Mardock Scramble - Volume 2 - Chapter 6

Chapter 6
INJECTION
01
–It’s a hit! There are about a hundred Shells in Mardock City, but this is definitely our man.
There’s a casino called Eggnog Blue owned by one of OctoberCorp’s holding companies. He’s the
director in charge there.
Tweedledumspoke and Balot nodded as she retrieved data fromthe pool.
Bubbles leaked fromBalot’s mouth, heading to the surface.
She was swimming in the computer terminal pool, breathing through a set of EasyGills.
The EasyGills were made in Paradise, of course.
The Doctor, Faceman, and Tweedledee all watched from the side of the pool, keeping a lookout for
Balot.
–Good stuf —you’ve got the gist, now try accessing a little deeper. Try not to get distracted by all
the electronic noise. Think semantics—you need to commune with the computer, not just connect.
Underwater, eyes closed, stark naked, Balot stretched out her arms and legs and used her entire being
to converse with the computer. Millions of data channels opened up, and she focused on the semantics—
the nuances of how everything interrelated, how the channels developed, and what this all meant. This
then led her on to search for data directly, floating through the various data systems of the city. What did
Shell do, when, where? What did Shell touch, what did he buy, who was he with, what sort of activity
was he involved in—all was being calculated at cutthroat velocity.
–What an amazing machine…
Balot was full of wonder as she swamin the pool of data. It was like when she had looked up her own
citizen’s ID with Oeufcoque—only incomparably faster and vaster in scope.
It was as if she were excavating, like they were fossils, the footprints of a man called Shell, scouring
the whole of Mardock City, discarding the ephemera like so much dirt and gradually piecing together the
skeletal remains of a giant dinosaur.
The computer was constantly calculating the patterns of information, piecing together the implications
of Shell’s various actions in order to try and work out what he was doing, discarding the impossibilities
one by one in order to establish what the most likely—or least improbable—implications were.
–So much of the data is contradictory or inconsistent. It looks like they’ve been constantly updated
—or rather better to say falsified. It’s a bit like a half-assed software update rushed to market far
sooner than it should have been with nowhere near enough time to iron out the bugs just to save a few
bucks.
Tweedledumwas happy to comment and advise but wasn’t lending a hand himself.
Neither did Balot try and force him to help her. Only one of them needed to violate Commonwealth
law.
–He has all these memory defects listed. That’s a common thread; it’s coming up again and
again. And someone seems to have fiddled around with the university hospital’s neuroscience
department. Its research data has been manipulated by outside sources.
–They’re probably trying to hide something by erasing it. But erased data always leaves a hole,
babe. Why not have a poke around to see just how deep that hole is?
–Sure.
The countless streams of data whirling around her looked like rays of sunlight, pouring in and piling
on top of each other. Balot used her arms and legs to push herself farther underwater and then turned, face
up, to caress the rays of information one by one.
≡
“Amazing…to be able to bend all that information to her will…” Faceman’s voice dripped with pure
admiration.
–She’s dancing. Looks like fun.
Tweedledee held his knees together at the side of the pool, looking somewhat bored.
The Doctor stared at the pool with a tense expression fixed on his face.
Just then, Faceman’s expression changed suddenly.
“Phew,” he sighed, staring into space in apparent wonderment.
“What is it, Professor?” asked the Doctor.
“Ho hum. Looks like someone’s come in search of Paradise. The checkpoint at the bottom of the hill
confirmed that there’s a vehicle drawing near. Two passengers, one of them a PI and Trustee of a case.
He’s lodged a request through official Broilerhouse channels to be allowed to pay a visit to Paradise.”
The Doctor’s face turned blue. “Not Boiled?”
Faceman watched the Doctor, amused. “Looks like the Rusty Gun has come to spread some fire
around. What to do…?”
“It’d be deeply disadvantageous to Paradise if it’s revealed that Rune-Balot is here,” the Doctor
responded hastily, desperately, but Faceman’s only response was to laugh.
“Dr. Easter, you seem to be a little too familiar with society’s squabbles for my liking. But yes, you
are indeed right. And I have no intention of allowing our data collection efforts on Rune-Balot to be
interrupted before we’ve finished harvesting what we need. Very well—I take personal responsibility for
the reception of callers to the gates of Paradise. Tweedledee.”
Tweedledee, summoned without warning, turned to Faceman with a jolt.
“It looks like some rough customers are on their way here. Will you help me welcome them?”
–Does that mean I have permission to interact with outsiders?
“Indeed. A rare opportunity.”
“Professor…are you planning on leaving it to Tweedledee?” asked the Doctor.
The Tweedledee in question answered.
–No worries. I’ve read up on what to do when contact is made with outsiders. I’m looking forward
to it.
“Dr. Easter. Why don’t you use this opportunity to prepare your next course of action. It looks like
Rune-Balot’s activities down there are going to take a little while yet.”
The Doctor nodded calmly, but his countenance betrayed his nerves as he hurried back into the jungle,
taking the same route he’d taken to get there.
–What do you think Dr. Easter plans to do?
“He’ll take Oeufcoque into the Humpty-Dumpty that he has standing by on the roof. Then, as soon as
Balot finishes her work here, they’ll all be heading off.”
–Oh, they’re leaving?
Tweedledee’s mouth went a little sour.
–Will they be back anytime soon?
“Let’s just say that I pray that one day the girl—and indeed all of society—will understand just how
positive an influence our work can be.” Faceman spoke in an uncharacteristically subdued tone as he
made his cage float up into the air. “Now, let’s go and see to our visitors.”
≡
Boiled stared out the window with half-closed, emotionless eyes, taking in the night lights.
–The contract’s confirmed.
Shell’s voice—along with a trace of static—on Boiled’s cell phone.
–Well, we’ve only just published the marriage banns, but as soon as my transaction is complete
we’ll move on to the actual nuptial contract.
Boiled listened to his employer’s report without seeming particularly interested.
Next to him Medium’s shoulders were shaking. He was struggling to suppress laughter.
–It’s all going smoothly now. Whatever happens at the Broilerhouse, it’s going to be too late to
af ect anything.
“Do you have a fixed time and date for the contract yet?”
–It’ll all be sorted out within the hour. There’s a mound of of icial paperwork the height of a thick
steak still to get through. Steak is right, actually—you could say we’re all playing for high stakes.
Except that I’m going to be helping myself to the best pickings. After it’s all over I’m comping the
girl’s father in my hotel. I’ll pile him high with zero-interest chips and make sure he enjoys himself
good and proper, on the house.
“This is a personal matter for him, then?”
–He’s on the board of OctoberCorp, so… I’m sure he’ll have a dozen wine-swilling legal advisors
lined up in a limo somewhere, but it doesn’t bother me. Her family name is about as prestigious as it
comes, and it’s going to be my lucky star. You know her dad, right? Cleanwill John October.
Shell enunciated every syllable of the name.
–And he lives up to his name—he’s a clean-living john. A john as in a sucker, mark, or maybe even
a john who likes his whores. Either way, John’s a john, pure and simple.
“What about the girl?”
–I’ll leave her in the hotel for now. Sooner or later she’ll become my of icial property, of course,
so I’ll need to start thinking about a storage space for her. I’ll keep her locked away in a pretty little
jewel box of a place, somewhere.
“I’ll proceed according to schedule. I’ll send you a report on the outcome sometime between midnight
and dawn.”
–Night mail, then. I’m counting on you. Make sure that your night mail is good enough to banish
my nightmares forever. Make the girl, the one that should have already disappeared a long time ago,
disappear for good.
“Understood.” Boiled cut the phone line. Next to him, Mediumburst out laughing.
“I have no idea what you were just talking about, but there’s one thing that I’m sure of.” Medium
pushed his sunglasses up and glanced at Boiled. “Your client’s totally crazy.”
“None of your business.”
“Hey, I don’t mean it in a bad way. He’s about as crazy as us, I mean. A good client to have. A true
fetishist’s assignment. That makes me happy.”
Boiled didn’t answer. He slipped the cell phone back in his jacket pocket before changing the subject.
“Earlier this morning I put in a request for a coworker on this case, as a witness. That’s you.”
“Ha…so I’ma PI, now?”
“A PI’s assistant. The target, the girl, has a similar request in.”
Medium’s face twisted into an ugly sneer. “I get it. So we can kill her fair and square now, right? All
above board and within the law. Brilliant. I’ll kill her all right. I’ll kill her good and use up all her parts.
Until I’msatisfied. That’s the agreement, right?”
Boiled nodded.
“I can’t wait.” Medium’s face lit up in an instant, and he stared out at the long, meandering road in
front of him.
Greenery was all around them—a result of the plant farms that had been set up in the area, the loam
impregnated with concrete-dissolving enzymes. All kinds of trees were there, and in the gaps, buildings
that hadn’t yet been completely destroyed—a sort of graveyard for a city.
“The reforestation program for the area bombed out by the war—a Band-Aid for a city, don’t you
think? About as much good as a couple of Band-Aids after you’ve been shot up by a machine gun, I
mean…” Medium’s eyes glinted red, and a twisted smile flittered across his mouth. “If I remember
rightly, a number of unmanned fighter planes were shot down in this area. The ones that the militarycapitalist
Continentals started sending over toward the end of the war, remote-controlled to cross the sea
automatically and release their payload. According to rumor, there was some sort of military facility here.
Why would our little kitty-cat be in a place like this?”
“She’s already on another road leading into the grounds.”
“Grounds? Of what?” Mediumasked.
“The experimental facility. There was a time when the army and the government poured funding into
it.”
And then it emerged. A structure made of bright metal and glass—very different from all the
abandoned buildings in the vicinity—could be seen in between the darkness of the forest nightscape. It
was so large that it was hard to tell at first glance what sort of construction it was. Something vast and
white, almost like an endless wall, surrounded it.
“All the mountains…” Medium was struck dumb for a moment, then slapped his knees like a child
enthralled by the television. “And here’s Noah’s Ark! What a surprise. So, this is where she’s hiding out.
The little kitten’s rolled up in a ball, purring away as she sleeps? I’ll purr you, my little kitty-cat. I’ll
purr you all right.”
Boiled’s sleepy eyes were trained on the rolling hills in front of him.
Mardock City was originally a trade port and an engineer’s city.
The city developed, went high-tech, survived a war, and its prosperity was now firmly secured on the
holy trinity of the industrial district, research institutions, and the harbor.
Now, farther into the city, there was also an inverted triangle—an unholy trinity—of the city council,
the pleasure district, and the media center.
Each of the two triangles were in turn subdivided into smaller sections, like a dart board, where
wealth, poverty, glory, depravity, and fame all sat jostling cheek by jowl.
Boiled parked his car at the top of the slope. Medium opened the door and said, blood rising to his
face, “Unleash me whenever you’re ready, boss,” as he looked at Boiled, who had emerged fromthe other
door.
Boiled pointed toward one of the slopes. “Head in from the west. There should be security firm
personnel stationed there. Gather any intelligence on the facility you can.”
“Shall I report back to you with my location?” asked Medium.
“If possible then do. I’ll be heading to the main entrance and gain access based on official
procedures.”
“You mean they’ll try and keep her hidden? Say that she’s not in and never has been, that sort of
thing?”
“Exactly.”
“In other words, then…” Medium spread his arms out, no longer able to contain his joy. “I can do
whatever I like to the girl, seeing that she’s not supposed to be there anyway.”
“Anything goes. Now move on in,” said Boiled.
Mediumspun around.
His brutal smile seemed to linger on, like incense in the air.
The hound dog, unleashed, went running off into the woods.
Once he had disappeared completely, Boiled moved back into the driver’s seat.
“An ark…” he murmured, gripping the wheel. “An ark that waits for the deluge that never comes.”
Muttering to himself, he drove off.
02
Boiled flashed his PI’s license at the guard who appeared in the watchtower monitor in the middle of
the revolving gate.
The guard noted his license without emotion, as if he too were part of the machine.
–You will be connected to the warden shortly, sir. Kindly wait there. Your voice and image are
being recorded.
Boiled nodded. The screen on the monitor changed.
–So, the Rusty Gun has returned for maintenance, unable to cope with the poisonous rust that he
produces?
On the monitor, a man in late middle age. Only his neck upward was visible. Boiled knew all too well
what had happened below the neckline.
“Oeufcoque should be here, Professor.”
The man on the screen—Professor Faceman—laughed quietly.
–I say, this is rather of -topic from your of icial request. Is there nothing else you want to ask me?
He spoke as an indulgent teacher might gently encourage a pupil to revise his answer.
“There’s a possibility that a material witness for a case is hiding in this facility. I need you to open the
gate for me.”
–There’s no need to force your way in using a gun. Come over to the November Forest.
Even as he faded fromthe monitor, Faceman’s tone was gentle.
Boiled stopped the car and headed for the white wall of chalk, placing his hand on a small door that
was etched into the wall.
The door gave a little electronic buzzand opened inward.
He stepped into a long, dazzlingly white corridor, and the door shut behind him.
Everything around himwas a clear white, and it radiated calmness, like a first-class airport lounge.
Boiled walked on. Calmfootfalls—this was a place he was comfortable with, at home. It was as if his
body wanted these homely, nostalgic feelings in spite of himself, in spite of his resistance and disgust
toward the very idea.
Boiled continued down the corridor and arrived at the end without passing a soul. He came to a giant
wall again. He touched the electronic pad on the wall, and the thick walls parted to either side to reveal
trees and plants not dissimilar to the ones on the outside.
Boiled entered the forest.
There was a white table and chairs in a clearing surrounded by white birch trees. A young man stood
by the table, and he smiled as Boiled drew near. Or so it seemed, but then the young man’s expression
turned sour.
“I took my telecom out of my head a long time ago. No use in snarcing me to communicate,
Tweedledee,” Boiled said.
Tweedledee looked more disappointed than anything else. He jerked his chin toward the table.
There was a cup on the table, and the aroma of warmcoffee drifted about the glade.
Tweedledee signaled with his eyes that the coffee had been prepared specially for Boiled.
Boiled ignored it and stood in front of the table. “Professor Faceman.”
The old man’s head on the other side of the coffee—Faceman—raised his eyes from within his cage.
“This forest is where many a war-weary soldier came to recuperate—and it’s also the final resting place
for many. When you finally return, it should be to here.”
Boiled shook his head slowly. “I came here ten years ago because I was ordered to by the army. Now
that the war’s over I have no intention of becoming a victimof your experiments.”
“So that’s your postwar experience, is it? Many soldiers still drag around a victimcomplex with them.
How about you?”
“I’mneither the victimnor the perpetrator,” said Boiled.
Tweedledee looked blankly on.
The conversation was going straight over his head.
Faceman turned to Tweedledee and smiled. “We won’t be needing you here any longer, Tweedledee.
Why not head over to the West Forest?”
Tweedledee shrugged his shoulders and approached Boiled, then tapped on the man’s burly arms.
Playfully, pleading. Then he disappeared deep into the forest.
“The only care he has in the world is that there are no active subjects around, so to speak.” Faceman
watched Tweedledee’s back as he departed, then looked up at Boiled. “He was delighted about the fact
that he thought he could get to know the new girl, though.”
Without changing his expression, Boiled dipped his hand into his jacket pocket and spoke. “I have
three questions. Number one, where are Oeufcoque, his client, and Dr. Easter? If they are here, I need you
to tell me where you are sheltering them.”
“We don’t shelter anyone here. We receive themas guests,” said Faceman.
“They’re here, then?”
“I believe I have the right of refusal when it comes to answering questions?”
“The right, perhaps, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that you get to exercise that right,” said Boiled.
“Hmm. What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting that this diseased facility, steeped in lies as it is, may soon be coming to terms with
the reality of your death.”
Faceman just smiled gently. “So, death is your only true reality. How like you. Not that humans are
capable of simultaneously experiencing alternative realities—but killing me isn’t going to change
anything. Nor do I think that taking my life is going to be of much use to you. Unless that’s what you’re
looking for, and it will give you closure? Is that how you feel right now?”
Boiled slowly drew his hand out of his chest pocket.
But he wasn’t wielding a gun. Instead, he let his arm flop down and started speaking again. “There’s
another person of interest in this case who has already penetrated the facility.”
“I presume you mean the oil-soaked man who’s currently trying to gain access from the loading dock
in the western ward? I see—if I don’t answer your questions then he goes off on a little destructive
rampage, is that it? And this is how you choose to make yourself useful to society?” Faceman asked with
absolute serenity.
Boiled replied, “I’m the only one endowed with the right to arrest him as a suspect and material
witness. The paperwork has all been approved by the Broilerhouse already.”
Faceman furrowed his brow as if he were troubled by something. “Does your accomplice, who’s
trying his best to invade the facility as we speak, know any of this? No, we’re talking about you. I’m sure
you’ve told himthe exact opposite.”
“Only as a means to efficiently ensure that he’s as useful as possible. A tactic used often in the army—
or this facility.”
“There are means that are justified by the ends, and there are means that aren’t,” replied Faceman.
“I have no time for—or interest in—your moral lectures.”
Faceman sighed and spoke in a persuasive tone of voice that was also a warning. “Here at the facility
we are constantly updating, examining, and refining our technology. All we did was permit Dr. Easter a
loan of some of our facilities in exchange for the latest set of data he has on his civilian subjects.”
“So you admit to harboring a material witness?”
“It’s your choice to interpret my words however you choose,” said Faceman.
Boiled nodded. “Now, my second question.” He stared at Faceman with absolute indifference.
“Wait a moment. I’ll answer your questions, but in return I’d like you to sit down. You’re not
positioned well, and I can’t see you properly.”
Boiled moved his chin from left to right. Not to respond, but to interrupt. “I need you to answer my
question.”
“Hmm?”
“We will take custody of the data that Dr. Easter submitted to you.”
“You can’t really call that a question. In any case, what do you want that girl’s data for?”
“It could turn out to be a crucial courtroomexhibit.”
“Highly unlikely. Dear, dear. First Tweedledee, now you…” Boiled’s eyebrows tightened. Faceman
continued, “Tweedledee wants access to the girl’s data too. Of course, I’m forbidding all access to it on
the basis that I and a select group of researchers need exclusive access to it at the moment. And you’re
just like Tweedledee.”
“What are you trying to say?” asked Boiled.
“It seems like you might be looking for a partner, just as Tweedledee is.”
Boiled stared at Faceman with a sharp glint in his eye. “The technology in Paradise only begets
monsters. All that’s happened is that we have another walking, talking exhibit of this fact.”
“You’re right in that today’s society may well interpret it that way. One day, though, the technology
will become commonplace,” Faceman responded coolly. “But looking at her data isn’t going to help you.”
“It’ll be evidence that she abused Mardock Scramble 09.”
“You won’t have any luck there. From a legal standpoint, it’s already difficult to judge what’s use and
what’s abuse.”
“What—?”
“The girl is still growing up. Any current data on her is no more than material for a comparative study.
The girl is a genius.”
“A genius? In battle?”
“No, in her ability to dissolve herself into the ether. ‘Dispersing her self-consciousness,’ I’mcalling it
for now.”
“‘Dispersing’?”
“The waveforms we’ve been picking up from her brain in her consciousness-threshold tests are very
similar to those found when a person enters a trance state. I daresay it’s a form of autoimmune response,
the dispersal and negation of her senses as a self-defense mechanism—something that the girl has
developed in order to preserve a sense of psychological normalcy in the face of the atrocious conditions
that life has thrown at her.”
“In what way?” said Boiled.
“As you know, one of the most common side effects of grafting metallic fiber as replacement skin onto
a person is that their mental balance ends up shot to pieces. Just as if we were to transplant, say, a bat’s
ears onto a human head—the animal would be bewildered and its brain wouldn’t be able to cope,” said
Faceman.
“But you’re saying that this girl is coping with the technology?”
“Her Interference Rate—all her consciousness-threshold figures—are over 80 percent.”
Boiled was silent. This was a rare moment where he was actually shocked by what his opponent had
to say.
“The fibers are embedded in the whole of her skin tissue. As her subconscious receives stimuli, so the
fibers develop autonomously. The fibers we transplanted into your palm never even grew to the back of
your hand. Think on that, and you’ll realize just quite how singular a being this young lady is.”
“So she’s wrapped in a layer of skin tissue?”
“No, not ‘wrapped’—it’s assimilated perfectly. In time, it could extend to her mouth, the back of her
eyelids, even some of her internal organs.”
“Impossible.” Boiled’s voice rose, ever so slightly. Boiled noticed his own reaction, and it surprised
him.
“I didn’t want to believe it myself, but it’s the truth. An incredible truth born out of the confluence of
three factors: Dr. Easter’s innovative technical developments, the existence of Oeufcoque, and the girl’s
upbringing. That’s why we wanted her data at all costs, and that’s why we let themuse our labs in return.”
“It’s a fairly straightforward auxiliary function to give a brain the electronic interference abilities of a
snarc, though?”
“Yes, but the same paintbrush wielded by two different hands produces two entirely different
paintings. Some people are natural artists, others show no trace of talent despite the best tuition in the
world. This is just like that. What’s unique about this girl’s snarc is a truly astounding level of
concentration, her ability to focus her consciousness in on a narrow point, and her ability to diffuse all her
senses. Theoretically the human body has the ability to respond to its own suggestions, manipulating its
own senses at will. To feel warm when it wants to feel warm, to feel cold when it wants to feel cold, to
feel nothing when it wants to feel nothing—even extend its control over its own inner workings. Through
a deliberate program of training the subconscious, the body should be able to grasp everything that is
happening all around it, intuitively, on a subconscious level,” said Faceman.
