your very existence is likely to be seen as a threat to society?”
–I understand, sir.
“Very well, then. As long as we get our valuable samples of your precious data, you go ahead and
swimanywhere you like within the pool. We will just sit and observe your criminal acts.”
–Yes, sir.
“Tweedledumshould brief you on how to use the Transmission Core.”
–Thank you verymuch.
Balot was genuinely grateful. She realized that the bargain that she’d just struck was a big one, with
her own life at stake. Curiously, though, she felt neither fear nor agitation. All she could think was that she
had done the obvious thing.
Suddenly there was the sensation of another person approaching the pool.
Dr. Easter approached, combing his tie-dyed hair upward.
He had the impatient look of someone waiting for a conversation to come to an end.
“Ah, Dr. Easter. I’ve just been listening to the valuable opinions of your client.”
“Professor…we’re most grateful for your cooperation.”
“Will you sojourn here for long, do you think?”
“Sadly, we have work to be getting back to…”
“Important work, no doubt?”
“Yes.”
The Doctor then turned to Balot. “I’ve finished my maintenance work on Oeufcoque.”
Balot searched for something to snarc so that she could reply, but while she was looking the Doctor
carried on. “So, it looks like the Professor has put you in the picture?”
Balot nodded.
Faceman smiled. “She seems to have made up her mind to taste of the Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge,
Dr. Easter.”
The Doctor was a little hesitant now. “I don’t want you to end up as an outlaw from the
Commonwealth, of course. Your use of the Transmission Core will be under my name. All you need to do
is work on finding Shell’s weak spot, whatever it is.”
–That’s fine. I want you to show me how you guys do battle, Balot answered, as Faceman permitted
her to speak through his cage.
And then Balot realized for the first time that she was fully naked.
In a fluster, she scrabbled around for her clothes, but they were nowhere to be seen, and the Doctor
took off his gown and placed it over her shoulders.
Faceman whispered, “And the eyes of Eve were opened, and she knew that she was naked.”
04
Eden and Sodom both at once: such was the night view of the postwar boomtown that spread out
across the base of the rolling hills on the North Side of Mardock City.
It was a glittering pleasure garden to the peace activists, and the media folk and the materialistic
youths—known collectively as the postwar generation—and it was vice personified for the war
generation to whomhaving a son in the navy was the ultimate, most glorious social virtue.
Rich and poor alike poured into the city from the provinces, even from the Commonwealth’s capital
city seventy miles to the north, all aiming for this little region on the slopes, seeking work or pleasure.
The skyscraper hotels that stood halfway up the hills epitomized the thriving prosperity of the postwar
years, and at the same time seemed to lord it over the regions below.
Inside one of the hotel rooms was Boiled. A room equivalent to economy class in a passenger plane.
From the fortieth floor down were lots of single rooms filled with people who looked after the needs of
guests staying on the more luxurious upper floors.
It was in one such room that Boiled was taking a shower, washing himself from his head down,
watching blood sluice off his body and down the drain.
The back of his right hand was peppered with holes and spilling blood. Bullets had pierced his hand
cleanly and come out the other side, unlike the bullets in his arm that were now lodged inside him. He
placed his mouth to the area of skin around his wounds and sucked the blood out. Along with the blood
came a hard object.
He spat the hard thing out in the bathtub. A bullet. He rinsed his blood-soaked mouth out with water
fromthe shower. Squashed bullets and fragments of steel rolled across the bottomof the bathtub.
There was a toilet next to the bathtub, and on top of the cistern were a butter knife and fork from the
room, both covered in blood, trailing red lines across the white porcelain.
Boiled had used these to pry shrapnel fromof his body.
Boiled closed his eyes and flexed his muscles one by one, to check that they were all still working
properly.
After a while, he slowly opened his eyes, picking up each metal fragment one by one, then he turned
the shower off and got out of the bathtub and stood in front of the sink.
The fogged-up mirror showed a faint reflection of his body—a rippling torso of living, breathing iron.
There were also a number of wounds in his chest and stomach.