“Theory is one thing, practice is quite another. There’s no way that such a thing could actually exist—
an ordinary person able to manipulate their senses on demand.”
This made Faceman laugh. “The origins of your own PseudoGravitational Float were fairly
innocuous at first, if you remember—it started off as technology designed to help people cope with
heights. Wasn’t it you yourself who mastered that technology so that you could walk across any surface,
including ceilings and walls, at will? When I say that her data will be useless to you, I mean that it’d be
impossible to try and extrapolate any general conclusions from it, just as it’s impossible to predict how
she is likely to develop next.”
“Still—her organic data, at least, will be of some use.”
“Even that’s completely unquantifiable at the moment,” replied Faceman.
“Are you using FES?”
Faceman nodded. “Functional Electronic Stimulus treatment is being applied to her whole body. The
original plan was to program her nervous system electronically in order to cure her of paralysis in her
limbs, but…”
“So why is that unquantifiable?”
“Her skin tissue is already in the process of assimilating with her cerebellum. Of course, you could
say that it’s the skin tissue that is influencing the brain, rather than the other way around.”
“Her skin is controlling her brain? Is such a thing even possible?”
“Human beings are, fundamentally speaking, holistic entities. Such a thing is certainly possible. It’s
safe to say that Rune-Balot is no longer human, but rather a creature formed by synthesis of human being
and metal fibers. The fibers develop autonomously, in accordance with the spatial senses of her
cerebellum, automatically creating hundreds of millions of electric patterns that allow her to apply
optimal stimuli to her muscles and internal organs. In other words, the skin operates the brain, which in
turn manipulates the rest of her body to her will: a state of affairs that we’ve never seen before.”
“Why didn’t that happen with my fibers?” asked Boiled.
“The only possible explanation I can think of is that the girl is a singularity. Dr. Easter did program a
certain level of combat data into the structure of the metal fibers beforehand, but that only goes so far—
she’s long since outgrown that, and her abilities have developed to the point that the original data is
completely redundant. No one other than this particular girl is capable of such a thing. Exactly the same
as, for example, how you’re the only one who was able to develop your PGF to the extent that you did.”
“And how can I deal with her?” asked Boiled.
“Deal with—?” Faceman stopped and nodded, as if to say It stands to reason. “We’re residents of
Paradise. We don’t share the same moralizing notions that the outside world has regarding war, weapons,
and related technology. We don’t consider themto be evil in and of themselves, and we don’t consider the
girl to be a threat in and of herself. But perhaps you feel that opposing the existence of creatures such as
this girl gives you some sort of purpose in life, a raison d’être?”
Boiled’s face revealed that not only could he not answer this question, he was looking for an answer
to it himself.
“What is conflict and killing to you, Boiled? A means to an end or an end in itself?” It was the first
time that Faceman had called himby his name since he’d arrived.
But Boiled wouldn’t answer.
“Is it your desire to kill that’s become your main driving force? Didn’t you entrust yourself to Paradise
in order to toughen you up, body and mind, ready for outer space? Isn’t it rather miserable that the
outcome of all that is a boundless killing machine?”
“The killer instinct in me is just that—instinct,” Boiled said. “It’s neither a means to an end nor an end
in itself. The reasons behind my involvement in Paradise don’t concern you; they didn’t back in the day,
and they don’t now. More importantly, the person who has the right—and duty—to ask questions is not
you, it’s me.” Boiled’s tone was defiant. He continued: “And my third question is this. What are
Oeufcoque and the others trying to find out about Shell?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve already seen the official petition to the Broilerhouse. There’s a good chance that the Doctor and
Oeufcoque are conducting their own private investigation on Shell.”
“Unfortunately, I’mnot in a position to divulge that—not to one whose only means of self-actualization
is through killing.”
“What are you saying?” said Boiled.
“I’m saying that giving you the information you want would be paramount to condoning murder. Ask
me again once you’ve recovered your sense of value for human life.”
All the expression disappeared from Boiled’s face. As inhuman as his face was normally, this was
one step further, hideously, oppressively blank.
“So who’s going to show me the value of life? The people whose bodies were mangled behind closed
doors in the name of science?”
Faceman dodged the question. “I’m not talking about the value of life. I’m talking about your own
personal values.”
Boiled leaned forward. “I know all about the many lives that Paradise has snuffed out. How other
soldiers came here, what happened to them, and how they ended up dying.”
“So you’re trying to say that our aim is to murder people? Like some sort of concentration camp?
That’s a foolish way to look at what goes on here, and you know it. Of course there are some researchers
here who treat their subjects as objects. But they are human beings too, and they have arrived at their own
personal, sophisticated value systems, their own conceptions of the value of human life. Without this, you
wouldn’t last long as a researcher here—it’d be too tough on the mind.”
“False value systems. Totally contrived.”
“Of course they’re contrived—what other sort of value system is there? Or are you saying that there’s
a physical, tangible object called a ‘value’ lying around somewhere, just waiting to be discovered so that
everyone can see what the truth is?”
“My heart died in this so-called Paradise. I can no longer feel that there’s any such thing as value to
life.”
“That’s because the fear of death has been removed from you. The army—and you—wanted it so. To
give a soldier a sense of immortality. There were many steps to this procedure, and you’re the only one
ever to follow it through to the end, voluntarily or otherwise.”
“I’ve also forgotten sorrow and anger.”
“At the time, our consciousness-threshold examination techniques weren’t yet perfect…”
“I’ve even been robbed of my ability to sleep.”
“Asomniatic Activity—the highest-priority research target we were given, designed to strengthen
military personnel. You know very well that it used to be a matter of course for amphetamines to be
prescribed to help soldiers stand up to the trials and tribulations of war—was that any better? If you
remember, at the point you came to this facility, you were utterly dependent on stimulants—total
addiction. All we did was try and save you, and countless other soldiers, fromsuch a fate.”
“Save me, you say?”
“That’s right. Save you. I felt so then, and I still feel I was right. I have a lot of time for people who
accept their burden and take what life throws at them.”
“Are you saying, Professor, that you’ll be able to teach me again whether life has any value?” asked
Boiled, an unusually dignified and serious tone to the words spilling forth from his lips, even for him.
“Does life have any value?”
But Faceman shook his head. He smiled placidly and continued. “That question is folly—you have it
all upside down. Value is not something that just exists. It’s a concept, a construct. And when people
neglect their duty to construct their own valuation of life, they revert back to being no more than beasts.
After all, what is society if not a peculiarly human invention that allows people to conceptualize and
propagate their own belief systems?”
Boiled remained silent, his eyes dark.
Faceman continued in his quiet voice. “It’s been observed on numerous occasions that the act of
killing other members of one’s species is not limited to human beings—it’s a trait observable in all
animals. The reason that animals are furnished with the ability to kill is so that they can kill. For animals,
the impetus to kill is always there, constantly at the ready. That’s their system of self-perpetuation, you
see. Their systemis pure and simple, just like human society.”
“Are you calling me an animal?”
“All human beings are animals, of course. But you, having lost your sense of values, are trying to fill
that gaping hole with a particular set of instincts—that’s why you’re an animal. When animals cannibalize
each other or persecute outsiders or create outcasts or commit suicide, or patricide, or infanticide, or
fratricide—all these apparently abnormal acts are nothing more than a regression to a base animal
instinct, when you think about it. Animals learn from their environment and their circumstances and pass
their learned behaviors on to their children, who inherit what they can from their parents. But when
environments and circumstances change so that they appear to contradict what we have learned—well,
that’s when learning goes out the window, and animal instinct kicks in to produce these behaviors that we
call ‘abnormal.’ Whenever there’s an outbreak of killing within a species, this is usually the primary
factor.”
“Are you saying that it’s abnormal for me to have a gun?” Boiled asked.
Suddenly, Faceman’s eyes narrowed, and he threw the question back at Boiled. “So, when I said
‘abnormal,’ you immediately associated the word with your gun, did you?”
Boiled didn’t answer.
Faceman smiled and continued. “Abnormal behavior could be, for example, the ill-treatment of other
members of your own species. There are some animals, for example, which, for various reasons, toy with
weaker beings before killing them. Even their own children. There are some cases where they rape their
own children repeatedly, or eat their children. Besides that, there are countless cases in which animals
engage in group suicide, or end up eating each other or killing their own parents.”
Faceman uttered this entire speech with his usual, apparently disinterested, tone. Boiled stood and
listened without emotion.
“Let me give you another example. In the savannas of a protected nature reserve, when the numbers in
a herd of herbivores grow beyond a certain level, the herd engages in conduct that can only be described
as provocative. Namely, they find a carnivore and deliberately pass close by, encouraging the carnivore
to chase them. When, eventually, one of the herd falls by the wayside at the end of the chase and falls
victim to the predator, the others in the herd stop and watch as their fellow gets ripped to pieces.
Scientists have analyzed brain wave patterns that, in these situations, indicate that the surviving herd
members are not just excited, but also enjoying the spectacle.”
It was as if Faceman was methodically retrieving the data stored in his mind, selecting the best piece
of information to impart next. “And what about the lowly insect that’s organized into the most regimented
sort of society. Take the bee—in every hive, there’s always a particular bee that isn’t assigned any role. It
isn’t allowed to do anything, and it just gets ignored by the other bees and dies. The existence of such a
pitiful creature is usually explained as being a necessary measure to keep the population fluctuating, but
essentially what’s happening is that the majority are finding an outlet for stress by creating an outcast. It’s
a type of amusement. Then, there are the activities that are supposedly unique to human beings—take war,
for example. Your former line of work.”
Boiled said nothing. He stared at Faceman, a dark glint brimming up in his eyes.
“You think that human beings are the only animals to wage war? Think again. It’s actually fair to say
that pretty much any animal with a herd instinct will wage war one way or another. From insects to
herbivores—all living creatures wage war. Ants, for example, will attack a rival anthill and raid its food
supplies. They even occupy the other’s territory, enslaving the surviving ants. This sort of action is an
exceedingly common animal impulse, in fact. So, you see how it is? Human beings are a long way from
escaping their animal instincts, as I’m sure you understand clearly. In which case, what exactly is the
difference between man and animal?”
Faceman took a breath here to better enunciate his next phrase. “The creation of values,” he said. “On
one hand, animals have come up with all sorts of reasons—besides simple predation—to kill each other.
On the other hand, over time human beings have come up with a notion of valuing life and death. It’s not
that life has any value in and of itself. It’s that human beings have come up with a notion of value and
applied that in various ways to the idea of life. In doing so, man started to resist total domination by his
baser instincts and managed to give birth to a society overwhelmingly stronger and more complex than
any other, surpassing all other creatures and ascending the pinnacle of life on earth as master of all he
surveys.”
Here, Faceman opened his eyes wide and tilted his head, that is, his whole self, forward. “What is the
definition of a human being? It’s based on whether a creature understands the concept of a value system.
Human infants are very much like animals in that they don’t understand the idea of values, but then they
study them, and in doing so arrive at their own sense of self-worth, as well as the value of other objects,
recognizing the value of other people, and in learning how to heighten their own sense of values they
finally begin to participate in society as a human being. Although, on the other hand, there is a certain type
of person who seems to have found his niche in society without a fully developed value system—and they
exist as little more than animals.”
Then Faceman grinned mischievously, although Boiled didn’t respond. “Oeufcoque knows what
values are,” Faceman said, his eyes gentle and narrow, but in a tone of voice clearly designed to elicit a
response fromBoiled. But it did not work.
“Originally he was just selected as a Living Unit because a mouse’s metabolic system seemed
extremely compatible with what we were trying to achieve, and he happened to be selected as that
mouse. But as he had his intelligence amplified, he gained a personality. He understood the concept of
values, and so he changed fromjust another lab animal to a creature called Oeufcoque. Oeufcoque made a
conscious effort to amass his own value systemand tried to recognize value in others. He did this because
he recognized that this was the main reason human society has managed to develop to the extent that it has.
Surmounting crisis after crisis, human will has always striven to rebuild society anew, to develop it to the
highest level possible. The reason Oeufcoque has elected to concern himself with all of society’s ills is
precisely because he recognized and understood all of this.”
The Professor continued in earnest. “You’re the exact opposite—the very definition of folly. Even as
you try to erode your own sense of values, regressing back into an animal state, you still desperately cling
to human society. If you’re looking for the opportunity to kill, pure and simple, then why not head to a
jungle in a nature reserve and kill all the animals and fish—bugs and germs, even—that you want?
There’s no reason that you have to be around humans.”
Boiled responded for the first time, almost as a reflex reaction. “I was a soldier. I defended one set of
lives and I studied warcraft in order to fight more effectively against another set of lives. It’s an existence
designed for a high level of defense and attack. Even now, I protect lives even as I take them.”
“Is that the thing you’re most proud of in your life? What a bundle of contradictions human beings are.
On one occasion they will devise a killing machine called an army in order to better defend themselves.
At other times they’ll go on a looting spree as a means to increase prosperity—even though doing so
makes their victims think of them in turn as a collective object worth attacking in the future, rather than
one worth cherishing. And these are your values, are they?”
“What would a person who has deliberately isolated himself in a manufactured paradise know of
society’s values?” asked Boiled.
“It’s precisely because we understand society’s values that we founded Paradise here. This is my
challenge to my own values.”
“I always challenge my own values,” said Boiled.
Faceman opened his eyes, seemingly impressed. “Indeed? So, what are you, then?”
“In order to defend one set of values, humans have to annihilate opposing sets of values. I’m a being
created specifically to bring about that annihilation. If it’s humans who make values, it’s also humans who
break them.”
Faceman sighed a small sigh. “What a profound thought—and yet so helpless at the same time. Is this
your compensation for your own sense of helplessness? Having had your own emotions denied you, with
all the highs and lows that this entails, you seek to bring about nihilismin all living beings?”
“This place you call Paradise was built on the back of people’s broken values. You’re the ones who
know all about toying with nihilism,” replied Boiled.
“Values come and values go. We’ve thrown out sacred cows in the past, and I’msure we will again in
the future. But as long as we remain fixed on our aim of creation, new values emerge from the detritus of
the old. This is most definitely not nihilism.”
“How is this facility—which treats human beings as objects—how is it in a position to evaluate
anything?”
“If we’ve treated people as objects, it’s because our observational techniques are subject to our
current limited physical and mental consciousnesses. We’re still inexperienced. In the grand scheme of
things, we’re still at an embryonic stage, or at most eggs in a basket. That’s why we value Oeufcoque so
highly—the Golden Egg, able to sniff out the odor of souls.” Faceman stopped speaking and stared at
Boiled. “And you, aren’t you the same, Rusty Gun? I recognize all too well that it takes the full extent of
your considerable willpower to suppress your killer instincts. But that’s not enough—at the moment,
you’re still just a human-shaped weapon. How do you ever hope to regain your soul?”
Boiled stood silent a moment. “I kill in order to protect my client’s rights and interests. I don’t kill for
any other reason.”
“Human beings strive to become gods and are ever frustrated in their efforts. You try and regain your
emotions—the missing ingredient to make you an omnipotent god—through using your killer instincts to
try and steal them back. But that path won’t lead you anywhere other than down your own road to ruin.
The proudest warriors and hunters in history come across as modest and humble in comparison to you.”
Boiled’s hand went back into his breast pocket. This time there was contact with steel. “Soldiers have
their values constantly repudiated on the front lines. Call me worthless if you like—it means nothing to
me. The only people who recognize my value are my enemies.”
“The only people who see value in you are people who repudiate their own values,” said Faceman.
“Deep in their hearts, all people know that there’s no such thing as real value.” Boiled withdrew his
gun. Without a moment’s hesitation, he pointed it at Faceman in front of him. “I need you to answer my
question. What is Oeufcoque checking up on Shell about?”
“You don’t really need me to answer, now that the poisonous rust has so thoroughly spread through
your body. As things stand, you’re nothing more than a motor propelled by survival instincts and your
intent to kill. Do really think that having Oeufcoque in your hand will serve as a substitute soul?”
Boiled cocked the gun. A second later, there was a ferocious roar, and the white table flew apart in all
directions, clods of earth flying through the air.
There was a sudden gust of wind that blew away the lingering acrid smell of burnt gunpowder. The
cage that had been on the table was now floating in midair, protected by an invisible shield, and from
within the cage the Professor stared out at Boiled with a serious expression. “The technology you use to
deflect bullets was developed right here.”
Boiled fired. The bullet was deflected, smashing to pieces a tree stump in the background. Such
incredible destructive force—and yet it was unable to influence the state of affairs in the slightest.
Boiled grunted. The Professor’s eyes narrowed. The trigger was pulled again.
This time his bullet grazed the cage, sending sparks flying into the air.
The gravitational field had been breached, and the bullets could now brush past the cage.
Yet—that was as far as it went. Even so, Boiled kept his gun pointed right at Faceman.
“Why don’t you ask your own client?” the Professor asked quietly. “Why would we know the details
of what Oeufcoque or Dr. Easter or Rune-Balot are looking for? This case is between yourselves. Why
doesn’t your client share this information with you?”
Boiled stared at the Professor, gun still pointed at him.
But Boiled pulled the trigger no more.
“Do you really think that Oeufcoque would ever return to you—you who have cast aside all emotions,
even trust?” asked Faceman. His voice was terribly, terribly sad.
03
–This is a…what do you call it?
Tweedledumwas in the water, taken aback.
–That’s it…a storm. I’ve never seen one before, but this is definitely a storm.
A storm was what Tweedledum called the swirls of information that were flying about Balot. He was
shocked.
–I’ve worked out how to trace a program back to its origin, I think.
Fromthe outside, Balot looked as if she were swimming gently underwater.
The information that Balot’s words referred to flew violently around the water, turbulent currents
forming themselves into liquid electronic circuits that could be expressed and understood semantically, so
that Balot could effortlessly read and communicate the information.
Brain—this word, with all its meanings and nuances, became the foundation of the information now.
Compiled around the image of Shell, she collected every piece of information that was conceivably
related to her search before filtering themout for relevance.
Balot’s state was now such that all she had to do was bring something to mind, open up her heart, and
it was done. Whatever image she sought. This would then pass through the artificial Lightite skin that
covered her whole body, transforming into electronic signals, snarcing through the swirls of information
with great vigor.
–There’s a copy…definitely…a trace…
A large bubble—a long sigh—escaped from the artificial respiratory organ that was appended to her
mouth. She continued with half-open eyes.
–Eighteen years’ worth of his memories have all been transformed into recorded data…
She looked up at the light above her with her eyes half-asleep. Her eyes then closed further.
–It’s all coming together.
When he heard Balot’s words, Tweedledumgave a short shrill chirp of surprise.
–Amazing stuf , babe…
And then, at that instant, all the information was sorted; the irrelevancies and the dead-ends discarded,
only the cold, hard facts remained.
–I’ve managed to analyze a specialist computer program used by Shell to transfer his memories
onto writable media. There are traces of evidence suggesting that the program has been
implemented. What happens is that all his memories relating to his five senses are selected and
isolated, leaving the parts of his memoryrelating to his imagination and his desires intact. So, when
it’s all turned into recorded data, the gestalt of his brain’s memory form is destroyed and he loses all
his physical memories.
The information was now pouring out automatically, as if Balot was no longer speaking of her own
accord.
–There’s a particular type of storage file he needs to use in order to save all eighteen years’
worth of audiovisual memories… It’s a particularly complicated storage file that requires a very
specific type of metalwork to make. That’s how we determine our route—traces of that
metalworking.
–Aha! So there’s your magic bottle that holds eighteen years’ worth of brains, huh? Tweedledum
said to Balot, who was now virtually sleep-walking, or sleep-floating.
–And where is that bottle, right?
–Every time he does his money-laundering, he skims a bit off the top. He falsifies his own
expenses. I think I’ve worked out a pattern. Using this I can work out roughly what his fortune is—
both his official one and his black market one. Everytime a girl dies, more moneyswirls around…
Balot felt a chill in her heart as she transmitted this, as though she had swallowed a cold knife. Her
pulse was steady, and yet she felt a sharp pounding in her heart.
–Whyme?
As she asked the question, the information that was swirling all around her seemed to change course.
–That’s it…
Balot stared at the silent swirls of light that surrounded her. She took a deep breath, trying to put aside
the feeling of sheer hatred, the overwhelming desire to kill that had sprouted up inside her and was now
rising to the fore. Trying to calmherself, she exhaled slowly.
–The answers are all in Shell’s memories.
This was Balot’s conclusion.
–For a memory transplant…you need lots of money and the right facilities. The flow of money,
evidence of computer programs being used, Shell’s actions, special facilities for memory
transplants, payments to certain people, the girls used at the time…
Before long, Balot could feel, through her skin, all the results of her searches. She had her moment of
satori, when she knew that no matter how many more times she interrogated the information she would
only arrive at one inevitable conclusion.
In her dreamstate, Balot felt all the cogs of the wheel slotting into place.
–Have you found it, babe?
Tweedledum’s voice was distinctly under pressure now.
–Yup—got it.
Balot slowly turned over to Tweedledum.
–The inside of our egg—rotten to the core.