Boiled placed every last fragment of steel in the trash can, patted his wounds down with a towel, and
applied antiseptic lotion before taking some pills that promoted accelerated skin growth. He applied
gauze to the open wounds and wrapped himself in bandages and dressings as necessary. No blood seeped
out anymore. The wounds were, once again, just wounds. Nothing to worry about.
He exited the bathroom, dried himself off, and put his clothes on. He strapped a holster to his side,
picking up his gun in his hands. He passed it back from left to right a number of times, double-checked
that it was fully loaded with bullets, then slid the revolver away in its holster.
He strapped his wristwatch on and had his special-order jacket in his hands when the telephone rang.
He lifted the receiver.
–Boiled?
Shell’s voice.
“Speaking.”
–Come up to my room, will you? There’s something I want to show you.
He sounded happy. There was laughter in the background. The melodious voice of a woman.
“I’ll be right there.” Boiled put the phone down, left the room, and boarded an elevator. The buttons
on the inside panel ran only as far as the fortieth floor, and Boiled took out a card from his pocket and
slotted it into the space below the panel.
The display light for the sixty-sixth floor appeared automatically, and the elevator ascended.
When he stepped out of the elevator, Boiled was confronted with a scene far removed from the
previous one.
The corridors were wide, decorated in shades of blue. The carpet was plush and soft, dampening any
footfall to near silence.
The crystal chandeliers twinkled, giving off a fine light that seemed to blend seamlessly into the clean
air.
The walls were dotted with paintings—valuable enough that there would have been plenty of people
glad even for just their frames.
Boiled stood in front of the door he’d come for. He knocked using the brass knocker—antique, analog,
no cheap digital electronic intercom here—and the door opened immediately to reveal Shell in a smart
suit.
“Come in, Boiled!” He smiled sharply and beckoned for Boiled to enter.
A pleasant voice bubbled forth fromthe adjoining room.
“Over here! Come and have a look at this!”
They entered the bedroom, where a girl was bouncing up and down on a double bed, giggling. She
looked to be about twenty. Her blonde hair had probably been arranged neatly at some point in the
evening, but now it was straggled across her face.
The woman saw the two entering and stopped laughing. Standing on top of the bed, she cried out
—Ah!—in a loud voice, as if to tell themsomething. Watching this, Shell burst into a low chuckle himself.
“A proper airhead,” he said, and sat down on the sofa. “Let me introduce you. This is Ms. Octavia,
aka Ms. Eyes Wide Shut—the hidden shame of a famous family. She’s the daughter of one of
OctoberCorp’s directors, but she’s not quite up to the task… In other words, she’s defective goods and
won’t ever find a buyer. Her existence was supposed to have been top secret, but I discovered her and let
the cat out of the bag, and now I get to keep her.”
The girl shouted something through her laughter. It could have been the name of a TV show, or some
snacks that she wanted, or even a person’s name—neither Shell nor Boiled had any idea what she had just
said or what she wanted.
“She’s the physical embodiment of my business plan. I borrowed her for about half an hour so that you
could see her face. My glorious wife!”
“When’s the ceremony?” asked Boiled.
“We sign contracts at the end of the month. It would have been earlier too, if it hadn’t been for that
pesky trial.”
Then Shell’s tone of voice changed, just as when a comedian suddenly turned to a serious part of his
set. “By the way, Boiled—on another matter, I seem to remember I’d asked you to take care of a little
business for me.”
Eyes still fixed on the girl, Boiled answered softly. “There was more to it than I imagined.”
“More than you imagined? How?” asked Shell.
“They’re using every trick up their sleeve to obstruct us. They’ve fortified their client; she’s battleready.
We should now think of her as another member of the opposition, not just as a civilian.”
“What does all that mean?”
“She’s now a competent adversary,” said Boiled.
“You make it sound like you’ve been in a war!”
“Not that far off, actually.”
Boiled turned fromthe girl to Shell. Shell’s expression had changed completely.
“Well, then, let’s have some battlefield reports from the mighty Mr. Boiled!” Shell’s eyes were tinged
with a harsh light.
“I wounded an opposition PI. I know where he’s being treated. I’ll be heading there shortly.”