≡
–Mr. Boiled? Boss? Mr. Iron Man? Fuck! Why isn’t this thing connecting? Piece of shit.
Medium spoke not with his voice but through the transmitter implanted in his head. The electronic
signal disappeared mournfully into space.
Medium checked how long he had now been inside this giant structure. Just over an hour. In that time
he had managed to penetrate the security defenses with ease, in the process killing three guards with his
two-hundred-thousand-dollar butter knife—that magnetized blade.
His knife made easy work of the three, and he cut them into pieces to store them in the lockers in the
guardroom, not forgetting to first strip the uniform off the guard closest in size to him. Medium then
donned the uniformhimself.
After that, Medium had obtained all the information he could from the guardroom. The blueprints for
the whole facility, including the plumbing and wiring. He downloaded what he could fromthe information
circuits, copying it straight into his intracranial hardware, and took a few minutes to digest it fully.
When he had finished that operation, he covered his bald head—his glassy pate suggested more
“inpatient” than “security guard”—with the regulation uniformcap, and left the room.
He had followed the patrol route carefully and had planned on contacting his new boss, the one that
sent himhere, but now he wasn’t able to get through. It seemed that the whole building was set up to block
the transmission of most electromagnetic frequencies. He had noticed back in the guardroom that there
was a particular wavelength that did seem to work, but even that was being shielded by something at the
moment.
With his knife still gripped casually in his right hand, Medium continued down the corridor as if he
were on a pleasant evening stroll. He passed a number of doors to either side of him, occasionally
branching out into a spacious lobby or a terrace encased in glass, but there was almost nobody around.
Even when he came across the occasional group of people, it was always old people attached to
machines, or researchers huddled together in deep discussion. There was no sign of anyone who looked
remotely like a young lady.
Eventually, the hardware in his head scored a hit. “Rune-Balot,” Medium murmured. His internal
computer had managed to crack the flimsy password that protected the visitor records. He grinned. Both
corners of his mouth swerved up to abnormal lengths. Behind his sunglasses his eyes glittered red, and
Mediummoved toward the area that the data entry pointed toward.
It wasn’t long before he arrived. There was a thick door in his way. Medium got out his Lockbuster
Card and shoved it casually into the slot in the wall. He looked into the retina scan with his mechanized
red eyes, which projected a fake iris for the scanner to recognize. Then he took from his pocket a human
finger that he had removed from one of the security guards he’d killed and placed it onto the DNA scan,
gripping tight. The fingers on his own left hand—blown off only the other day—had been replaced with
electronic substitutes. His new metal fingers picked up the finger on the DNA scan and crushed it. Blood
dripped out onto the machine, and the ID check was complete.
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty! I’m coming for you!” Medium was laughing now, a high-pitched squeal. The
door opened with a heavy rumble.
He took a step into the room. “Oho!”
He scanned the insides of the room.
Against the backdrop of the verdant foliage, the bright sunlight, and the warm breeze, Medium danced
about with his brutal knife held in one hand. It was almost as if he were waltzing. “Man, this is hardcore!
They’re not kidding when they call this place Paradise! What a blast! What a great place to play with my
little kitty-cat!”
He swayed from left to right, brandishing his knife every which way. Plants and flowers fell to the
ground, burnt, scorched. Silver flashed all around, and his eyes glowed bright red.
Then, in an instant, his manic spree was over. Medium had seen someone. He crouched down and
approached, circling around the trees so as not to be seen.
“Who are those guys?” he murmured to himself, exhaling through his nostrils.
No one was moving. Some were in wheelchairs, others lying down in the gaps in the shrubbery. All
were staring up into the sky with content expressions. It was as if a number of stationary mannequins had
been dotted about the place as decoration.
Medium stayed in the thicket for a while, observing the stationary people, but then he revealed
himself, walking toward themwith rough, deliberate footfalls.
And yet no one seemed interested in either his gleaming red eyes or the blade in his hand. They didn’t
even try and look at him.
Soon he was standing next to a woman with abnormally white skin. She was sitting in a wheelchair.
He peered at her, stooping over her to take a sniff. He heard her breathing, faintly. The woman showed
not the slightest movement. Medium rubbed the top of her head with his knife-wielding hand. He parted
her hair, as if savoring the sensation, and noticed that there were surgery scars across the back of her
scalp.
He brought his knife-wielding hand back to his own chin, deep in thought.
Then he took a step back to gauge his distance before kicking the wheelchair viciously.
“Hey, you fucking blow-up doll! What’s the matter? Look at me, why don’t you?” He kicked her
repeatedly as he shouted.
The wheelchair trembled but absorbed most of the impacts, and when the woman looked as if she
were about to topple over, a cushioned arm extended from the chair’s frame to catch her body, propping
her up.
Mediumsnickered. “What a fetish someone must have. All these living sex dolls…”
He looked around with a fierce grin on his face. However much he shouted, the people just stayed
absolutely still without lifting a finger, the gentle breeze blowing against their blue hospital robes.
Medium took the hair of the woman he had just kicked about and put it neatly back into place. He took
her hand that was resting on the armrest and stared at it intently. He picked up the fingers and licked them.
Then he placed her left hand onto the armrest, fixed it into position, and severed her hand with his knife.
The woman’s body stiffened in an instant.
The smell of burning flesh pierced his nose as the wound was instantly cauterized. There was no
blood. Medium took the severed hand in his own, smiled a satisfied smile, and placed the hand on the
woman’s lap with a polite gesture.
Then he fixed her other hand to the armrest. He took his knife to her pinky.
Her pinky fell to the ground, like an off-cut froma vegetable he was paring.
He proceeded to neatly snip off her middle finger and then her thumb, enjoying the uneven shapes that
he was creating in the process. The fingers fell one by one to the side of the wheelchair. As he did so,
tears started welling up in the woman’s eyes, eventually brimming over and rolling down her cheeks.
Medium noticed this and brought his mouth to her face, sticking out his tongue so that it tapered at its
point, and licked the tears as they flowed down.
As he did so, her last finger fell to the ground, and Medium laughed. “This is great! Why don’t I see if
I can replace my fingers here? And then on to my little kitty. That’s it. There’s plenty of treasure here to
enjoy. It’s all wonderful. Wonderful!”
Just then,
–What are you doing?
A sound reverberated around Medium’s head. “Wha—?”
Medium leapt up. He was so surprised that he flew through the air, and even as he landed he went
bounding back for cover in the vegetation. Running away, he reached the shade of a tree and quickly
scanned the area with his glittering eyes. His breathing was rough. His face was a mask of fear.
More interference waves hit Medium.
–Are you the person who just accessed Balot’s data? I’m sorry, but to get Rune-Balot’s main data
you need special dispensation from the Professor him—
“Where the hell are you? You fucking hacker bastard! Fucker, you killed my friends! You killed all my
friends!” Medium screamed. Knife firmly in hand, he jumped out of the shadows, looking from left to
right.
–I’m over here. Gosh, you like to talk a lot, don’t you? It’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone
speak in such a loud voice.
Medium’s voice stopped.
A young man walked slowly and steadily into the clearing.
He had evidently seen Medium—noticed his knife, even—but showed no sign of wariness.
–I’m Tweedledee. Who are you?
He stopped just a short way away from Medium.
“Me? Who am I, you ask? Right, I get it now!” Medium took his sunglasses off, staring at the youth.
His bright red eyes were wide open.
“You did it. Them. My friends. My pack. You’re the one who did them.”
Tweedledee tilted his head to one side, staring at Mediumas if he were trying to work something out.
–You have a hard drive in your head—
“Stop speaking inside my mind!”
Tweedledee seemed surprised. He watched with furrowed brow as Medium crushed his own
sunglasses into little pieces. But he showed no sign of fear—indeed, he looked on with interest as
Mediumsmiled a smile that could only be described as brutality personified.
–I was just—
“Get out of my head!” Medium screamed, and the blade in his right hand flashed, light reflecting from
it straight into Tweedledee’s eyes.
Tweedledee squinted hard, surprised.
That was the moment. Mediumran toward himand seized Tweedledee’s arm.
The hair on Tweedledee’s armstood on end at the touch of metal.
He tried to wriggle free from Medium’s grip but couldn’t shake himoff.
“I’mgoing to look after you good and proper. Pet you plenty. Come here. Over here!”
–You know that we’re allowed to deal with violent visitors in a number of ways? Tweedledee
explained patiently and politely.
Medium’s expression went blank. His whole body radiated tension.
The very next instant, that tension transformed into something much harsher.
The fist that gripped the knife smashed into Tweedledee’s face.
There was a damp gush sound, and Tweedledee’s nose split open, releasing copious quantities of
blood.
Tweedledee turned his face away, not making a sound. He made no effort to cover his face with his
one free hand.
Medium said nothing and punched him again and again. Tweedledee’s lips, ears, and eyebrows all
split open.
Tweedledee’s face was now a half-swollen mass, drenched in blood.
“I’ll look after you all right, you little brat. I’ll look after you good and proper.” Medium licked
Tweedledee’s blood off the back of his hand with his long tongue.
–I’ll put up with this till the point that security automatically kicks in, Tweedledee informed him,
raising his battered head. His face was serene—as if he didn’t feel that little thing called pain.
Mediumwas frozen to the spot in fear and anger.
–I thought I might try and experience pain again—it’s been a while. But it’s not very nice, after all,
is it? I just snarced the pain away, to be honest.
Medium gave a piercing cry. He punched again. The skin peeled off Tweedledee’s arm, and more
blood came forth.
“Such pretty fingers. Beautiful fingers. Tastes good too. That taste of special blood.” Medium laughed
cruelly. He punched the boy again and raised his knife.
Suddenly, Tweedledee was free. He tried to work out why he had suddenly been released from the
grip of the man in front of him, and then he found the answer.
His right armthat had been in Medium’s grip had been severed fromhis elbow down.
It was no longer attached to him. It was in Medium’s hand.
The wound was cauterized, bloodless.
Tweedledee’s throat suddenly wobbled. “Ah…” he said.
Tweedledee’s eyes widened—surprised at the fact that he had just spoken.
Mediumstepped forward again. Giggling, he kissed the severed armand tossed it aside.
His blade came up again. Tweedledee lifted his left arm reflexively to protect himself, and the blade
cut through his wrist like so much wax, causing his hand to go flying through the air.
“Now we’re talking… I’mliking your new look,” Mediumsaid, baring his teeth and laughing.
“Ah…ah…” Tweedledee gasped. “My voice…breathing…it’s been a while.”
Opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, he looked straight at Medium and, incredibly, smiled.
His face was swollen and bloodied, and both his hands had been severed from his body. Still, he never
stopped smiling. Sweetly, innocently.
Indeed it was Mediumwho stopped smiling. “What the hell are you…?” He stood rooted to the spot as
if he had suddenly been overcome by fear.
–Security’s been activated, I’m afraid. Nothing I can do now.
Mediumwas startled as yet another sound echoed through the back of his mind.
Suddenly a number of shadows surrounded Medium. Hurriedly he readied his knife. When he
recognized the shadows, though, his heart sank.
Silhouettes of what looked like large fish—spinning around him.
Medium looked up at the sky with bloodshot eyes. He gave a short grunt of surprise. His eyes were
pinned open by the sight of giant sharks flying through the air.
–Over here, please, everyone, called Tweedledee, raising his severed arms to the skies.
–Security’s given permission, so you can just go ahead and eat this guy.
Tweedledee turned casually to look at Mediumfromunderneath his swollen, battered eyelids.
“What the…” Medium was in shock. And that was the moment. One of the sharks circling the skies
turned downward to face him. Then, with unbelievable speed, it plunged toward Medium. He didn’t even
have time to react.
The shark’s jaws gaped open, revealing a mouth full of raw redness, and Medium saw that it was
packed full of layers and layers of sharp teeth.
A cry of despair escaped from Medium’s lips. A cry that seemed to be squeezed out of his whole
body.
Mediumraised his left armreflexively to protect his head, and it was this that the shark bit into.
The next moment, Medium’s whole body was lifted into the air.
“Aaaargh!” Medium shrieked. The flesh on his arm was being shredded noisily, Medium’s own body
weight pulling him down against the teeth. The pain was unbearable. Completely disorientated now, he
swung his knife wildly at the shark, and there was an explosion of sparks and noise.
The magnetized blade didn’t reach the shark but instead was repelled in midair amid a blaze of sparks
and lightning.
“Agh! It hurts, it hurts…aarrgh…”
Half-crazed now, he waved his arm around like a madman, but then another shark’s teeth took hold of
his knife-wielding arm. Medium’s body was spread in a Y-shape, and he was lifted through the air in a
giant arc, no more than a meat puppet.
His legs flailed in the air, and two more sharks bit into each of them. He was now splayed like an X,
ready to be ripped to pieces. His flesh was cut to ribbons, almost as if he’d been run through a giant
sewing machine, and there were loud ripping noises as the sharks tore the meat fromthe man’s bones.
Medium cried out, piercing and shrill. His lungs and throat screamed automatically, so intense was the
pain of being ripped to pieces. He lost all control of his body, and urine started dribbling fromhis crotch.
Then Medium’s voice stopped. He was so overwhelmed by fear that he could no longer make a sound.
A number of other sharks approached, prodding his crotch with their snouts. They seemed drawn to the
smell of his urine.
Before long, one of them bit into his crotch. Medium could only cry out in a pathetic whimper. Then,
as if that was the signal to go, the sharks all piled into the area between his legs, teeth bared.
Medium’s unearthly screams echoed throughout Paradise.
≡
“You poor thing. What a violent visitor you had to put up with, Tweedledee,” Faceman said, staring
into space. “Head straight on over to First Aid and have them fix you up. Your arms should be better in
two or three days. There’s a good boy. Let’s just check that there were no other victims. We’re fine over
at this end.”
Faceman then turned his attention back to that which was right in front of him: Boiled.
In turn Boiled tried to guess what Faceman’s words had meant—all the while with his gun pointed
firmly at the Professor’s face. His own expression was blank and inorganic, as if his face were competing
with the muzzle of the gun to see which could come across as more inhuman.
Faceman looked him up and down for a good while, then sighed deeply. “Violence comes in all sorts
of shapes and sizes.”
That was the moment a piercing screamripped through the calmof the white birch forest.
First there was the scream. Then, a sharp silver object. It fell in an arc, but was repelled by Faceman
and Boiled’s PGF and ended up thudding into a nearby tree stump.
Boiled glanced toward it. A knife. The one Medium used. Its blade was shot to pieces, with
magnetized sparks flying off it.
The screams came closer and arrived like a storm.
Faceman was still looking at Boiled, and at that moment something fell from the sky and nearly onto
Boiled’s head.
Red droplets.
A handful dripped down on the grass here and there. Then, all of a sudden, redness fell like rain.
Boiled and Faceman were in the midst of a sudden vermilion shower. Blood and flesh rained down
fromthe heavens.
The cries grew closer. They were now almost overhead. The white birch trees were streaked with
red. Thousands of unidentifiable pieces of crunched-up flesh and bone rained down, catching on the
leaves, drawing down the branches with their weight.
The surroundings were now painted a vivid white and red, and a suffocating smell of blood filled
Boiled’s nose. Faceman, of course, had a nose but no lungs.
Only the areas immediately surrounding Faceman and Boiled remained clear.
Beyond their invisible domes were the fleeting shadows of the giant fish, cutting through the red and
white.
“The Cherubim—guardian angels of Paradise. They’re particularly obedient to Tweedledee’s orders.”
Faceman’s eyes narrowed, and he looked up at the school of sharks flying around overhead. “They have
installed in thema type of PseudoGravitational Float slightly different fromyours. They swimin a sea of
magnetic fields. And that same sea will render all your weapons and defenses completely powerless.”
Faceman continued in his matter-of-fact tone. “They won’t trouble us, though. Their sensory fields are
programmed with a system that limits their perception of potential targets. In other words, the only things
they’re able to comprehend are those who we decide are enemies who’ve invaded fromthe outside.”
At that moment, the cries—from the one who had been designated as such an enemy—testified to a
fear such as had never been experienced before. Then the voice changed again, into a high-pitched
whimper that called out Boiled’s name. A pitiful voice. A voice of one who, faced with a certain and
terrible death, desperately tried to inflict a lasting impression on those still alive to hear.
Boiled, though, wouldn’t even look up. He simply stared at Faceman, gun still pointed right at him, as
if he were waiting for the Professor’s next move.
Faceman sighed again, shaking his head. “By the way, do you know why it is that sharks attack
people?” he asked in a tone of voice that seemed to rebuke Boiled for his unwaveringly hostile posture.
“In a peaceful swimming spot, for example. Or a beach famous for its gentle waves? Do you know why
they suddenly bare their teeth at humans?”
Boiled didn’t answer.
“This question was a puzzle for many years. The sharks aren’t usually hungry at the time of their
attacks, and sharks as a species don’t show any territorial tendencies—they’re not generally bothered by
anyone encroaching on their space. There are exceptions, of course—some of the documented attacks on
people are due to hunger, or out of aggression. But no more than a few percent of all cases. After all,
sharks haven’t evolved to attack any unidentified object when hungry or angry—they wouldn’t survive, in
the long run. So why, then? Are human beings such an easy prey for sharks? Fish are a much easier prey
than humans, who are many times the size of the fishes that constitute the average prey for a shark.”
The screams overhead started to die out. The sound of red rainfall lessened, and Faceman continued
speaking as if he were revealing a juicy secret. “For a long time there was a big question as to why sharks
attacked humans when it was apparently neither necessary nor useful for them to do so—but the answer
was actually staring us in the face. So simple, in fact, that no one was able to work it out.”
The cries overhead stopped completely, ending abruptly mid-scream. Medium had evidently given up
the ghost. Faceman looked up at the sharks as they greedily feasted on the clumps of flesh and bone that no
longer resembled any remotely human shape.
“They attack people out of curiosity,” he said. “They turn their teeth on humans just as humans in turn
have an impulse to peer at an unknown object or reach out and touch something that takes their interest. It
just so happens that the shark’s most developed instruments are their teeth, their sense of smell, and their
sense of taste. They just want to know what these things that are floating about the beach are. To know and
to taste—metaphorically and literally. The shark is able to sniff out a single drop of blood in the ocean
froma distance of many kilometers—why shouldn’t it be driven by the desire to know, to taste what it has
just smelled?”
Faceman gave Boiled a look to say that he was now about to speak more seriously than ever. “Shall I
tell you what the true nature of violence is, Boiled? It’s curiosity. That’s what’s lurking in the shadows,
behind almost every single act of violence anywhere. To know everything of your target and to exercise
your own strength and will. To taste everything that there is to taste about oneself. Whatever your motive
is for fighting—the feeling of victory, a sense of duty, to compensate for feelings of helplessness, as a
road to self-actualization, or due to abnormal character traits—the true nature, the essence of violence
remains the same.”
It was as if he were patiently explaining to Boiled why exactly it was that Boiled was pointing the gun
at him.
“There’s no impulse in this world more violent than curiosity. And, paradoxically, it’s none other than
curiosity that drives people, and animals, on to live. Those who understand this fact—and strive to resist
it—they’re the ones who are worthy of the name human.”
Faceman finished speaking and stared at Boiled more closely than ever. “Boiled, my friend, do you
really understand where your curiosity—your interests—are taking you in life?”
“The only thing that interests me these days is annihilation.” Boiled’s voice was dignified and solemn.
Without warning, he lowered his gun. At the same time the electromagnetic field surrounding his body
started to fade away. “I sense someone employing powerful electronic interference somewhere in this
facility.” Boiled raised his other hand into the air as he spoke.
Faceman realized that the regenerative metal fibers in Boiled’s hand were responding to a powerful
snarc coming fromsomewhere else in the facility.
“I will now proceed to search for the person who’s causing this electronic interference. Any attempt to
obstruct me will be penalized under the law,” said Boiled.
“Ah, but you do realize that the punishment doesn’t always fit the crime?” Faceman answered in a way
that seemed designed to poke fun at Boiled. “What’s more, you do realize that if you try and move from
this spot right now, the Cherubimwill bring the down the full force of Paradise’s punishment on you.”
“They can try.” Boiled spun around.
As soon as Boiled started to walk away, one of the sharks circling the skies responded.
Boiled didn’t even look up at the shark that was now plunging down toward himwith flashing teeth.
Vicious sparks erupted as the shark slammed into the PseudoGravitational Float wall that surrounded
Boiled’s body, deflecting the shark completely. Even so, the shark stayed hovering above him, mouth still
open, inching closer to Boiled by generating a PseudoGravitational Float of its own.
“My consciousness-threshold figure, with the magnetic devices implanted in me, is above 95 percent.”
Boiled looked back at Faceman.
Faceman opened his eyes in surprise. “When you were in Paradise, the figure wasn’t even 60 percent.
Are you saying that life in the pathologically disturbed society of the outside world made the machinery in
your body meld with your flesh to such an extent that—”
“I’m no longer your creation. I’m a monster, a creature fallen from Paradise.” As he spoke, he pointed
his gun at the shark above him.
The shark’s teeth grated against the magnetic wall, making a keening sound.
Or rather—the wall emanating from Boiled was stopping the shark from closing its mouth and getting
away.
Boiled casually placed his gun-wielding arminside the shark’s mouth.
At a stroke the shark’s PGF wall was ruptured, and the muzzle of Boiled’s gun roared to life.
There was an explosion. The single shot—bolstered by Boiled’s PGF—was all it took to rip the shark
apart fromthe inside, causing it to splatter like a burst water balloon.
Boiled’s revolver was more like a tank gun than a pistol—certainly, it was just as powerful.
If someone like Balot had tried to fire it, her hand would probably have been ripped off by the recoil.
Boiled was able to wield such an impressive weapon not just because of his physical strength but also
because he could use his PseudoGravitational Float to support it.
The other sharks were now swimming around quickly in the sky, on the alert for Boiled.
The atmosphere was pregnant with greed and deadly rage—and teeth.
“When did the sharks ask you to give them the ability to fly through the air?” Boiled asked, his dark
eyes fixed on the swarmof sharks above him.
“One three-dimensional space seems to be as good as another for sharks. Water or air, it’s all the
same to them. In much the same way as one place is as good as another as a battlefield for you.”
Another soft rainfall came from above their heads. The rain was no longer red. Cleaning equipment
was in operation to wash the blood away.
The outlines of the sharks could still be seen speeding their way through the rain. Then, with terrifying
speed, they flew at Boiled, a mass of teeth and artificial gravity: toward his head, his front, his back, his
flanks.
Boiled moved. He took a step forward, readying his gun in front of him.
The noise that ensued could no longer be described as simple gunfire; it was a series of explosions.
The shark that charged at Boiled head-on had its head blown into tiny fragments, with the rest of its body
careening into a white birch tree behind Boiled’s back, the shark’s internal organs splattering across the
clearing, giving off the stench of ammonia.
One by one the sharks were crushed by the force of Boiled’s bullets—or, in the case of those who did
make it as far as his PGF field, by the force of impact as they slammed into his invisible shield, tumbling
over to the ground, unable to move.
The keen smell of ammonia and shark blood pervaded the air, and the surrounding trees were now
repainted anew in a bright red even more vivid than before.
Boiled sidestepped quickly from left to right, and one by one, with lethal accuracy, shot down the
bundles of flying teeth as they approached him.
Before long there were ten or so sharks blown out of the sky and heaped on the floor. The remaining
dozen or so sharks were now circling overhead at a safe distance, perplexed.
Boiled just stood there wordlessly in a sea of shark blood, staring at Faceman.
Not a single drop of the shark blood stained his body.
His eyes showed an utter lack of interest in continuing his conversation with Faceman.
All he was thinking about was how to smash the thick PGF field—one far beyond that of the sharks—
that surrounded Faceman’s cage.
“So you choose conflict right to the bitter end, do you? Whether it’s quarrels with OctoberCorp or
Trustees on Mardock Scramble 09 cases trying to prove their usefulness, it seems that all everyone on the
outside does is fight. It’s as if you want to give the lawmakers yet another excuse to ban our technology,
serve it up on a plate for them,” Faceman said.
Faceman pointed to Boiled’s gun with his chin. “That’s the gun that Oeufcoque used to turn into, isn’t
it? An object whose only usefulness is as a tool of destruction. It’s also the empty shell of Oeufcoque—
the carapace that he molted, if you will. And that’s all you have now as a substitute for a soul—a
substitute for Oeufcoque.”
Boiled was about to open his mouth but said nothing. His words were swallowed up by the
annihilation that he exuded, turning into so much nothingness.
“You’re nothing more than a shark who has smelled blood. A shark brimming full of curiosity,
searching for the perfect weapon.”
Seeing that Boiled had nothing to say, Faceman spoke his final words quietly. “And now art thou
cursed fromthe earth, and a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be… Go then, on to the East of Eden…”
Boiled did just that.
04
–So, for a wine cellar storing eighteen years’ worth of brain tissue, it’s quite a fancy little thing…
Tweedledum was muttering to himself. He looked up at Balot, who was now standing beside the edge
of the pool, and asked,
–Are you going, then, babe?
He tilted his silver-sunglass-covered face as if to say he’d be lonely without her.
–Yeah…
Balot put her white robe on and knelt down beside Tweedledumto touch his face.
–I think I’d like to come back and swim here again one day.
–Well, if the outside world becomes one with this pool then you’ll be able to swim here freely.
Balot gave a small nod.
–If the world ever really does become a kinder place then I will come here.
–Well, that’s why you’re heading back out into the world, right? To try and make your little piece
of it good, at least. But you do know that the moment you step foot out of Paradise you’ll of icially
become a suspect of crimes against the Commonwealth. Don’t you regret it?
–No regrets. I’m glad I did what I did.
–Well, break a leg, babe.
Balot kissed Tweedledum’s forehead gently.
–Thank you for swimming with me.
Tweedledumcried out, a hollow, beautiful cry.
–Hurry up, now. We’ve got a rough customer in the building who’s kicking up quite a fuss looking
for you.
–Thank you.
Balot stood up quickly.
–And all the best with Oeufcoque, Tweedledum said, and she smiled at him one last time before
running off, still barefoot.
Balot left the forest, leaving Tweedledumthere in silence.
Before long a mass of icy death emerged fromanother corner of the forest.
–The angel has already flown the nest, big guy, Tweedledum informed him. He had snarced the PA
systemaround the pool.
“Tweedledum, is it…” Boiled muttered, pointing his gun at the dolphin.
–You know that as a Living Unit I’m considered a vital component of this information terminal,
right? You kill me, big guy, and it’ll be seen as a serious act of sabotage against this here system. The
Commonwealth Government has thrown bucketloads of cash at this thing. You want to end up an
outlaw?
“What was she investigating here?” He pulled the trigger back, noisily. Tweedledum just gave a short
peep, as if he were laughing.
–Why don’t you ask your own employer? Or is he the sort of boss who doesn’t tell you anything?
The gunpoint erupted in flame, and one of the poolside speakers was blown into small pieces.
–Hey, big guy, why are you trying to stop me from speaking?
Tweedledum’s voice emerged froma different speaker, sounding very unimpressed.
–You know that the person you’re here to see will have left the facility shortly? Once your suspect
has left, your jurisdiction’ll be revoked and you’ll only have the same privileges as an ordinary Joe.
You’ll be violating the law just by being here, big guy.
“You’ve learned to talk the talk, Tweedledum.” Boiled lowered his gun. “In any case, we’ll now be
able to put in an official request for full disclosure based on the fact that Rune-Balot was here.”
–Yeah, but the girl will have solved the case by then. With her Oeufcoque.
“My Oeufcoque. I’ll hold himin my hand again before long.”
–Hmm… A love triangle, eh? Tweedledumresponded, somewhat taken aback.
Boiled now had no eyes for Tweedledum. He scanned the area quickly before correctly sniffing out
the path that Balot had taken. He started heading down that way himself.
–Truth be told, big guy, I was surprised when I heard what you did to them sharks. “The Rusty Gun
is pretty keen to prove his usefulness,” I thought.
Boiled stopped for a second and looked back at Tweedledum. But he said nothing and soon
disappeared into the forest.
–Oops. That didn’t end up buying them much time, did it…
Tweedledumsighed as he watched the figure disappear.
≡
The silver egg was floating above the rooftop of the facility.
Activated by the Doctor’s voiceprint and key card, the shell cracked open to form a gangway. The
Doctor was loading a giant capsule into the egg with a pushcart when he saw Balot running toward him,
out of breath. “Barefoot, eh?” he asked, eyes wide open in surprise.
Balot snarced the stereo systemof the Humpty-Dumpty.
–I was in a hurry.
“Sure, but are you all right? What if you stepped on something rusty and got tetanus?”
–I’m all right. And even if I did get something, I’d have you fix me up in no time, Doctor.
“Right…” The Doctor nodded meekly, before asking somewhat hesitantly, “So, uh, how did it all
go…”
–I found it. The hiding place for that man’s past.
“Have you, now?” The Doctor nodded, visibly relieved, but he still looked apprehensive. “But I’ve
thought about it, and I can’t have you become a Commonwealth outlaw. Oeufcoque would be furious with
me.”
–All that’s happened is that I’m now on equal footing with you guys. With Oeufcoque, Balot
answered back, primly. There was an unusually wide grin on her face.
Something called out to her.
–You’re going, are you?
The stereo broadcast in a different voice.
Balot turned around to see the solitary figure of Tweedledee. Both she and the Doctor looked on in
horror at his puffed-up face and the dressings that covered the space where his hands once were.
–Oh, don’t worry about this. I just got a little frisky, thinking I might try and experience some pain
for a change. Also, something like this needed to happen in order to trigger security. But I’ll be fixed
up in no time.
–I’m so sorry. It’s all because of me.
–Really, it’s fine. If this is what it takes to become your friend then it’s worth it.
Balot seemed shocked when she heard this, but then she nodded.
–Thank you—I’m glad to have you as a friend.
Tweedledee smiled sweetly.
–So long, Balot. You can’t write me or email, but it’d be nice to meet again one day.
Before long the Humpty-Dumpty was in the air, and the opening in the shell wall was closing.
Tweedledee watched the silver egg as it rose into the empty air. Suddenly a large man appeared on the
rooftop behind him.
Balot started when she saw him. The Doctor was startled as well.
Boiled lifted his gun up at the Humpty-Dumpty.
“Stop it—do you really want to become an outlaw from the Commonwe—” The rest of the Doctor’s
sentence was obliterated by the gunshot.
The bullet smashed into the shell wall right beside Balot, scattering a shower of sparks every which
way.
The shell wall was strong enough to withstand a direct hit from a missile. A bullet would never pierce
it. Balot knew this, and Boiled knew this.
“He fired…” the Doctor muttered in amazement.
This was Boiled’s new declaration of war.
Now Boiled—just like Balot—was a potential suspect of crimes against the Commonwealth, and
everything would come down to how each of themwent about solving their case.
Boiled held his fire. He just kept his gun trained on the silver egg as if in acknowledgement of the fact
that the only way to solve this case now was to take Balot’s life.
Balot raised her left hand toward the very same Boiled.
She pointed her index finger at him and raised her thumb—and mimed a gunshot back at Boiled for
himto see clearly.
I won’t be killed a second time—I’ll fight back.
Even without speaking, her message was loud and clear.
The shell wall closed tight, obscuring Balot fromview.
The Humpty-Dumpty sped up and rose high into the sky.
Boiled watched its ascent with cold, dusky eyes and an upturned mouth.
–Are you smiling, Boiled? Tweedledee spoke, snarcing the speakers embedded in the rooftop.
“What…?”
–You’re smiling. The sort of smile you get when you’ve just made a new friend.
Tweedledee grinned himself.
Wordlessly Boiled returned his gun to his breast pocket and turned around. By the time his back was
to Tweedledee, his face was devoid of emotion again.
–See you around, Boiled. Drop in anytime you like.
Tweedledee felt a twinge of loneliness as he watched himgo.
05
The capsule that the Doctor had brought on board was filled with a blue liquid.
Oeufcoque slept inside it, bound hand and foot by a number of cords and folded into layers.
The capsule was placed in the bedroom on the first floor. Touching the glass window in the metal
piping, Balot thought about Oeufcoque’s death. About what Tweedledee had told her. How this
complicated synthesis of flesh and metal would eventually grow bloated and die, crushed under its own
body weight.
She thought about how Oeufcoque might consider his own inevitable death and tried to see if she could
comprehend it in the same way. She thought of the words that he had once said to her. That he was burnt
out and projecting his world-weariness onto the city.
The Doctor knocked on the open bedroomdoor. “I’ve just made some fresh coffee.”
Balot pulled away fromthe capsule and accompanied the Doctor back to the dining room.
“We’re at an altitude of 18,000 feet. Just offshore fromthe city. Aren’t you cold?”
Balot shook her head and took the cup that was offered.
It was café au lait. She took a sip and snarced the satellite TV to communicate.
–It’s good.
“I’mglad.”
–I’ve never reallythought that coffee tasted good until now.
“Ah, there’s a certain skill to grinding the beans and boiling coffee properly, you see. A bit like
preparing a test tube.” The Doctor mimed dispensing some medicine.
Balot glared at him.
–Suddenlyit doesn’t taste so good anymore.
“You are a cruel one,” the Doctor grumbled. Balot laughed and drank her coffee. Then she sensed that
the Doctor was about to tell her something.
He was about to explain their next course of action, she realized.
–Is there going to be another trial? Balot asked. The Doctor shrugged his shoulders and fell back
into his usual habit of pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.
“There’s not much point in another trial at the moment. Not until we understand exactly what’s behind
their movements and we’re ready to move in for the checkmate. As things stand, if we were to make our
move now they’d be able to get themselves off the hook one way or another.”
–Their movements? What do you mean?
The Doctor seemed relieved that Balot was jumping into the conversation. “The wedding.”
–Huh?
“That is to say—he’s getting hitched to this woman from the upper classes. We knew he was planning
something like this for a while…and now he’s finally putting his plan into action.
–Shell’s getting married?
“Uh, yeah, that’s about it.” The Doctor spoke as if he had a bitter taste in his mouth. Balot couldn’t
have cared less about this news, but it seemed like the Doctor was expecting her to react, so she thought
she’d better say something.
–Will you tell me about it?
“Sure. I hope this isn’t too hard for you. Basically, Shell is asking for the hand of one of
OctoberCorp’s director’s daughters. Using the data on his dodgy dealings as a pretext.”
–That doesn’t make much sense. What’s that got to do with marriage?
“Well, uh, exactly, that’s the point. There’s a reason why the director in question can’t refuse Shell’s
request. Or rather, maybe better to say that he doesn’t need to refuse.”
–I still don’t understand. What do you mean?
“It seems that the woman he wants to marry is mentally handicapped.” The Doctor seemed troubled.
Balot’s eyes opened wide.
“The whole household is full of distinguished individuals—other than the woman. She’s been confined
indoors all her life, apparently. A matter of keeping up appearances. Such an old-fashioned way of
thinking. Deplorable, really. They knew about her condition long before she was born—and before you
ask why the mother didn’t have an abortion, the answer is because their faith didn’t permit it. But really
it wasn’t about faith at all, just about saving face. They had to take into consideration all their political
affiliations—what their supporters would think, that sort of thing. Now, I don’t know how Shell got hold
of all this, but he did. He learned about the girl’s existence and said something to the effect of ‘I’ll take
care of her if you take care of me’—in other words, make sure he’s treated as one of the family with all
the social benefits this entails. With the unspoken threat left dangling there that if the father didn’t allow
the marriage then Shell would reveal the girl’s existence to the outside world. How the family has treated
her, all sorts of things they wouldn’t want seeing the light of day.”
Balot put her cup down on the table quietly.
–I feel like killing them.
She didn’t say who, but it was quite clear: anyone and everyone.
The Doctor shrugged his shoulders as if to say Me too. Then, apropos of nothing, he changed the
subject somewhat drastically. “I told you that I split up frommy wife, didn’t I?”
–Uh-huh?
“I have a daughter. A little younger than you, I seemto remember.”
Balot was genuinely surprised. The Doctor gave a wry smile. “I’m not sure if that’s the reason, but
part of me is starting to think of you as a daughter. I can even feel your deep personal hatred toward Shell.
The thing is, I don’t think my feelings are very healthy.”
–I don’t understand. What’s wrong with them?
“Doesn’t it make you feel uncomfortable? When I tell you that I feel that way?”
–Not really—I don’t think of you like myfather.
“Well, uh, I’m sure you don’t. It’s just that I’m kind of acting out of self-interest when I’m guiding you
toward your next step. I just thought you might feel a bit uncomfortable if, on top of that, I started imposing
some sort of unwanted paternal affection on you…”
–I’d feel very uncomfortable. Balot gave him a serious look. Uh…the Doctor was clearly flustered
by her uncompromising answer, but Balot smiled a little to try and reassure him.
–But I am very grateful to you. And I really want to help you. For my own sake too.
The Doctor nodded. He was showing his own gratitude. “So, what do you want to do? After the case
is solved, I’mthinking we do just as you like, really.”
–I haven’t been able to find an answer to that question. I can’t really get my head around the
idea of this case ever being over.
She answered truthfully and followed up with a sudden question.
–When is Oeufcoque going to die?
The Doctor was taken aback. “Uh, I’ve just performed some maintenance tasks on Oeufcoque—it’s not
like I’ve euthanized himor anything.”
–Tweedledum was saying. Professor Faceman too. That Oeufcoque only really started to think
about living when he learned that he was going to die.
“Ah, I get it.” The Doctor’s face became difficult to read, and he stared into the air. “Five years,
worst-case scenario.”
His tone was breezy. “That’s if we discover a particularly malignant tumor that we can’t treat. In
reality? I don’t know. Double that, or triple? He might even live on for another half a century. It’s
possible. But—it’ll be tough for him.”
–Tough?
“His whole body will start swelling up. I’m not just talking about obesity due to extra fatty deposits.
No—everything will get bigger: hypercorpulence, it’s called. His bones, his muscles, his internal organs
—even his eyeballs. He’s okay right now because he can distribute his Living Unit across several
dimensions, but even now his physical structure is already about the size of the pillow you sleep on.
Eventually he’ll get to a size where he can’t even fit inside this Humpty.”
Here the Doctor paused. His hand was now on his mouth, as if he were deep in thought, and after a
while he continued. “The real question is not how long he’s going to live, but how. He’s made his
decision—he wants to prove his usefulness. Like me. He doesn’t know when he’s going to die, but
neither do I, and neither do you, for that matter. We don’t know how we’re going to die, either. All we
know is that sooner or later we will die.”
Balot nodded. She thought she understood what the Doctor was talking about.
–I want to stay with him. Can I?
“You can, if you want to, I imagine. Do you mean even after this case is finished?”
–Is the work that you two do here rewarding?
Balot deliberately asked the same sort of question Faceman had asked. But the Doctor didn’t respond
immediately. After a pause, he stared at Balot’s face as if to try and work something out. “I’m content
here. So much so that I can’t even imagine what else I could do.”
–Do you think I could do it too?
“Well, taking into consideration your natural aptitude and all the data we have so far, I don’t see any
reason why not.”
–I remember seeing these boys and girls, younger than me, working at underground Shows.
Usuallyin the kitchen or as wait staff, but occasionally on the stage too, dancing.
“Being a PI is a little different from working a Show, you know. You have to try and find ways of
resolving situations where all these burnt-out, morally bankrupt people are fighting it out. It’s hard work.
And I often feel that all we end up doing is projecting our own world-weary selves onto other people
even as we solve our cases.”
–Still, I want to tryit out. Just as Oeufcoque is trying. I want to try.
“Sheesh, you don’t make things easy for me, do you…” the Doctor mumbled, then laughed to try and
cover his feelings up. “Look, I can lay out all the bare facts and data in front of you and advise you as to
what I think is best, but I can’t make your decisions for you. And I’m not sure that I can provide the, uh,
best environment for you to develop in. You’re probably best off going to school, really…”
–If you want me to study, I will. I’ll help you as I study.
The Doctor finally caved, throwing his arms into the air in surrender. “Well, for now let’s focus our
efforts on solving the case at hand. After all, if we don’t get a result soon, all three of us are likely to be
disposed of by society—we’ll be together then, but I don’t think that’s what you had in mind. So, first we
solve the case—and then why not have a proper chat with Oeufcoque after that. Just talking to me is going
to give you a pretty one-sided account of our work, after all.”
Balot nodded and picked up the coffee cup again.
–I’ll learn how to make proper coffee too.
Balot was deadly serious.
The Doctor watched, bemused, as Balot steeled herself to the task of learning what was involved in
good coffee.
Balot made the next pot.
≡
There was enough food in the kitchen to last themfor a while.
The Doctor and Balot ended up sharing kitchen duties.
“I still can’t believe that Boiled—fancy firing at a Humpty! However much he sees himself as our
enemy, he didn’t have to go so far as risking becoming a felon!” the Doctor grumbled as he tucked into a
hamburger.
–That man used to be Oeufcoque’s partner, right?
“That’s right. He was every bit as accomplished as you are at using him.”
–Why did theysplit up?
The Doctor was momentarily lost for words.
–Is there something you can’t tell me? Were theylovers? Like Tweedledum and Tweedledee?
“No, no, nothing like that.” The Doctor shook his head hastily. “They were the perfect fighting team.
No one could stand up to them. But then, this one time, Boiled went on a rampage.”
–You don’t mind me asking all this, do you?
The Doctor seemed to be thinking hard. He put his food down. “It’s probably no bad thing that you
understand what sort of a man Boiled is. So I’ll tell you.”
Such was the Doctor’s preface to what was to come.
“It was about a year ago, on a certain case. A young man—a university student—had been beaten up
so badly that he was in a comatose state. The client was the father, and the young man was his eldest son.
There were five of them in the family: the father, the mother, the student, and a younger brother and sister.
The father ran a factory, but it was up to the hilt in debt. The family’s only hope was the eldest son, the
student. He was a so-called ‘golden boy’—not only did he have a full scholarship to the university, but he
worked on the side, bringing in money for the family. He was their main source of income.”
–So who attacked him?
“At first we all supposed drug dealers. The student’s girlfriend had become hooked on drugs, and the
student challenged her dealers, leading to the fight that put him in a coma. Oeufcoque, Boiled, and I took
on the case because we thought that by doing so we might be able to find a drug link back to OctoberCorp
and crush their illegal trade that way.”
–And then?
“First we honed in on the people who allegedly put the student in the coma. It wasn’t too difficult to
track them down. It was the group of drug-dealing students, and the university was their turf. But then,
something strange happened.”