“Marvelous. You’ll be the nuclear warhead that blasts them to pieces. And you’ll also tidy up the
mushroomcloud and the black rain that falls afterwards, right?”
“Except there’s one thing that’s somewhat unusual.”
“Unusual? Give it a break,” Shell waved his hand dismissively, but behind his angry face there was a
glimpse of a different emotion peeking through. “Everything’s unusual these days. The girl that should
have died in my dreams is alive, accusing me of crimes that I can’t even remember committing. I’m in the
middle of a huge deal and I’m being held back. And? Has the girl decided to leave me alone in order to
run for office, because she needs to focus on her campaign for president of the Commonwealth or
something?”
“There was an unusual petition filed at the Broilerhouse.”
“Ach, there’s always something unusual down there in the amazing world of the Broilerhouse.
Unusual petitions are probably more common than usual ones down there.”
“Blank sheets of paper have been submitted as the indictment sheets for the next trial,” said Boiled.
“Their usual trick of not publishing the charges until the last minute in order to throw us off, right?”
asked Shell.
“If it’s just a bluff then all’s well and good. But there’s a possibility that they’re in the middle of a
new investigation now, even as we speak.”
Shell stopped in his tracks, and his expression was wiped off his face.
“I don’t know how they’re managing it exactly, but it’s not impossible that the opposition is looking
for the key to your impending big deal,” Boiled informed himin a whisper.
Shell’s eyes started shining even more fiercely.
“So, Mr. Shell, where exactly is the key?” asked Boiled.
“You don’t need to know that.” Shell’s expression was grim, but there was a wobble in his voice.
Their conversation was interrupted by a shrill shriek of pleasure. The girl seemed to be delighted by
Shell’s fear.
“Shut up!” Shell cried. But the girl wouldn’t stop laughing.
“I…I can turn into a new person whenever I want. That’s my big deal. My past is just…” Shell glared
at the woman on the bed, suppressing his own agitation. “I’ve already forgotten what the girl’s face
looked like even.”
Slowly, he turned around to look at Boiled. His eyes were bloodshot and shone abnormally bright.
“Such a little girl—why can’t you just wring her neck, then snap it off for me in the bargain? Haven’t I
given you enough money? Are you trying to muscle in on my deal that I have lined up? Is that it?”
“You’re talking nonsense, Mr. Shell. Try and calmdown.”
“Kill her!” Shell was screaming now, just as shrill as the girl on the bed. “Kill that bitch who dares to
try and pursue me!”
His words tailed off into a shriek, and he collapsed onto a sofa, shaking his head and trying to calm
himself down.
“You know what you need to do, right? It’s simple enough. Right? You need to take that gun in your
pocket and pump its contents right into the girl.”
Boiled nodded, silent.
“Why should I have to…that girl…always… Why…why am scared? What am I scared of? What is
there about that girl that should frighten me so?” Shell was mumbling to himself now, half delirious.
Boiled didn’t know either. The memories that held the answer to these questions had been sucked
cleanly out of Shell’s mind and hidden in a secret location.
Boiled looked at the woman on the bed again. There’s something I want to show you, he had said. In
other words, Shell was frightened. Frightened of nothing more than a woman.
“A woman, again…” Boiled murmured in a voice too quiet for Shell to hear. There was always a
woman involved behind the scenes of all Shell’s transactions. And now, this woman that was right in
front of their eyes seemed to know what Shell was running from and how far he was likely to fall as a
result.
The woman continued to laugh. She was enjoying herself.
≡
Boiled left Shell’s roomand headed straight for the parking lot in the hotel basement.
He headed for a blue gasoline-fueled car. The windows were tinted, stopping outsiders from seeing
in. He opened the door to the driver’s seat and heard a click. The trigger of a gun being pulled back. But it
was more of a courtesy action than anything else.
Not even bothering to look at the passenger seat, Boiled sat down in the driver’s seat and closed the
door behind him.
“How’s it going, boss?” Medium asked in a hoarse voice as he returned the firing hammer back into
place.
“Fine.” Boiled stuck his keys in the ignition as he answered. Medium’s face was covered in creases.
“How’s your condition?”
“Fine and dandy, thanks for asking, boss.”