–Something strange?
“The ringleader of the group—another student—suddenly committed suicide. He was drugged up
himself. People put it down to something stupid he did while he was out of his head, but it all seemed a
little too neat for us, and we figured that something suspicious was going on behind the scenes. Then,
about the same time, the comatose student’s addict girlfriend went missing. And we discovered that
behind the original university drug ring was another, more complex, organization—all part of a scheme to
sell OctoberCorp’s illegal wares. The police were involved too. It was all one big tangle. And it was
pretty difficult to work out who was controlling whom.”
–The organization was trying to hide something?
“That’s what everyone thought. We tightened the screws on some of the people we managed to track
down—they all thought the same thing. But our enemy was all people connected to the drug trade, one
way or another. And at the core of all this was the original comatose student.”
–What do you mean?
“We’d misread the situation. The student wasn’t just the victim. He was also the perpetrator.”
Balot was visibly stunned.
The Doctor furrowed his brow and continued with difficulty. “I told you that the comatose son was the
main source of income for his family, right? Well, drugs were the main source of income for him. To all
outward appearances, the ringleader of the student drug ring was the youth who’d committed suicide. But
behind the scenes it was the comatose son who had been running the show. And that wasn’t all. It was the
son who had gotten his girlfriend addicted in the first place. It’s called fishing—they tried to collect as
many girlfriends as they could, using drugs as bait.”
–So who put him in the coma?
“The student who ended up committing suicide had punched him. Because of an argument over money,
or maybe just because he was on a bad trip. The blow caused him to stumble and fall down a flight of
stairs, and he hit his head against the wall at the bottom. The student who hit him was so shocked that he
retreated further and further into his drugs until one day he got so high that he decided to dive head-first
from a pedestrian bridge onto a busy roadway. The incident was pretty gruesome, and there were cut
marks on his arms and legs, so we assumed that somebody had decided to make an example of him. But
no, it turned out that it was just a straightforward suicide by an addict who happened to have a history of
self-harm.”
–That’s hard to take in. Who would have suspected that the victim was also the perpetrator?
“Yup, it was hard to take in for us too, and we were working on the case. The police were
investigating it as well, and at the same time they were indicting a number of their own for corruption and
involvement in the drug ring—it was a great scandal at the time. Some of the police had been keeping the
drugs that they had confiscated on raids and selling them off on the sly to the student drug ring, you see.
And the student who killed himself was involved in that part of the operation. Not particularly heavily,
though. Everyone just saw himas someone who was there.”
–So it was one wrong guess after another?
“Well, the comatose student’s family had put in a pretty staggering request, you see. In order to pay off
the debts of the father’s factory, they had to try and wrangle a huge sum of money out of the Broilerhouse
in the shape of child welfare reparations. But in reality, the student was just as guilty as he was a victim,
and really he was just reaping what he had sown. And the student’s family didn’t help matters either—his
younger brother tracked down one of the other dealers and assaulted him. It was pandemonium.
Eventually, though, the missing girlfriend re-emerged. It turned out that she had fallen asleep in a car in a
drugged-up state and slept for three days solid. It was only when we discovered the girl that we managed
to get to the bottomof the case and were finally ready to go about solving it.”
–So how did you go about solving it?
“In the worst way imaginable.”
The Doctor put his hands to his forehead. It was as if all the horrors of the time were flashing right in
front of his eyes.
“If the truth were made public, everybody involved in the whole sordid affair stood to lose. We tried
to imagine what would have happened, and it went something like this: the student’s family would suffer
the worst—they’d lose their factory, the younger brother would be arrested for violent and disorderly
conduct, and not only that, they’d end up having to pay out reparations, never mind receiving them. The
whole family would live out the rest of their lives in debt. The police and the Broilerhouse would suffer
an embarrassing loss of face, and the university where the whole sordid scene was set would be known
forever as ‘the drug school.’ The drug ring would split up into smaller units, and one of these would
eventually rat on their police connections, causing additional scandal. So, you see, we were in a real
predicament. If we were to let things slide then the Broilerhouse would do more than rap us on the
knuckles—they’d repudiate our usefulness, our very reason for existence. So with enemies all around us,
or so it seemed, Boiled came up with the worst possible solution to the case. He didn’t even tell us what
he had planned.”
–What did he do?
“He annihilated.” The Doctor spat the word out as if he were vomiting up an indescribably bitter
object. “First, he shot the comatose student.”
The Doctor saw Balot’s eyes widen but just shrugged his shoulders weakly. “Yes, he killed the very
same piece-of-shit student that we were hired by our client to protect in the first place. Then, he found the
junkie girlfriend, dragged her back to the car she’d been sleeping in, and shot her. After that, he rounded
up the students in the university who were involved in the drug ring and killed them one by one. Then he
went after the ringleaders who were involved behind the scenes and killed every single one of them too.
Accurately and swiftly. Oh, and in the process of this he also killed a number of corrupt cops along the
way.”
–How many people did he kill?
“At that point, eleven.”
–With Oeufcoque as the weapon?
“Oeufcoque trusted Boiled completely. He thought that Boiled was acting according to his own
directions.”
–Oeufcoque’s directions?
“When we discovered that the student was at the heart of the drug ring, Oeufcoque said that we should
tell his father the truth. Try and get him to drop his claim for reparations. Oeufcoque was just trying to
work out what the right thing to do was, until the bitter end. Boiled headed out with Oeufcoque in order to
do as Oeufcoque suggested, but along the way Boiled decided that he had a better way to solve the case.
For the next forty hours or so, Boiled told Oeufcoque that he was protecting the family from the drug ring,
who were now out baying for the family’s blood. They went on a killing spree—nearly twenty people in
total. Boiled’s story wasn’t totally unbelievable, as some of the drug ring were actually out to get the
family.”
–How come Oeufcoque never worked out what was really going on?
“Both of Boiled’s hands have metal fibers grafted into them for electronic interference, just like your
skin grafts,” the Doctor said, surprising Balot again. “Not quite as powerful as yours, though. At the time,
Oeufcoque wasn’t really able to grasp his surroundings after he had turned—he didn’t need to. So all the
main information about his surroundings was fed to him through Boiled’s hands. This allowed Oeufcoque
t o turn with the greatest level of precision and speed. It’s different now, of course. He has
omnidirectional receivers to pick up sights, sounds, and—in particular—smells. He’s like a Christmas
tree decorated with cameras instead of baubles. Like the compound eyes on insects. Oeufcoque asked for
all this after the case had finished. And I obliged his request in order to try and assuage his paranoid
neuroses.”
Balot nodded. She understood Oeufcoque so well that it hurt.
How it felt to have things done to you when you had no control, no knowledge…
It was a type of hopelessness. No hope in others, and no hope in yourself. She felt pain in her chest. As
a victimof violence—and as a perpetrator of violence.
–When did Oeufcoque learn what he’d done?
“Long after the family’s factory was sold off, and after the family only received one-eighteenth of the
reparations they’d originally put in for. When Oeufcoque learned the truth he fell into a trancelike torpor,
shut away inside himself. To make matters worse, Boiled killed another two people using Oeufcoque
while Oeufcoque was in this state. After that, Oeufcoque never entrusted himself into Boiled’s hands
again, and Boiled in turn disappeared straight after the double murder. According to rumor he was picked
up and recruited straightaway by OctoberCorp’s scouts.”
The Doctor sighed, remembering the past. “At one point it seemed as if Oeufcoque and Boiled might
end up killing each other. I even wondered to myself whether I’d made the right decision in choosing
Scramble 09. But… I didn’t want it to end like that. Oeufcoque and I have since acted as Trustees on a
number of cases to try and recover our credibility as PIs. Boiled is Boiled, and has ended up on the
opposite side of the fence to us in order to prove that he didn’t make the wrong choice, that his solution
was the best. And the result of all this is that here we are again, happy families, with our guns rammed
down one another’s throats.”
The Doctor took a sip of his coffee to try and wash the bitterness in his mouth away.
–Thank you for sharing all that with me.
“Don’t mention it.”
–Why does Boiled kill so many people, do you think?
“The last bit of stability he had in his life was his military training. Killing is probably the only way
he can cope with the great emptiness he now feels. The sense of nothingness that he carries around with
himisn’t your everyday stress and strain, after all…”
–That man wanted Oeufcoque.
“I’m sure he did. Oeufcoque is the only handheld Living Unit in the world. He’s the ultimate hand-tohand
weapon.”
–I think I can empathize with Boiled a little, though.
The Doctor choked on his mouth full of coffee. “You’re not saying that you want to become a PI so that
you can turn into the ultimate killing machine?”
–No…but I still understand Boiled a little, I think. Because I was like that, for a while. I raped
Oeufcoque. He became a sacrifice to my own burnt-out moral bankruptcy. And I think Boiled was
the same. It’s hard to give that up when you’re on your own.
“You’re different from him, though,” said the Doctor. But the truth was that the Doctor knew that
everybody had it in them to turn into another Boiled. To arrive at a state where the only way to wash
away your dark and hollow sensation of world-weariness was to see yourself as a monster and act
accordingly…
–Do you think Oeufcoque will ever be able to forgive me?
“There’s nothing really to forgive…” The Doctor caught Balot’s eyes and nodded neatly. “You’ll be
fine. You’ll learn, you’ll reflect on your actions, and you’ll grow. Oeufcoque understands that all too
well.”
Balot nodded too. Both Oeufcoque and the Doctor were very kind people.
But she didn’t want to start relying on that kindness—she suppressed any feelings in her that suggested
she might. She was too embarrassed to rely on other people anymore.
She needed to think for herself, decide what her best course of action might be and act on it.
“Oh, by the way… Do you mind if I ask you something in return?”
–What?
“To do with Shell’s hidden memories…” The Doctor seemed awfully reluctant all of a sudden, as if
he were terrified of imposing on her.
Balot put her hand to her mouth.
–I’m sorry. I’d completelyforgotten.
She was speaking the truth.
Then she blurted out:
–Chips.
“Chips…?”
–One of Shell’s casinos is called Eggnog Blue. They have chips worth a million dollars each
there, and he’s hidden these special media storage devices inside them.
“A million-dollar casino chip, eh? Well, well…a hidden treasure-within-a-treasure, huh?” The
Doctor looked at Balot, full of admiration. “Well done, a great spot. You’re really quite something.”
–Tweedledum helped me. I never would have been able to work it out on my own. There’s a strict
ban on taking the chips out of the casino, and other than at the big Shows the punters rarely get a
chance to see them.
“They’re probably there as a way for other companies in the OctoberCorp group to secrete away some
of their accumulated funds. They deposit a million dollars in the casino as a way of laundering money. At
the same time, it’s great for the casino as the chip becomes an ostentatious sign that the casino has funds in
reserve.”
–Yup. It looks like they were doing exactly as you say, Doctor.
“But to go out of your way to hide your memories in there…”
–I looked at the production records for the chips, and there were traces of evidence that they had
been made specially. The records themselves had been deleted, but there were still fragments of data
flying around, so I reconstructed them.
“Amazing. I know you had the might of all of Paradise’s facilities behind you, and Tweedledum’s
support, but even so it’s pretty incredible that you managed all that in just a few hours.”
–I wouldn’t mind trying it again sometime.
Balot laughed as she spoke. The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Violation of Commonwealth law and
aggravated hacking—you’re looking at up to twenty years in prison. If you don’t play your cards right you
won’t be able to go near another computer for almost half a century, either. So just do me one small favor,
will you—don’t go near that thing again unless absolutely necessary.”
–I’m sorry.
Balot seemed to grow smaller. She’d been told off for something similar by Oeufcoque not that long
ago, and here she was doing it again. She needed to wield her power from a state of readiness. She was
done with abusing power. She felt truly ashamed.
“No, don’t feel sorry. It just means that, in reality, you’ve taken a whole load of risk upon yourself,
and you need to be ready for that. So, back to those million-dollar chips—how many of themare there?”
–Twelve in the whole casino.
“That’s quite a lot…all containing Shell’s memories?”
–No, just four of them. The ones that have the OctoberCorp company emblem stamped on them.
They’re made byspecial order.
“I see…”
–What are we going to do? Steal them?
She was half joking, but—
“Robbing a casino is just as tricky as robbing a bank, you see. Burglary should be our last resort.”
Balot was a little surprised that the Doctor took her question seriously.
“We could ask the DA to conduct an official investigation, but once Shell works out what we’re up to
it’ll be too easy for him to palm his chips off somewhere else. And if Shell warns OctoberCorp, we’ll be
letting the big fish get away. We need to move carefully. Let’s see if we can be granted special search
privileges—but no…” The Doctor muttered to himself in this vein for a while.
Then, all of a sudden, “Hmm. I think the best thing for starters is to head on in as if we’re ordinary
punters.” He grinned at Balot. It was somewhat disconcerting—almost as if he were raring to go, looking
forward to the prospect.
“Balot… I’mgoing to ask Oeufcoque too. I think he will agree with my decision, but—”
–Yes? What?
“Have you ever played at a casino before?”
–No. I’ve been inside them with men, but I always just stood next to the man as he played.
“Do you know the rules to poker and roulette? What about blackjack or baccarat?”
–Um… I know the rules to snap?
“Lesson number two, then,” said the Doctor. “As soon as Apprentice Private Investigator Ms. RuneBalot
learns how to brew a proper cup of coffee, it’ll be time for her to move on to her next object of
study, methinks. How about it, young lady?”
–Can I ask you something?
“What is it?”
–Do you like gambling, Doctor?
The Doctor flexed his fingers. He tried to wear a solemn expression, but he couldn’t prevent a wide
smile frombreaking out across his face.
“Let me see. Gambling is the ultimate thrill—a game of intellect, but also aesthetics. It’s the most
beautiful thing in the world.”
Balot was not convinced.

Chapter 6INJECTION01It's a hit! There are about a hundred Shells in Mardock City, but this is definitely our man.There's a casino called Eggnog Blue owned by one of OctoberCorp's holding companies. He's thedirector in charge there.Tweedledumspoke and Balot nodded as she retrieved data fromthe pool.Bubbles leaked fromBalot's mouth, heading to the surface.She was swimming in the computer terminal pool, breathing through a set of EasyGills.The EasyGills were made in Paradise, of course.The Doctor, Faceman, and Tweedledee all watched from the side of the pool, keeping a lookout forBalot.Good stuf you've got the gist, now try accessing a little deeper. Try not to get distracted by allthe electronic noise. Think semanticsyou need to commune with the computer, not just connect.Underwater, eyes closed, stark naked, Balot stretched out her arms and legs and used her entire beingto converse with the computer. Millions of data channels opened up, and she focused on the semanticsthe nuances of how everything interrelated, how the channels developed, and what this all meant. Thisthen led her on to search for data directly, floating through the various data systems of the city. What didShell do, when, where? What did Shell touch, what did he buy, who was he with, what sort of activitywas he involved inall was being calculated at cutthroat velocity.What an amazing machineBalot was full of wonder as she swamin the pool of data. It was like when she had looked up her owncitizen's ID with Oeufcoqueonly incomparably faster and vaster in scope.It was as if she were excavating, like they were fossils, the footprints of a man called Shell, scouringthe whole of Mardock City, discarding the ephemera like so much dirt and gradually piecing together theskeletal remains of a giant dinosaur.The computer was constantly calculating the patterns of information, piecing together the implicationsof Shell's various actions in order to try and work out what he was doing, discarding the impossibilitiesone by one in order to establish what the most likelyor least improbableimplications were.So much of the data is contradictory or inconsistent. It looks like they've been constantly updatedor rather better to say falsified. It's a bit like a half-assed software update rushed to market farsooner than it should have been with nowhere near enough time to iron out the bugs just to save a fewbucks.Tweedledumwas happy to comment and advise but wasn't lending a hand himself.Neither did Balot try and force him to help her. Only one of them needed to violate Commonwealthlaw.He has all these memory defects listed. That's a common thread; it's coming up again andagain. And someone seems to have fiddled around with the university hospital's neurosciencedepartment. Its research data has been manipulated by outside sources.They're probably trying to hide something by erasing it. But erased data always leaves a hole,babe. Why not have a poke around to see just how deep that hole is?Sure.The countless streams of data whirling around her looked like rays of sunlight, pouring in and pilingon top of each other. Balot used her arms and legs to push herself farther underwater and then turned, faceup, to caress the rays of information one by one.Amazingto be able to bend all that information to her will Faceman's voice dripped with pureadmiration.She's dancing. Looks like fun.Tweedledee held his knees together at the side of the pool, looking somewhat bored.The Doctor stared at the pool with a tense expression fixed on his face.Just then, Faceman's expression changed suddenly.Phew, he sighed, staring into space in apparent wonderment.What is it, Professor? asked the Doctor.Ho hum. Looks like someone's come in search of Paradise. The checkpoint at the bottom of the hillconfirmed that there's a vehicle drawing near. Two passengers, one of them a PI and Trustee of a case.He's lodged a request through official Broilerhouse channels to be allowed to pay a visit to Paradise.The Doctor's face turned blue. Not Boiled?Faceman watched the Doctor, amused. Looks like the Rusty Gun has come to spread some firearound. What to do?It'd be deeply disadvantageous to Paradise if it's revealed that Rune-Balot is here, the Doctorresponded hastily, desperately, but Faceman's only response was to laugh.Dr. Easter, you seem to be a little too familiar with society's squabbles for my liking. But yes, youare indeed right. And I have no intention of allowing our data collection efforts on Rune-Balot to beinterrupted before we've finished harvesting what we need. Very wellI take personal responsibility forthe reception of callers to the gates of Paradise. Tweedledee.Tweedledee, summoned without warning, turned to Faceman with a jolt.It looks like some rough customers are on their way here. Will you help me welcome them?Does that mean I have permission to interact with outsiders?Indeed. A rare opportunity.Professorare you planning on leaving it to Tweedledee? asked the Doctor.The Tweedledee in question answered.No worries. I've read up on what to do when contact is made with outsiders. I'm looking forwardto it.Dr. Easter. Why don't you use this opportunity to prepare your next course of action. It looks likeRune-Balot's activities down there are going to take a little while yet.The Doctor nodded calmly, but his countenance betrayed his nerves as he hurried back into the jungle,taking the same route he'd taken to get there.What do you think Dr. Easter plans to do?He'll take Oeufcoque into the Humpty-Dumpty that he has standing by on the roof. Then, as soon asBalot finishes her work here, they'll all be heading off.Oh, they're leaving?Tweedledee's mouth went a little sour.Will they be back anytime soon?Let's just say that I pray that one day the girland indeed all of societywill understand just howpositive an influence our work can be. Faceman spoke in an uncharacteristically subdued tone as hemade his cage float up into the air. Now, let's go and see to our visitors.Boiled stared out the window with half-closed, emotionless eyes, taking in the night lights.The contract's confirmed.Shell's voicealong with a trace of staticon Boiled's cell phone.Well, we've only just published the marriage banns, but as soon as my transaction is completewe'll move on to the actual nuptial contract.Boiled listened to his employer's report without seeming particularly interested.Next to him Medium's shoulders were shaking. He was struggling to suppress laughter.It's all going smoothly now. Whatever happens at the Broilerhouse, it's going to be too late toaf ect anything.Do you have a fixed time and date for the contract yet?It'll all be sorted out within the hour. There's a mound of of icial paperwork the height of a thicksteak still to get through. Steak is right, actuallyyou could say we're all playing for high stakes.Except that I'm going to be helping myself to the best pickings. After it's all over I'm comping thegirl's father in my hotel. I'll pile him high with zero-interest chips and make sure he enjoys himselfgood and proper, on the house.This is a personal matter for him, then?He's on the board of OctoberCorp, so I'm sure he'll have a dozen wine-swilling legal advisorslined up in a limo somewhere, but it doesn't bother me. Her family name is about as prestigious as itcomes, and it's going to be my lucky star. You know her dad, right? Cleanwill John October.Shell enunciated every syllable of the name.And he lives up to his namehe's a clean-living john. A john as in a sucker, mark, or maybe evena john who likes his whores. Either way, John's a john, pure and simple.What about the girl?I'll leave her in the hotel for now. Sooner or later she'll become my of icial property, of course,so I'll need to start thinking about a storage space for her. I'll keep her locked away in a pretty littlejewel box of a place, somewhere.I'll proceed according to schedule. I'll send you a report on the outcome sometime between midnightand dawn.Night mail, then. I'm counting on you. Make sure that your night mail is good enough to banishmy nightmares forever. Make the girl, the one that should have already disappeared a long time ago,disappear for good.Understood. Boiled cut the phone line. Next to him, Mediumburst out laughing.I have no idea what you were just talking about, but there's one thing that I'm sure of. Mediumpushed his sunglasses up and glanced at Boiled. Your client's totally crazy.None of your business.Hey, I don't mean it in a bad way. He's about as crazy as us, I mean. A good client to have. A truefetishist's assignment. That makes me happy.Boiled didn't answer. He slipped the cell phone back in his jacket pocket before changing the subject.Earlier this morning I put in a request for a coworker on this case, as a witness. That's you.Haso I'ma PI, now?A PI's assistant. The target, the girl, has a similar request in.Medium's face twisted into an ugly sneer. I get it. So we can kill her fair and square now, right? Allabove board and within the law. Brilliant. I'll kill her all right. I'll kill her good and use up all her parts.Until I'msatisfied. That's the agreement, right?Boiled nodded.I can't wait. Medium's face lit up in an instant, and he stared out at the long, meandering road infront of him.Greenery was all around thema result of the plant farms that had been set up in the area, the loamimpregnated with concrete-dissolving enzymes. All kinds of trees were there, and in the gaps, buildingsthat hadn't yet been completely destroyeda sort of graveyard for a city.The reforestation program for the area bombed out by the wara Band-Aid for a city, don't youthink? About as much good as a couple of Band-Aids after you've been shot up by a machine gun, Imean Medium's eyes glinted red, and a twisted smile flittered across his mouth. If I rememberrightly, a number of unmanned fighter planes were shot down in this area. The ones that the militarycapitalistContinentals started sending over toward the end of the war, remote-controlled to cross the seaautomatically and release their payload. According to rumor, there was some sort of military facility here.Why would our little kitty-cat be in a place like this?She's already on another road leading into the grounds.Grounds? Of what? Mediumasked.The experimental facility. There was a time when the army and the government poured funding intoit.And then it emerged. A structure made of bright metal and glassvery different from all theabandoned buildings in the vicinitycould be seen in between the darkness of the forest nightscape. Itwas so large that it was hard to tell at first glance what sort of construction it was. Something vast andwhite, almost like an endless wall, surrounded it.All the mountains Medium was struck dumb for a moment, then slapped his knees like a childenthralled by the television. And here's Noah's Ark! What a surprise. So, this is where she's hiding out.The little kitten's rolled up in a ball, purring away as she sleeps? I'll purr you, my little kitty-cat. I'llpurr you all right.Boiled's sleepy eyes were trained on the rolling hills in front of him.Mardock City was originally a trade port and an engineer's city.The city developed, went high-tech, survived a war, and its prosperity was now firmly secured on theholy trinity of the industrial district, research institutions, and the harbor.Now, farther into the city, there was also an inverted trianglean unholy trinityof the city council,the pleasure district, and the media center.Each of the two triangles were in turn subdivided into smaller sections, like a dart board, wherewealth, poverty, glory, depravity, and fame all sat jostling cheek by jowl.Boiled parked his car at the top of the slope. Medium opened the door and said, blood rising to hisface, Unleash me whenever you're ready, boss, as he looked at Boiled, who had emerged fromthe otherdoor.Boiled pointed toward one of the slopes. Head in from the west. There should be security firmpersonnel stationed there. Gather any intelligence on the facility you can.Shall I report back to you with my location? asked Medium.If possible then do. I'll be heading to the main entrance and gain access based on officialprocedures.You mean they'll try and keep her hidden? Say that she's not in and never has been, that sort ofthing?Exactly.In other words, then Medium spread his arms out, no longer able to contain his joy. I can dowhatever I like to the girl, seeing that she's not supposed to be there anyway.Anything goes. Now move on in, said Boiled.Mediumspun around.His brutal smile seemed to linger on, like incense in the air.The hound dog, unleashed, went running off into the woods.Once he had disappeared completely, Boiled moved back into the driver's seat.An ark he murmured, gripping the wheel. An ark that waits for the deluge that never comes.Muttering to himself, he drove off.02Boiled flashed his PI's license at the guard who appeared in the watchtower monitor in the middle ofthe revolving gate.The guard noted his license without emotion, as if he too were part of the machine.You will be connected to the warden shortly, sir. Kindly wait there. Your voice and image arebeing recorded.Boiled nodded. The screen on the monitor changed.So, the Rusty Gun has returned for maintenance, unable to cope with the poisonous rust that heproduces?On the monitor, a man in late middle age. Only his neck upward was visible. Boiled knew all too wellwhat had happened below the neckline.Oeufcoque should be here, Professor.The man on the screenProfessor Facemanlaughed quietly.I say, this is rather of -topic from your of icial request. Is there nothing else you want to ask me?He spoke as an indulgent teacher might gently encourage a pupil to revise his answer.There's a possibility that a material witness for a case is hiding in this facility. I need you to open thegate for me.There's no need to force your way in using a gun. Come over to the November Forest.Even as he faded fromthe monitor, Faceman's tone was gentle.Boiled stopped the car and headed for the white wall of chalk, placing his hand on a small door thatwas etched into the wall.The door gave a little electronic buzzand opened inward.He stepped into a long, dazzlingly white corridor, and the door shut behind him.Everything around himwas a clear white, and it radiated calmness, like a first-class airport lounge.Boiled walked on. Calmfootfallsthis was a place he was comfortable with, at home. It was as if hisbody wanted these homely, nostalgic feelings in spite of himself, in spite of his resistance and disgusttoward the very idea.Boiled continued down the corridor and arrived at the end without passing a soul. He came to a giantwall again. He touched the electronic pad on the wall, and the thick walls parted to either side to revealtrees and plants not dissimilar to the ones on the outside.Boiled entered the forest.There was a white table and chairs in a clearing surrounded by white birch trees. A young man stoodby the table, and he smiled as Boiled drew near. Or so it seemed, but then the young man's expressionturned sour.I took my telecom out of my head a long time ago. No use in snarcing me to communicate,Tweedledee, Boiled said.Tweedledee looked more disappointed than anything else. He jerked his chin toward the table.There was a cup on the table, and the aroma of warmcoffee drifted about the glade.Tweedledee signaled with his eyes that the coffee had been prepared specially for Boiled.Boiled ignored it and stood in front of the table. Professor Faceman.The old man's head on the other side of the coffeeFacemanraised his eyes from within his cage.This forest is where many a war-weary soldier came to recuperateand it's also the final resting placefor many. When you finally return, it should be to here.Boiled shook his head slowly. I came here ten years ago because I was ordered to by the army. Nowthat the war's over I have no intention of becoming a victimof your experiments.So that's your postwar experience, is it? Many soldiers still drag around a victimcomplex with them.How about you?I'mneither the victimnor the perpetrator, said Boiled.Tweedledee looked blankly on.The conversation was going straight over his head.Faceman turned to Tweedledee and smiled. We won't be needing you here any longer, Tweedledee.Why not head over to the West Forest?Tweedledee shrugged his shoulders and approached Boiled, then tapped on the man's burly arms.Playfully, pleading. Then he disappeared deep into the forest.The only care he has in the world is that there are no active subjects around, so to speak. Facemanwatched Tweedledee's back as he departed, then looked up at Boiled. He was delighted about the factthat he thought he could get to know the new girl, though.Without changing his expression, Boiled dipped his hand into his jacket pocket and spoke. I havethree questions. Number one, where are Oeufcoque, his client, and Dr. Easter? If they are here, I need youto tell me where you are sheltering them.We don't shelter anyone here. We receive themas guests, said Faceman.They're here, then?I believe I have the right of refusal when it comes to answering questions?The right, perhaps, but that doesn't necessarily mean that you get to exercise that right, said Boiled.Hmm. What are you suggesting?I'm suggesting that this diseased facility, steeped in lies as it is, may soon be coming to terms withthe reality of your death.Faceman just smiled gently. So, death is your only true reality. How like you. Not that humans arecapable of simultaneously experiencing alternative realitiesbut killing me isn't going to changeanything. Nor do I think that taking my life is going to be of much use to you. Unless that's what you'relooking for, and it will give you closure? Is that how you feel right now?Boiled slowly drew his hand out of his chest pocket.But he wasn't wielding a gun. Instead, he let his arm flop down and started speaking again. There'sanother person of interest in this case who has already penetrated the facility.I presume you mean the oil-soaked man who's currently trying to gain access from the loading dockin the western ward? I seeif I don't answer your questions then he goes off on a little destructiverampage, is that it? And this is how you choose to make yourself useful to society? Faceman asked withabsolute serenity.Boiled replied, I'm the only one endowed with the right to arrest him as a suspect and materialwitness. The paperwork has all been approved by the Broilerhouse already.Faceman furrowed his brow as if he were troubled by something. Does your accomplice, who'strying his best to invade the facility as we speak, know any of this? No, we're talking about you. I'm sureyou've told himthe exact opposite.Only as a means to efficiently ensure that he's as useful as possible. A tactic used often in the armyor this facility.There are means that are justified by the ends, and there are means that aren't, replied Faceman.I have no time foror interest inyour moral lectures.Faceman sighed and spoke in a persuasive tone of voice that was also a warning. Here at the facilitywe are constantly updating, examining, and refining our technology. All we did was permit Dr. Easter aloan of some of our facilities in exchange for the latest set of data he has on his civilian subjects.So you admit to harboring a material witness?It's your choice to interpret my words however you choose, said Faceman.Boiled nodded. Now, my second question. He stared at Faceman with absolute indifference.Wait a moment. I'll answer your questions, but in return I'd like you to sit down. You're notpositioned well, and I can't see you properly.Boiled moved his chin from left to right. Not to respond, but to interrupt. I need you to answer myquestion.Hmm?We will take custody of the data that Dr. Easter submitted to you.You can't really call that a question. In any case, what do you want that girl's data for?It could turn out to be a crucial courtroomexhibit.Highly unlikely. Dear, dear. First Tweedledee, now you Boiled's eyebrows tightened. Facemancontinued, Tweedledee wants access to the girl's data too. Of course, I'm forbidding all access to it onthe basis that I and a select group of researchers need exclusive access to it at the moment. And you'rejust like Tweedledee.What are you trying to say? asked Boiled.It seems like you might be looking for a partner, just as Tweedledee is.Boiled stared at Faceman with a sharp glint in his eye. The technology in Paradise only begetsmonsters. All that's happened is that we have another walking, talking exhibit of this fact.You're right in that today's society may well interpret it that way. One day, though, the technologywill become commonplace, Faceman responded coolly. But looking at her data isn't going to help you.It'll be evidence that she abused Mardock Scramble 09.You won't have any luck there. From a legal standpoint, it's already difficult to judge what's use andwhat's abuse.What?The girl is still growing up. Any current data on her is no more than material for a comparative study.The girl is a genius.A genius? In battle?No, in her ability to dissolve herself into the ether. Dispersing her self-consciousness,' I'mcalling itfor now.Dispersing'?The waveforms we've been picking up from her brain in her consciousness-threshold tests are verysimilar to those found when a person enters a trance state. I daresay it's a form of autoimmune response,the dispersal and negation of her senses as a self-defense mechanismsomething that the girl hasdeveloped in order to preserve a sense of psychological normalcy in the face of the atrocious conditionsthat life has thrown at her.In what way? said Boiled.As you know, one of the most common side effects of grafting metallic fiber as replacement skin ontoa person is that their mental balance ends up shot to pieces. Just as if we were to transplant, say, a bat'sears onto a human headthe animal would be bewildered and its brain wouldn't be able to cope, saidFaceman.But you're saying that this girl is coping with the technology?Her Interference Rateall her consciousness-threshold figuresare over 80 percent.Boiled was silent. This was a rare moment where he was actually shocked by what his opponent hadto say.The fibers are embedded in the whole of her skin tissue. As her subconscious receives stimuli, so thefibers develop autonomously. The fibers we transplanted into your palm never even grew to the back ofyour hand. Think on that, and you'll realize just quite how singular a being this young lady is.So she's wrapped in a layer of skin tissue?No, not wrapped'it's assimilated perfectly. In time, it could extend to her mouth, the back of hereyelids, even some of her internal organs.Impossible. Boiled's voice rose, ever so slightly. Boiled noticed his own reaction, and it surprisedhim.I didn't want to believe it myself, but it's the truth. An incredible truth born out of the confluence ofthree factors: Dr. Easter's innovative technical developments, the existence of Oeufcoque, and the girl'supbringing. That's why we wanted her data at all costs, and that's why we let themuse our labs in return.It's a fairly straightforward auxiliary function to give a brain the electronic interference abilities of asnarc, though?Yes, but the same paintbrush wielded by two different hands produces two entirely differentpaintings. Some people are natural artists, others show no trace of talent despite the best tuition in theworld. This is just like that. What's unique about this girl's snarc is a truly astounding level ofconcentration, her ability to focus her consciousness in on a narrow point, and her ability to diffuse all hersenses. Theoretically the human body has the ability to respond to its own suggestions, manipulating itsown senses at will. To feel warm when it wants to feel warm, to feel cold when it wants to feel cold, tofeel nothing when it wants to feel nothingeven extend its control over its own inner workings. Througha deliberate program of training the subconscious, the body should be able to grasp everything that ishappening all around it, intuitively, on a subconscious level, said Faceman.Theory is one thing, practice is quite another. There's no way that such a thing could actually existan ordinary person able to manipulate their senses on demand.This made Faceman laugh. The origins of your own PseudoGravitational Float were fairlyinnocuous at first, if you rememberit started off as technology designed to help people cope withheights. Wasn't it you yourself who mastered that technology so that you could walk across any surface,including ceilings and walls, at will? When I say that her data will be useless to you, I mean that it'd beimpossible to try and extrapolate any general conclusions from it, just as it's impossible to predict howshe is likely to develop next.Stillher organic data, at least, will be of some use.Even that's completely unquantifiable at the moment, replied Faceman.Are you using FES?Faceman nodded. Functional Electronic Stimulus treatment is being applied to her whole body. Theoriginal plan was to program her nervous system electronically in order to cure her of paralysis in herlimbs, butSo why is that unquantifiable?Her skin tissue is already in the process of assimilating with her cerebellum. Of course, you couldsay that it's the skin tissue that is influencing the brain, rather than the other way around.Her skin is controlling her brain? Is such a thing even possible?Human beings are, fundamentally speaking, holistic entities. Such a thing is certainly possible. It'ssafe to say that Rune-Balot is no longer human, but rather a creature formed by synthesis of human beingand metal fibers. The fibers develop autonomously, in accordance with the spatial senses of hercerebellum, automatically creating hundreds of millions of electric patterns that allow her to applyoptimal stimuli to her muscles and internal organs. In other words, the skin operates the brain, which inturn manipulates the rest of her body to her will: a state of affairs that we've never seen before.Why didn't that happen with my fibers? asked Boiled.The only possible explanation I can think of is that the girl is a singularity. Dr. Easter did program acertain level of combat data into the structure of the metal fibers beforehand, but that only goes so farshe's long since outgrown that, and her abilities have developed to the point that the original data iscompletely redundant. No one other than this particular girl is capable of such a thing. Exactly the sameas, for example, how you're the only one who was able to develop your PGF to the extent that you did.And how can I deal with her? asked Boiled.Deal with? Faceman stopped and nodded, as if to say It stands to reason. We're residents ofParadise. We don't share the same moralizing notions that the outside world has regarding war, weapons,and related technology. We don't consider themto be evil in and of themselves, and we don't consider thegirl to be a threat in and of herself. But perhaps you feel that opposing the existence of creatures such asthis girl gives you some sort of purpose in life, a raison d'tre?Boiled's face revealed that not only could he not answer this question, he was looking for an answerto it himself.What is conflict and killing to you, Boiled? A means to an end or an end in itself? It was the firsttime that Faceman had called himby his name since he'd arrived.But Boiled wouldn't answer.Is it your desire to kill that's become your main driving force? Didn't you entrust yourself to Paradisein order to toughen you up, body and mind, ready for outer space? Isn't it rather miserable that theoutcome of all that is a boundless killing machine?The killer instinct in me is just thatinstinct, Boiled said. It's neither a means to an end nor an endin itself. The reasons behind my involvement in Paradise don't concern you; they didn't back in the day,and they don't now. More importantly, the person who has the rightand dutyto ask questions is notyou, it's me. Boiled's tone was defiant. He continued: And my third question is this. What areOeufcoque and the others trying to find out about Shell?What are you talking about?I've already seen the official petition to the Broilerhouse. There's a good chance that the Doctor andOeufcoque are conducting their own private investigation on Shell.Unfortunately, I'mnot in a position to divulge thatnot to one whose only means of self-actualizationis through killing.What are you saying? said Boiled.I'm saying that giving you the information you want would be paramount to condoning murder. Askme again once you've recovered your sense of value for human life.All the expression disappeared from Boiled's face. As inhuman as his face was normally, this wasone step further, hideously, oppressively blank.So who's going to show me the value of life? The people whose bodies were mangled behind closeddoors in the name of science?Faceman dodged the question. I'm not talking about the value of life. I'm talking about your ownpersonal values.Boiled leaned forward. I know all about the many lives that Paradise has snuffed out. How othersoldiers came here, what happened to them, and how they ended up dying.So you're trying to say that our aim is to murder people? Like some sort of concentration camp?That's a foolish way to look at what goes on here, and you know it. Of course there are some researchershere who treat their subjects as objects. But they are human beings too, and they have arrived at their ownpersonal, sophisticated value systems, their own conceptions of the value of human life. Without this, youwouldn't last long as a researcher hereit'd be too tough on the mind.False value systems. Totally contrived.Of course they're contrivedwhat other sort of value system is there? Or are you saying that there'sa physical, tangible object called a value' lying around somewhere, just waiting to be discovered so thateveryone can see what the truth is?My heart died in this so-called Paradise. I can no longer feel that there's any such thing as value tolife.That's because the fear of death has been removed from you. The armyand youwanted it so. Togive a soldier a sense of immortality. There were many steps to this procedure, and you're the only oneever to follow it through to the end, voluntarily or otherwise.I've also forgotten sorrow and anger.At the time, our consciousness-threshold examination techniques weren't yet perfectI've even been robbed of my ability to sleep.Asomniatic Activitythe highest-priority research target we were given, designed to strengthenmilitary personnel. You know very well that it used to be a matter of course for amphetamines to beprescribed to help soldiers stand up to the trials and tribulations of warwas that any better? If youremember, at the point you came to this facility, you were utterly dependent on stimulantstotaladdiction. All we did was try and save you, and countless other soldiers, fromsuch a fate.Save me, you say?That's right. Save you. I felt so then, and I still feel I was right. I have a lot of time for people whoaccept their burden and take what life throws at them.Are you saying, Professor, that you'll be able to teach me again whether life has any value? askedBoiled, an unusually dignified and serious tone to the words spilling forth from his lips, even for him.Does life have any value?But Faceman shook his head. He smiled placidly and continued. That question is follyyou have itall upside down. Value is not something that just exists. It's a concept, a construct. And when peopleneglect their duty to construct their own valuation of life, they revert back to being no more than beasts.After all, what is society if not a peculiarly human invention that allows people to conceptualize andpropagate their own belief systems?Boiled remained silent, his eyes dark.Faceman continued in his quiet voice. It's been observed on numerous occasions that the act ofkilling other members of one's species is not limited to human beingsit's a trait observable in allanimals. The reason that animals are furnished with the ability to kill is so that they can kill. For animals,the impetus to kill is always there, constantly at the ready. That's their system of self-perpetuation, yousee. Their systemis pure and simple, just like human society.Are you calling me an animal?All human beings are animals, of course. But you, having lost your sense of values, are trying to fillthat gaping hole with a particular set of instinctsthat's why you're an animal. When animals cannibalizeeach other or persecute outsiders or create outcasts or commit suicide, or patricide, or infanticide, orfratricideall these apparently abnormal acts are nothing more than a regression to a base animalinstinct, when you think about it. Animals learn from their environment and their circumstances and passtheir learned behaviors on to their children, who inherit what they can from their parents. But whenenvironments and circumstances change so that they appear to contradict what we have learnedwell,that's when learning goes out the window, and animal instinct kicks in to produce these behaviors that wecall abnormal.' Whenever there's an outbreak of killing within a species, this is usually the primaryfactor.Are you saying that it's abnormal for me to have a gun? Boiled asked.Suddenly, Faceman's eyes narrowed, and he threw the question back at Boiled. So, when I saidabnormal,' you immediately associated the word with your gun, did you?Boiled didn't answer.Faceman smiled and continued. Abnormal behavior could be, for example, the ill-treatment of othermembers of your own species. There are some animals, for example, which, for various reasons, toy withweaker beings before killing them. Even their own children. There are some cases where they rape theirown children repeatedly, or eat their children. Besides that, there are countless cases in which animalsengage in group suicide, or end up eating each other or killing their own parents.Faceman uttered this entire speech with his usual, apparently disinterested, tone. Boiled stood andlistened without emotion.Let me give you another example. In the savannas of a protected nature reserve, when the numbers ina herd of herbivores grow beyond a certain level, the herd engages in conduct that can only be describedas provocative. Namely, they find a carnivore and deliberately pass close by, encouraging the carnivoreto chase them. When, eventually, one of the herd falls by the wayside at the end of the chase and fallsvictim to the predator, the others in the herd stop and watch as their fellow gets ripped to pieces.Scientists have analyzed brain wave patterns that, in these situations, indicate that the surviving herdmembers are not just excited, but also enjoying the spectacle.It was as if Faceman was methodically retrieving the data stored in his mind, selecting the best pieceof information to impart next. And what about the lowly insect that's organized into the most regimentedsort of society. Take the beein every hive, there's always a particular bee that isn't assigned any role. Itisn't allowed to do anything, and it just gets ignored by the other bees and dies. The existence of such apitiful creature is usually explained as being a necessary measure to keep the population fluctuating, butessentially what's happening is that the majority are finding an outlet for stress by creating an