Two red lights flickered in Medium’s eyes, visible behind his sunglasses.
His face was covered in patches of slightly different colors. His hair was neatly shaved, and his
shining head also revealed the odd patch of unusual coloring. One side of his head still had stitches in and
was covered with layer upon layer of translucent antibacterial tape.
“What happened to your injured fingers?”
“Here.” Medium lifted his left hand, now covered in a black glove. He balled his hand into a fist, and
there was a grating noise. “Makeshift electronic parts—but they should stand up okay in battle. We don’t
really have the time for me to leisurely transplant a new set, do we? So, unleash me whenever you’re
ready!” Medium bared his teeth. His breathing was rough, and his knees were shaking restlessly. He was
just like a dog drooling in anticipation of feeding time.
“Are you on drugs?” Boiled asked.
“Just some stimulants. The aftereffects of the electricity are so bad that I can hardly use my hands and
feet when I’m sober. Don’t worry, I’m used to using them. I’m not about to go flying off the handle.
Anyway, more importantly, have a look at this.” Medium took a PDA-style monitor out of his jacket
pocket and handed it to Boiled.
The monitor displayed a map centered around the city, with a red line showing the wake of a boat.
“This is Flesh’s legacy. Using his hacking routes, we’ve managed to penetrate both Air Traffic
Control and the Broilerhouse, just as you requested. It wasn’t strong enough to track that flying egg or tell
us where it landed, though.”
“We have enough for now.” Boiled folded the monitor up and returned it to Medium.
“There’s one region where boats seem to cross paths a number of times, with overlapping wakes. The
route that the Broilerhouse uses.”
“You know their whereabouts?” asked Medium.
“The outskirts of the city. It’ll be a while. Get some sleep. Staying high for too long ruins your
stamina,” said Boiled.
“I’ll be okay. I’m so looking forward to meeting that little kitten again that I’ll go anywhere. Just say
the word. Where do you want me to attack?”
Boiled turned the key in the ignition. “Paradise.”
The engine roared to life, and Mediumwhooped with joy.
≡
They entered the trunk road from the northwest of Mardock City, and Medium took some capsules,
prompting Boiled to murmur, without any emotion, “Heroic Pills…”
“Yeah, we’re not talking about the adulterated crap you get in Times Square, though. This is the real
thing, pure and unspoiled. Will you try one too, boss?”
Boiled was about to shake his head to say no, but then he stopped himself mid-action.
“Just the one.” Boiled stuck his hand out. Grinning, Medium dropped a single capsule into Boiled’s
massive palm.
Boiled swallowed it, and Mediumasked, “How is it?”
“Not much difference.”
“It’ll kick in soon, and you’ll start to feel happy.”
“The back of my head is starting to feel itchy,” said Boiled. Medium was visibly disappointed.
“Boss…why did you try one if you’re not in the mood?”
“I have a client who’s addicted, and I wanted to understand the effects for myself. But it looks like
that’s beyond me.”
“It certainly seems that Welldone was right about you, boss—you’re a proper hunting dog. You’ll do
whatever it takes to catch your prey. I could wish for a bit more of a sense of humor, though.”
Boiled made no effort to respond. Instead, he said, “We’re heading to the Broilerhouse now, in order
to check a few things out with night duty.”
“Roger that, boss. Shall I drive for a while?”
“No need. You rest your body,” said Boiled.
“Still, you’re holding up well, considering you don’t take any drugs. When exactly do you get a chance
to go to bed?”
“I’ve forgotten how to sleep,” said Boiled.
Mediumgrinned. “Good one, boss. Glad to see you’ve got a sense of humor after all.”
“I haven’t slept for nine years.”
“That’s the spirit, Mr. Iron Man. Although you’ll need to work on your facial expression—it’s still a
bit dour,” said Medium.
Without another word, Boiled stopped off at a motel they were passing by and, out of Medium’s
earshot, contacted the Broilerhouse using a dedicated line.
Boiled climbed back into the car and was just about to turn the key again when he stayed his hand for a
moment, thinking.
He was thinking about the last time he’d slept—had he dreamt anything then?
The answer was no.
Boiled started the car and drove off