outcast. It'sa type of amusement. Then, there are the activities that are supposedly unique to human beingstake war,for example. Your former line of work.Boiled said nothing. He stared at Faceman, a dark glint brimming up in his eyes.You think that human beings are the only animals to wage war? Think again. It's actually fair to saythat pretty much any animal with a herd instinct will wage war one way or another. From insects toherbivoresall living creatures wage war. Ants, for example, will attack a rival anthill and raid its foodsupplies. They even occupy the other's territory, enslaving the surviving ants. This sort of action is anexceedingly common animal impulse, in fact. So, you see how it is? Human beings are a long way fromescaping their animal instincts, as I'm sure you understand clearly. In which case, what exactly is thedifference between man and animal?Faceman took a breath here to better enunciate his next phrase. The creation of values, he said. Onone hand, animals have come up with all sorts of reasonsbesides simple predationto kill each other.On the other hand, over time human beings have come up with a notion of valuing life and death. It's notthat life has any value in and of itself. It's that human beings have come up with a notion of value andapplied that in various ways to the idea of life. In doing so, man started to resist total domination by hisbaser instincts and managed to give birth to a society overwhelmingly stronger and more complex thanany other, surpassing all other creatures and ascending the pinnacle of life on earth as master of all hesurveys.Here, Faceman opened his eyes wide and tilted his head, that is, his whole self, forward. What is thedefinition of a human being? It's based on whether a creature understands the concept of a value system.Human infants are very much like animals in that they don't understand the idea of values, but then theystudy them, and in doing so arrive at their own sense of self-worth, as well as the value of other objects,recognizing the value of other people, and in learning how to heighten their own sense of values theyfinally begin to participate in society as a human being. Although, on the other hand, there is a certain typeof person who seems to have found his niche in society without a fully developed value systemand theyexist as little more than animals.Then Faceman grinned mischievously, although Boiled didn't respond. Oeufcoque knows whatvalues are, Faceman said, his eyes gentle and narrow, but in a tone of voice clearly designed to elicit aresponse fromBoiled. But it did not work.Originally he was just selected as a Living Unit because a mouse's metabolic system seemedextremely compatible with what we were trying to achieve, and he happened to be selected as thatmouse. But as he had his intelligence amplified, he gained a personality. He understood the concept ofvalues, and so he changed fromjust another lab animal to a creature called Oeufcoque. Oeufcoque made aconscious effort to amass his own value systemand tried to recognize value in others. He did this becausehe recognized that this was the main reason human society has managed to develop to the extent that it has.Surmounting crisis after crisis, human will has always striven to rebuild society anew, to develop it to thehighest level possible. The reason Oeufcoque has elected to concern himself with all of society's ills isprecisely because he recognized and understood all of this.The Professor continued in earnest. You're the exact oppositethe very definition of folly. Even asyou try to erode your own sense of values, regressing back into an animal state, you still desperately clingto human society. If you're looking for the opportunity to kill, pure and simple, then why not head to ajungle in a nature reserve and kill all the animals and fishbugs and germs, eventhat you want?There's no reason that you have to be around humans.Boiled responded for the first time, almost as a reflex reaction. I was a soldier. I defended one set oflives and I studied warcraft in order to fight more effectively against another set of lives. It's an existencedesigned for a high level of defense and attack. Even now, I protect lives even as I take them.Is that the thing you're most proud of in your life? What a bundle of contradictions human beings are.On one occasion they will devise a killing machine called an army in order to better defend themselves.At other times they'll go on a looting spree as a means to increase prosperityeven though doing somakes their victims think of them in turn as a collective object worth attacking in the future, rather thanone worth cherishing. And these are your values, are they?What would a person who has deliberately isolated himself in a manufactured paradise know ofsociety's values? asked Boiled.It's precisely because we understand society's values that we founded Paradise here. This is mychallenge to my own values.I always challenge my own values, said Boiled.Faceman opened his eyes, seemingly impressed. Indeed? So, what are you, then?In order to defend one set of values, humans have to annihilate opposing sets of values. I'm a beingcreated specifically to bring about that annihilation. If it's humans who make values, it's also humans whobreak them.Faceman sighed a small sigh. What a profound thoughtand yet so helpless at the same time. Is thisyour compensation for your own sense of helplessness? Having had your own emotions denied you, withall the highs and lows that this entails, you seek to bring about nihilismin all living beings?This place you call Paradise was built on the back of people's broken values. You're the ones whoknow all about toying with nihilism, replied Boiled.Values come and values go. We've thrown out sacred cows in the past, and I'msure we will again inthe future. But as long as we remain fixed on our aim of creation, new values emerge from the detritus ofthe old. This is most definitely not nihilism.How is this facilitywhich treats human beings as objectshow is it in a position to evaluateanything?If we've treated people as objects, it's because our observational techniques are subject to ourcurrent limited physical and mental consciousnesses. We're still inexperienced. In the grand scheme ofthings, we're still at an embryonic stage, or at most eggs in a basket. That's why we value Oeufcoque sohighlythe Golden Egg, able to sniff out the odor of souls. Faceman stopped speaking and stared atBoiled. And you, aren't you the same, Rusty Gun? I recognize all too well that it takes the full extent ofyour considerable willpower to suppress your killer instincts. But that's not enoughat the moment,you're still just a human-shaped weapon. How do you ever hope to regain your soul?Boiled stood silent a moment. I kill in order to protect my client's rights and interests. I don't kill forany other reason.Human beings strive to become gods and are ever frustrated in their efforts. You try and regain youremotionsthe missing ingredient to make you an omnipotent godthrough using your killer instincts totry and steal them back. But that path won't lead you anywhere other than down your own road to ruin.The proudest warriors and hunters in history come across as modest and humble in comparison to you.Boiled's hand went back into his breast pocket. This time there was contact with steel. Soldiers havetheir values constantly repudiated on the front lines. Call me worthless if you likeit means nothing tome. The only people who recognize my value are my enemies.The only people who see value in you are people who repudiate their own values, said Faceman.Deep in their hearts, all people know that there's no such thing as real value. Boiled withdrew hisgun. Without a moment's hesitation, he pointed it at Faceman in front of him. I need you to answer myquestion. What is Oeufcoque checking up on Shell about?You don't really need me to answer, now that the poisonous rust has so thoroughly spread throughyour body. As things stand, you're nothing more than a motor propelled by survival instincts and yourintent to kill. Do really think that having Oeufcoque in your hand will serve as a substitute soul?Boiled cocked the gun. A second later, there was a ferocious roar, and the white table flew apart in alldirections, clods of earth flying through the air.There was a sudden gust of wind that blew away the lingering acrid smell of burnt gunpowder. Thecage that had been on the table was now floating in midair, protected by an invisible shield, and fromwithin the cage the Professor stared out at Boiled with a serious expression. The technology you use todeflect bullets was developed right here.Boiled fired. The bullet was deflected, smashing to pieces a tree stump in the background. Suchincredible destructive forceand yet it was unable to influence the state of affairs in the slightest.Boiled grunted. The Professor's eyes narrowed. The trigger was pulled again.This time his bullet grazed the cage, sending sparks flying into the air.The gravitational field had been breached, and the bullets could now brush past the cage.Yetthat was as far as it went. Even so, Boiled kept his gun pointed right at Faceman.Why don't you ask your own client? the Professor asked quietly. Why would we know the detailsof what Oeufcoque or Dr. Easter or Rune-Balot are looking for? This case is between yourselves. Whydoesn't your client share this information with you?Boiled stared at the Professor, gun still pointed at him.But Boiled pulled the trigger no more.Do you really think that Oeufcoque would ever return to youyou who have cast aside all emotions,even trust? asked Faceman. His voice was terribly, terribly sad.03This is awhat do you call it?Tweedledumwas in the water, taken aback.That's ita storm. I've never seen one before, but this is definitely a storm.A storm was what Tweedledum called the swirls of information that were flying about Balot. He wasshocked.I've worked out how to trace a program back to its origin, I think.Fromthe outside, Balot looked as if she were swimming gently underwater.The information that Balot's words referred to flew violently around the water, turbulent currentsforming themselves into liquid electronic circuits that could be expressed and understood semantically, sothat Balot could effortlessly read and communicate the information.Brainthis word, with all its meanings and nuances, became the foundation of the information now.Compiled around the image of Shell, she collected every piece of information that was conceivablyrelated to her search before filtering themout for relevance.Balot's state was now such that all she had to do was bring something to mind, open up her heart, andit was done. Whatever image she sought. This would then pass through the artificial Lightite skin thatcovered her whole body, transforming into electronic signals, snarcing through the swirls of informationwith great vigor.There's a copydefinitelya traceA large bubblea long sighescaped from the artificial respiratory organ that was appended to hermouth. She continued with half-open eyes.Eighteen years' worth of his memories have all been transformed into recorded dataShe looked up at the light above her with her eyes half-asleep. Her eyes then closed further.It's all coming together.When he heard Balot's words, Tweedledumgave a short shrill chirp of surprise.Amazing stuf , babeAnd then, at that instant, all the information was sorted; the irrelevancies and the dead-ends discarded,only the cold, hard facts remained.I've managed to analyze a specialist computer program used by Shell to transfer his memoriesonto writable media. There are traces of evidence suggesting that the program has beenimplemented. What happens is that all his memories relating to his five senses are selected andisolated, leaving the parts of his memoryrelating to his imagination and his desires intact. So, whenit's all turned into recorded data, the gestalt of his brain's memory form is destroyed and he loses allhis physical memories.The information was now pouring out automatically, as if Balot was no longer speaking of her ownaccord.There's a particular type of storage file he needs to use in order to save all eighteen years'worth of audiovisual memories It's a particularly complicated storage file that requires a veryspecific type of metalwork to make. That's how we determine our routetraces of thatmetalworking.Aha! So there's your magic bottle that holds eighteen years' worth of brains, huh? Tweedledumsaid to Balot, who was now virtually sleep-walking, or sleep-floating.And where is that bottle, right?Every time he does his money-laundering, he skims a bit off the top. He falsifies his ownexpenses. I think I've worked out a pattern. Using this I can work out roughly what his fortune isboth his official one and his black market one. Everytime a girl dies, more moneyswirls aroundBalot felt a chill in her heart as she transmitted this, as though she had swallowed a cold knife. Herpulse was steady, and yet she felt a sharp pounding in her heart.Whyme?As she asked the question, the information that was swirling all around her seemed to change course.That's itBalot stared at the silent swirls of light that surrounded her. She took a deep breath, trying to put asidethe feeling of sheer hatred, the overwhelming desire to kill that had sprouted up inside her and was nowrising to the fore. Trying to calmherself, she exhaled slowly.The answers are all in Shell's memories.This was Balot's conclusion.For a memory transplantyou need lots of money and the right facilities. The flow of money,evidence of computer programs being used, Shell's actions, special facilities for memorytransplants, payments to certain people, the girls used at the timeBefore long, Balot could feel, through her skin, all the results of her searches. She had her moment ofsatori, when she knew that no matter how many more times she interrogated the information she wouldonly arrive at one inevitable conclusion.In her dreamstate, Balot felt all the cogs of the wheel slotting into place.Have you found it, babe?Tweedledum's voice was distinctly under pressure now.Yupgot it.Balot slowly turned over to Tweedledum.The inside of our eggrotten to the core.Mr. Boiled? Boss? Mr. Iron Man? Fuck! Why isn't this thing connecting? Piece of shit.Medium spoke not with his voice but through the transmitter implanted in his head. The electronicsignal disappeared mournfully into space.Medium checked how long he had now been inside this giant structure. Just over an hour. In that timehe had managed to penetrate the security defenses with ease, in the process killing three guards with histwo-hundred-thousand-dollar butter knifethat magnetized blade.His knife made easy work of the three, and he cut them into pieces to store them in the lockers in theguardroom, not forgetting to first strip the uniform off the guard closest in size to him. Medium thendonned the uniformhimself.After that, Medium had obtained all the information he could from the guardroom. The blueprints forthe whole facility, including the plumbing and wiring. He downloaded what he could fromthe informationcircuits, copying it straight into his intracranial hardware, and took a few minutes to digest it fully.When he had finished that operation, he covered his bald headhis glassy pate suggested moreinpatient than security guardwith the regulation uniformcap, and left the room.He had followed the patrol route carefully and had planned on contacting his new boss, the one thatsent himhere, but now he wasn't able to get through. It seemed that the whole building was set up to blockthe transmission of most electromagnetic frequencies. He had noticed back in the guardroom that therewas a particular wavelength that did seem to work, but even that was being shielded by something at themoment.With his knife still gripped casually in his right hand, Medium continued down the corridor as if hewere on a pleasant evening stroll. He passed a number of doors to either side of him, occasionallybranching out into a spacious lobby or a terrace encased in glass, but there was almost nobody around.Even when he came across the occasional group of people, it was always old people attached tomachines, or researchers huddled together in deep discussion. There was no sign of anyone who lookedremotely like a young lady.Eventually, the hardware in his head scored a hit. Rune-Balot, Medium murmured. His internalcomputer had managed to crack the flimsy password that protected the visitor records. He grinned. Bothcorners of his mouth swerved up to abnormal lengths. Behind his sunglasses his eyes glittered red, andMediummoved toward the area that the data entry pointed toward.It wasn't long before he arrived. There was a thick door in his way. Medium got out his LockbusterCard and shoved it casually into the slot in the wall. He looked into the retina scan with his mechanizedred eyes, which projected a fake iris for the scanner to recognize. Then he took from his pocket a humanfinger that he had removed from one of the security guards he'd killed and placed it onto the DNA scan,gripping tight. The fingers on his own left handblown off only the other dayhad been replaced withelectronic substitutes. His new metal fingers picked up the finger on the DNA scan and crushed it. Blooddripped out onto the machine, and the ID check was complete.Here, kitty, kitty, kitty! I'm coming for you! Medium was laughing now, a high-pitched squeal. Thedoor opened with a heavy rumble.He took a step into the room. Oho!He scanned the insides of the room.Against the backdrop of the verdant foliage, the bright sunlight, and the warm breeze, Medium dancedabout with his brutal knife held in one hand. It was almost as if he were waltzing. Man, this is hardcore!They're not kidding when they call this place Paradise! What a blast! What a great place to play with mylittle kitty-cat!He swayed from left to right, brandishing his knife every which way. Plants and flowers fell to theground, burnt, scorched. Silver flashed all around, and his eyes glowed bright red.Then, in an instant, his manic spree was over. Medium had seen someone. He crouched down andapproached, circling around the trees so as not to be seen.Who are those guys? he murmured to himself, exhaling through his nostrils.No one was moving. Some were in wheelchairs, others lying down in the gaps in the shrubbery. Allwere staring up into the sky with content expressions. It was as if a number of stationary mannequins hadbeen dotted about the place as decoration.Medium stayed in the thicket for a while, observing the stationary people, but then he revealedhimself, walking toward themwith rough, deliberate footfalls.And yet no one seemed interested in either his gleaming red eyes or the blade in his hand. They didn'teven try and look at him.Soon he was standing next to a woman with abnormally white skin. She was sitting in a wheelchair.He peered at her, stooping over her to take a sniff. He heard her breathing, faintly. The woman showednot the slightest movement. Medium rubbed the top of her head with his knife-wielding hand. He partedher hair, as if savoring the sensation, and noticed that there were surgery scars across the back of herscalp.He brought his knife-wielding hand back to his own chin, deep in thought.Then he took a step back to gauge his distance before kicking the wheelchair viciously.Hey, you fucking blow-up doll! What's the matter? Look at me, why don't you? He kicked herrepeatedly as he shouted.The wheelchair trembled but absorbed most of the impacts, and when the woman looked as if shewere about to topple over, a cushioned arm extended from the chair's frame to catch her body, proppingher up.Mediumsnickered. What a fetish someone must have. All these living sex dollsHe looked around with a fierce grin on his face. However much he shouted, the people just stayedabsolutely still without lifting a finger, the gentle breeze blowing against their blue hospital robes.Medium took the hair of the woman he had just kicked about and put it neatly back into place. He tookher hand that was resting on the armrest and stared at it intently. He picked up the fingers and licked them.Then he placed her left hand onto the armrest, fixed it into position, and severed her hand with his knife.The woman's body stiffened in an instant.The smell of burning flesh pierced his nose as the wound was instantly cauterized. There was noblood. Medium took the severed hand in his own, smiled a satisfied smile, and placed the hand on thewoman's lap with a polite gesture.Then he fixed her other hand to the armrest. He took his knife to her pinky.Her pinky fell to the ground, like an off-cut froma vegetable he was paring.He proceeded to neatly snip off her middle finger and then her thumb, enjoying the uneven shapes thathe was creating in the process. The fingers fell one by one to the side of the wheelchair. As he did so,tears started welling up in the woman's eyes, eventually brimming over and rolling down her cheeks.Medium noticed this and brought his mouth to her face, sticking out his tongue so that it tapered at itspoint, and licked the tears as they flowed down.As he did so, her last finger fell to the ground, and Medium laughed. This is great! Why don't I see ifI can replace my fingers here? And then on to my little kitty. That's it. There's plenty of treasure here toenjoy. It's all wonderful. Wonderful!Just then,What are you doing?A sound reverberated around Medium's head. Wha?Medium leapt up. He was so surprised that he flew through the air, and even as he landed he wentbounding back for cover in the vegetation. Running away, he reached the shade of a tree and quicklyscanned the area with his glittering eyes. His breathing was rough. His face was a mask of fear.More interference waves hit Medium.Are you the person who just accessed Balot's data? I'm sorry, but to get Rune-Balot's main datayou need special dispensation from the Professor himWhere the hell are you? You fucking hacker bastard! Fucker, you killed my friends! You killed all myfriends! Medium screamed. Knife firmly in hand, he jumped out of the shadows, looking from left toright.I'm over here. Gosh, you like to talk a lot, don't you? It's the first time I've ever heard anyonespeak in such a loud voice.Medium's voice stopped.A young man walked slowly and steadily into the clearing.He had evidently seen Mediumnoticed his knife, evenbut showed no sign of wariness.I'm Tweedledee. Who are you?He stopped just a short way away from Medium.Me? Who am I, you ask? Right, I get it now! Medium took his sunglasses off, staring at the youth.His bright red eyes were wide open.You did it. Them. My friends. My pack. You're the one who did them.Tweedledee tilted his head to one side, staring at Mediumas if he were trying to work something out.You have a hard drive in your headStop speaking inside my mind!Tweedledee seemed surprised. He watched with furrowed brow as Medium crushed his ownsunglasses into little pieces. But he showed no sign of fearindeed, he looked on with interest asMediumsmiled a smile that could only be described as brutality personified.I was justGet out of my head! Medium screamed, and the blade in his right hand flashed, light reflecting fromit straight into Tweedledee's eyes.Tweedledee squinted hard, surprised.That was the moment. Mediumran toward himand seized Tweedledee's arm.The hair on Tweedledee's armstood on end at the touch of metal.He tried to wriggle free from Medium's grip but couldn't shake himoff.I'mgoing to look after you good and proper. Pet you plenty. Come here. Over here!You know that we're allowed to deal with violent visitors in a number of ways? Tweedledeeexplained patiently and politely.Medium's expression went blank. His whole body radiated tension.The very next instant, that tension transformed into something much harsher.The fist that gripped the knife smashed into Tweedledee's face.There was a damp gush sound, and Tweedledee's nose split open, releasing copious quantities ofblood.Tweedledee turned his face away, not making a sound. He made no effort to cover his face with hisone free hand.Medium said nothing and punched him again and again. Tweedledee's lips, ears, and eyebrows allsplit open.Tweedledee's face was now a half-swollen mass, drenched in blood.I'll look after you all right, you little brat. I'll look after you good and proper. Medium lickedTweedledee's blood off the back of his hand with his long tongue.I'll put up with this till the point that security automatically kicks in, Tweedledee informed him,raising his battered head. His face was sereneas if he didn't feel that little thing called pain.Mediumwas frozen to the spot in fear and anger.I thought I might try and experience pain againit's been a while. But it's not very nice, after all,is it? I just snarced the pain away, to be honest.Medium gave a piercing cry. He punched again. The skin peeled off Tweedledee's arm, and moreblood came forth.Such pretty fingers. Beautiful fingers. Tastes good too. That taste of special blood. Medium laughedcruelly. He punched the boy again and raised his knife.Suddenly, Tweedledee was free. He tried to work out why he had suddenly been released from thegrip of the man in front of him, and then he found the answer.His right armthat had been in Medium's grip had been severed fromhis elbow down.It was no longer attached to him. It was in Medium's hand.The wound was cauterized, bloodless.Tweedledee's throat suddenly wobbled. Ah he said.Tweedledee's eyes widenedsurprised at the fact that he had just spoken.Mediumstepped forward again. Giggling, he kissed the severed armand tossed it aside.His blade came up again. Tweedledee lifted his left arm reflexively to protect himself, and the bladecut through his wrist like so much wax, causing his hand to go flying through the air.Now we're talking I'mliking your new look, Mediumsaid, baring his teeth and laughing.Ahah Tweedledee gasped. My voicebreathingit's been a while.Opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, he looked straight at Medium and, incredibly, smiled.His face was swollen and bloodied, and both his hands had been severed from his body. Still, he neverstopped smiling. Sweetly, innocently.Indeed it was Mediumwho stopped smiling. What the hell are you? He stood rooted to the spot asif he had suddenly been overcome by fear.Security's been activated, I'm afraid. Nothing I can do now.Mediumwas startled as yet another sound echoed through the back of his mind.Suddenly a number of shadows surrounded Medium. Hurriedly he readied his knife. When herecognized the shadows, though, his heart sank.Silhouettes of what looked like large fishspinning around him.Medium looked up at the sky with bloodshot eyes. He gave a short grunt of surprise. His eyes werepinned open by the sight of giant sharks flying through the air.Over here, please, everyone, called Tweedledee, raising his severed arms to the skies.Security's given permission, so you can just go ahead and eat this guy.Tweedledee turned casually to look at Mediumfromunderneath his swollen, battered eyelids.What the Medium was in shock. And that was the moment. One of the sharks circling the skiesturned downward to face him. Then, with unbelievable speed, it plunged toward Medium. He didn't evenhave time to react.The shark's jaws gaped open, revealing a mouth full of raw redness, and Medium saw that it waspacked full of layers and layers of sharp teeth.A cry of despair escaped from Medium's lips. A cry that seemed to be squeezed out of his wholebody.Mediumraised his left armreflexively to protect his head, and it was this that the shark bit into.The next moment, Medium's whole body was lifted into the air.Aaaargh! Medium shrieked. The flesh on his arm was being shredded noisily, Medium's own bodyweight pulling him down against the teeth. The pain was unbearable. Completely disorientated now, heswung his knife wildly at the shark, and there was an explosion of sparks and noise.The magnetized blade didn't reach the shark but instead was repelled in midair amid a blaze of sparksand lightning.Agh! It hurts, it hurtsaarrghHalf-crazed now, he waved his arm around like a madman, but then another shark's teeth took hold ofhis knife-wielding arm. Medium's body was spread in a Y-shape, and he was lifted through the air in agiant arc, no more than a meat puppet.His legs flailed in the air, and two more sharks bit into each of them. He was now splayed like an X,ready to be ripped to pieces. His flesh was cut to ribbons, almost as if he'd been run through a giantsewing machine, and there were loud ripping noises as the sharks tore the meat fromthe man's bones.Medium cried out, piercing and shrill. His lungs and throat screamed automatically, so intense was thepain of being ripped to pieces. He lost all control of his body, and urine started dribbling fromhis crotch.Then Medium's voice stopped. He was so overwhelmed by fear that he could no longer make a sound.A number of other sharks approached, prodding his crotch with their snouts. They seemed drawn to thesmell of his urine.Before long, one of them bit into his crotch. Medium could only cry out in a pathetic whimper. Then,as if that was the signal to go, the sharks all piled into the area between his legs, teeth bared.Medium's unearthly screams echoed throughout Paradise.You poor thing. What a violent visitor you had to put up with, Tweedledee, Faceman said, staringinto space. Head straight on over to First Aid and have them fix you up. Your arms should be better intwo or three days. There's a good boy. Let's just check that there were no other victims. We're fine overat this end.Faceman then turned his attention back to that which was right in front of him: Boiled.In turn Boiled tried to guess what Faceman's words had meantall the while with his gun pointedfirmly at the Professor's face. His own expression was blank and inorganic, as if his face were competingwith the muzzle of the gun to see which could come across as more inhuman.Faceman looked him up and down for a good while, then sighed deeply. Violence comes in all sortsof shapes and sizes.That was the moment a piercing screamripped through the calmof the white birch forest.First there was the scream. Then, a sharp silver object. It fell in an arc, but was repelled by Facemanand Boiled's PGF and ended up thudding into a nearby tree stump.Boiled glanced toward it. A knife. The one Medium used. Its blade was shot to pieces, withmagnetized sparks flying off it.The screams came closer and arrived like a storm.Faceman was still looking at Boiled, and at that moment something fell from the sky and nearly ontoBoiled's head.Red droplets.A handful dripped down on the grass here and there. Then, all of a sudden, redness fell like rain.Boiled and Faceman were in the midst of a sudden vermilion shower. Blood and flesh rained downfromthe heavens.The cries grew closer. They were now almost overhead. The white birch trees were streaked withred. Thousands of unidentifiable pieces of crunched-up flesh and bone rained down, catching on theleaves, drawing down the branches with their weight.The surroundings were now painted a vivid white and red, and a suffocating smell of blood filledBoiled's nose. Faceman, of course, had a nose but no lungs.Only the areas immediately surrounding Faceman and Boiled remained clear.Beyond their invisible domes were the fleeting shadows of the giant fish, cutting through the red andwhite.The Cherubimguardian angels of Paradise. They're particularly obedient to Tweedledee's orders.Faceman's eyes narrowed, and he looked up at the school of sharks flying around overhead. They haveinstalled in thema type of PseudoGravitational Float slightly different fromyours. They swimin a sea ofmagnetic fields. And that same sea will render all your weapons and defenses completely powerless.Faceman continued in his matter-of-fact tone. They won't trouble us, though. Their sensory fields areprogrammed with a system that limits their perception of potential targets. In other words, the only thingsthey're able to comprehend are those who we decide are enemies who've invaded fromthe outside.At that moment, the criesfrom the one who had been designated as such an enemytestified to afear such as had never been experienced before. Then the voice changed again, into a high-pitchedwhimper that called out Boiled's name. A pitiful voice. A voice of one who, faced with a certain andterrible death, desperately tried to inflict a lasting impression on those still alive to hear.Boiled, though, wouldn't even look up. He simply stared at Faceman, gun still pointed right at him, asif he were waiting for the Professor's next move.Faceman sighed again, shaking his head. By the way, do you know why it is that sharks attackpeople? he asked in a tone of voice that seemed to rebuke Boiled for his unwaveringly hostile posture.In a peaceful swimming spot, for example. Or a beach famous for its gentle waves? Do you know whythey suddenly bare their teeth at humans?Boiled didn't answer.This question was a puzzle for many years. The sharks aren't usually hungry at the time of theirattacks, and sharks as a species don't show any territorial tendenciesthey're not generally bothered byanyone encroaching on their space. There are exceptions, of coursesome of the documented attacks onpeople are due to hunger, or out of aggression. But no more than a few percent of all cases. After all,sharks haven't evolved to attack any unidentified object when hungry or angrythey wouldn't survive, inthe long run. So why, then? Are human beings such an easy prey for sharks? Fish are a much easier preythan humans, who are many times the size of the fishes that constitute the average prey for a shark.The screams overhead started to die out. The sound of red rainfall lessened, and Faceman continuedspeaking as if he were revealing a juicy secret. For a long time there was a big question as to why sharksattacked humans when it was apparently neither necessary nor useful for them to do sobut the answerwas actually staring us in the face. So simple, in fact, that no one was able to work it out.The cries overhead stopped completely, ending abruptly mid-scream. Medium had evidently given upthe ghost. Faceman looked up at the sharks as they greedily feasted on the clumps of flesh and bone that nolonger resembled any remotely human shape.They attack people out of curiosity, he said. They turn their teeth on humans just as humans in turnhave an impulse to peer at an unknown object or reach out and touch something that takes their interest. Itjust so happens that the shark's most developed instruments are their teeth, their sense of smell, and theirsense of taste. They just want to know what these things that are floating about the beach are. To know andto tastemetaphorically and literally. The shark is able to sniff out a single drop of blood in the oceanfroma distance of many kilometerswhy shouldn't it be driven by the desire to know, to taste what it hasjust smelled?Faceman gave Boiled a look to say that he was now about to speak more seriously than ever. Shall Itell you what the true nature of violence is, Boiled? It's curiosity. That's what's lurking in the shadows,behind almost every single act of violence anywhere. To know everything of your target and to exerciseyour own strength and will. To taste everything that there is to taste about oneself. Whatever your motiveis for fightingthe feeling of victory, a sense of duty, to compensate for feelings of helplessness, as aroad to self-actualization, or due to abnormal character traitsthe true nature, the essence of violenceremains the same.It was as if he were patiently explaining to Boiled why exactly it was that Boiled was pointing the gunat him.There's no impulse in this world more violent than curiosity. And, paradoxically, it's none other thancuriosity that drives people, and animals, on to live. Those who understand this factand strive to resistitthey're the ones who are worthy of the name human.Faceman finished speaking and stared at Boiled more closely than ever. Boiled, my friend, do youreally understand where your curiosityyour interestsare taking you in life?The only thing that interests me these days is annihilation. Boiled's voice was dignified and solemn.Without warning, he lowered his gun. At the same time the electromagnetic field surrounding his bodystarted to fade away. I sense someone employing powerful electronic interference somewhere in thisfacility. Boiled raised his other hand into the air as he spoke.Faceman realized that the regenerative metal fibers in Boiled's hand were responding to a powerfulsnarc coming fromsomewhere else in the facility.I will now proceed to search for the person who's causing this electronic interference. Any attempt toobstruct me will be penalized under the law, said Boiled.Ah, but you do realize that the punishment doesn't always fit the crime? Faceman answered in a waythat seemed designed to poke fun at Boiled. What's more, you do realize that if you try and move fromthis spot right now, the Cherubimwill bring the down the full force of Paradise's punishment on you.They can try. Boiled spun around.As soon as Boiled started to walk away, one of the sharks circling the skies responded.Boiled didn't even look up at the shark that was now plunging down toward himwith flashing teeth.Vicious sparks erupted as the shark slammed into the PseudoGravitational Float wall that surroundedBoiled's body, deflecting the shark completely. Even so, the shark stayed hovering above him, mouth stillopen, inching closer to Boiled by generating a PseudoGravitational Float of its own.My consciousness-threshold figure, with the magnetic devices implanted in me, is above 95 percent.Boiled looked back at Faceman.Faceman opened his eyes in surprise. When you were in Paradise, the figure wasn't even 60 percent.Are you saying that life in the pathologically disturbed society of the outside world made the machinery inyour body meld with your flesh to such an extent thatI'm no longer your creation. I'm a monster, a creature fallen from Paradise. As he spoke, he pointedhis gun at the shark above him.The shark's teeth grated against the magnetic wall, making a keening sound.Or ratherthe wall emanating from Boiled was stopping the shark from closing its mouth and gettingaway.Boiled casually placed his gun-wielding arminside the shark's mouth.At a stroke the shark's PGF wall was ruptured, and the muzzle of Boiled's gun roared to life.There was an explosion. The single shotbolstered by Boiled's PGFwas all it took to rip the sharkapart fromthe inside, causing it to splatter like a burst water balloon.Boiled's revolver was more like a tank gun than a pistolcertainly, it was just as powerful.If someone like Balot had tried to fire it, her hand would probably have been ripped off by the recoil.Boiled was able to wield such an impressive weapon not just because of his physical strength but alsobecause he could use his PseudoGravitational Float to support it.The other sharks were now swimming around quickly in the sky, on the alert for Boiled.The atmosphere was pregnant with greed and deadly rageand teeth.When did the sharks ask you to give them the ability to fly through the air? Boiled asked, his darkeyes fixed on the swarmof sharks above him.One three-dimensional space seems to be as good as another for sharks. Water or air, it's all thesame to them. In much the same way as one place is as good as another as a battlefield for you.Another soft rainfall came from above their heads. The rain was no longer red. Cleaning equipmentwas in operation to wash the blood away.The outlines of the sharks could still be seen speeding their way through the rain. Then, with terrifyingspeed, they flew at Boiled, a mass of teeth and artificial gravity: toward his head, his front, his back, hisflanks.Boiled moved. He took a step forward, readying his gun in front of him.The noise that ensued could no longer be described as simple gunfire; it was a series of explosions.The shark that charged at Boiled head-on had its head blown into tiny fragments, with the rest of its bodycareening into a white birch tree behind Boiled's back, the shark's internal organs splattering across theclearing, giving off the stench of ammonia.One by one the sharks were crushed by the force of Boiled's bulletsor, in the case of those who didmake it as far as his PGF field, by the force of impact as they slammed into his invisible shield, tumblingover to the ground, unable to move.The keen smell of ammonia and shark blood pervaded the air, and the surrounding trees were nowrepainted anew in a bright red even more vivid than before.Boiled sidestepped quickly from left to right, and one by one, with lethal accuracy, shot down thebundles of flying teeth as they approached him.Before long there were ten or so sharks blown out of the sky and heaped on the floor. The remainingdozen or so sharks were now circling overhead at a safe distance, perplexed.Boiled just stood there wordlessly in a sea of shark blood, staring at Faceman.Not a single drop of the shark blood stained his body.His eyes showed an utter lack of interest in continuing his conversation with Faceman.All he was thinking about was how to smash the thick PGF fieldone far beyond that of the sharksthat surrounded Faceman's cage.So you choose conflict right to the bitter end, do you? Whether it's quarrels with OctoberCorp orTrustees on Mardock Scramble 09 cases trying to prove their usefulness, it seems that all everyone on theoutside does is fight. It's as if you want to give the lawmakers yet another excuse to ban our technology,serve it up on a plate for them, Faceman said.Faceman pointed to Boiled's gun with his chin. That's the gun that Oeufcoque used to turn into, isn'tit? An object whose only usefulness is as a tool of destruction. It's also the empty shell of Oeufcoquethe carapace that he molted, if you will. And that's all you have now as a substitute for a soulasubstitute for Oeufcoque.Boiled was about to open his mouth but said nothing. His words were swallowed up by theannihilation that he exuded, turning into so much nothingness.You're nothing more than a shark who has smelled blood. A shark brimming full of curiosity,searching for the perfect weapon.Seeing that Boiled had nothing to say, Faceman spoke his final words quietly. And now art thoucursed fromthe earth, and a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be Go then, on to the East of EdenBoiled did just that.04So, for a wine cellar storing eighteen years' worth of brain tissue, it's quite a fancy little thingTweedledum was muttering to himself. He looked up at Balot, who was now standing beside the edgeof the pool, and asked,Are you going, then, babe?He tilted his silver-sunglass-covered face as if to say he'd be lonely without her.YeahBalot put her white robe on and knelt down beside Tweedledumto touch his face.I think I'd like to come back and swim here again one day.Well, if the outside world becomes one with this pool then you'll be able to swim here freely.Balot gave a small nod.If the world ever really does become a kinder place then I will come here.Well, that's why you're heading back out into the world, right? To try and make your little pieceof it good, at least. But you do know that the moment you step foot out of Paradise you'll of iciallybecome a suspect of crimes against the Commonwealth. Don't you regret it?No regrets. I'm glad I did what I did.Well, break a leg, babe.Balot kissed Tweedledum's forehead gently.Thank you for swimming with me.Tweedledumcried out, a hollow, beautiful cry.Hurry up, now. We've got a rough customer in the building who's kicking up quite a fuss lookingfor you.Thank you.Balot stood up quickly.And all the best with Oeufcoque, Tweedledum said, and she smiled at him one last time beforerunning off, still barefoot.Balot left the forest, leaving Tweedledumthere in silence.Before long a mass of icy death emerged fromanother corner of the forest.The angel has already flown the nest, big guy, Tweedledum informed him. He had snarced the PAsystemaround the pool.Tweedledum, is it Boiled muttered, pointing his gun at the dolphin.You know that as a Living Unit I'm considered a vital component of this information terminal,right? You kill me, big guy, and it'll be seen as a serious act of sabotage against this here system. TheCommonwealth Government has thrown bucketloads of cash at this thing. You want to end up anoutlaw?What was she investigating here? He pulled the trigger back, noisily. Tweedledum just gave a shortpeep, as if he were laughing.Why don't you ask your own employer? Or is he the sort of boss who doesn't tell you anything?The gunpoint erupted in flame, and one of the poolside speakers was blown into small pieces.Hey, big guy, why are you trying to stop me from speaking?Tweedledum's voice emerged froma different speaker, sounding very unimpressed.You know that the person you're here to see will have left the facility shortly? Once your suspecthas left, your jurisdiction'll be revoked and you'll only have the same privileges as an ordinary Joe.You'll be violating the law just by being here, big guy.You've learned to talk the talk, Tweedledum. Boiled lowered his gun. In any case, we'll now beable to put in an official request for full disclosure based on the fact that Rune-Balot was here.Yeah, but the girl will have solved the case by then. With her Oeufcoque.My Oeufcoque. I'll hold himin my hand again before long.Hmm A love triangle, eh? Tweedledumresponded, somewhat taken aback.Boiled now had no eyes for Tweedledum. He scanned the area quickly before correctly sniffing outthe path that Balot had taken. He started heading down that way himself.Truth be told, big guy, I was surprised when I heard what you did to them sharks. The Rusty Gunis pretty keen to prove his usefulness, I thought.Boiled stopped for a second and looked back at Tweedledum. But he said nothing and soondisappeared into the forest.Oops. That didn't end up buying them much time, did itTweedledumsighed as he watched the figure disappear.The silver egg was floating above the rooftop of the facility.Activated by the Doctor's voiceprint and key card, the shell cracked open to form a gangway. TheDoctor was loading a giant capsule into the egg with a pushcart when he saw Balot running toward him,out of breath. Barefoot, eh? he asked, eyes wide open in surprise.Balot snarced the stereo systemof the Humpty-Dumpty.I was in a hurry.Sure, but are you all right? What if you stepped on something rusty and got tetanus?I'm all right. And even if I did get something, I'd have you fix me up in no time, Doctor.Right The Doctor nodded meekly, before asking somewhat hesitantly, So, uh, how did it allgoI found it. The hiding place for that man's past.Have you, now? The Doctor nodded, visibly relieved, but he still looked apprehensive. But I'vethought about it, and I can't have you become a Commonwealth outlaw. Oeufcoque would be furious withme.All that's happened is that I'm now on equal footing with you guys. With Oeufcoque, Balotanswered back, primly. There was an unusually wide grin on her face.Something called out to her.You're going, are you?The stereo broadcast in a different voice.Balot turned around to see the solitary figure of Tweedledee. Both she and the Doctor looked on inhorror at his puffed-up face and the dressings that covered the space where his hands once were.Oh, don't worry about this. I just got a little frisky, thinking I might try and experience some painfor a change. Also, something like this needed to happen in order to trigger security. But I'll be fixedup in no time.I'm so sorry. It's all because of me.Really, it's fine. If this is what it takes to become your friend then it's worth it.Balot seemed shocked when she heard this, but then she nodded.Thank youI'm glad to have you as a friend.Tweedledee smiled sweetly.So long, Balot. You can't write me or email, but it'd be nice to meet again one day.Before long the Humpty-Dumpty was in the air, and the opening in the shell wall was closing.Tweedledee watched the silver egg as it rose into the empty air. Suddenly a large man appeared on therooftop behind him.Balot started when she saw him. The Doctor was startled as well.Boiled lifted his gun up at the Humpty-Dumpty.Stop itdo you really want to become an outlaw from the Commonwe The rest of the Doctor'ssentence was obliterated by the gunshot.The bullet smashed into the shell wall right beside Balot, scattering a shower of sparks every whichway.The shell wall was strong enough to withstand a direct hit from a missile. A bullet would never pierceit. Balot knew this, and Boiled knew this.He fired the Doctor muttered in amazement.This was Boiled's new declaration of war.Now Boiledjust like Balotwas a potential suspect of crimes against the Commonwealth, andeverything would come down to how each of themwent about solving their case.Boiled held his fire. He just kept his gun trained on the silver egg as if in acknowledgement of the factthat the only way to solve this case now was to take Balot's life.Balot raised her left hand toward the very same Boiled.She pointed her index finger at him and raised her thumband mimed a gunshot back at Boiled forhimto see clearly.I won't be killed a second timeI'll fight back.Even without speaking, her message was loud and clear.The shell wall closed tight, obscuring Balot fromview.The Humpty-Dumpty sped up and rose high into the sky.Boiled watched its ascent with cold, dusky eyes and an upturned mouth.Are you smiling, Boiled? Tweedledee spoke, snarcing the speakers embedded in the rooftop.What?You're smiling. The sort of smile you get when you've just made a new friend.Tweedledee grinned himself.Wordlessly Boiled returned his gun to his breast pocket and turned around. By the time his back wasto Tweedledee, his face was devoid of emotion again.See you around, Boiled. Drop in anytime you like.Tweedledee felt a twinge of loneliness as he watched himgo.05The capsule that the Doctor had brought on board was filled with a blue liquid.Oeufcoque slept inside it, bound hand and foot by a number of cords and folded into layers.The capsule was placed in the bedroom on the first floor. Touching the glass window in the metalpiping, Balot thought about Oeufcoque's death. About what Tweedledee had told her. How thiscomplicated synthesis of flesh and metal would eventually grow bloated and die, crushed under its ownbody weight.She thought about how Oeufcoque might consider his own inevitable death and tried to see if she couldcomprehend it in the same way. She thought of the words that he had once said to her. That he was burntout and projecting his world-weariness onto the city.The Doctor knocked on the open bedroomdoor. I've just made some fresh coffee.Balot pulled away fromthe capsule and accompanied the Doctor back to the dining room.We're at an altitude of 18,000 feet. Just offshore fromthe city. Aren't you cold?Balot shook her head and took the cup that was offered.It was caf au lait. She took a sip and snarced the satellite TV to communicate.It's good.I'mglad.I've never reallythought that coffee tasted good until now.Ah, there's a certain skill to grinding the beans and boiling coffee properly, you see. A bit likepreparing a test tube. The Doctor mimed dispensing some medicine.Balot glared at him.Suddenlyit doesn't taste so good anymore.You are a cruel one, the Doctor grumbled. Balot laughed and drank her coffee. Then she sensed thatthe Doctor was about to tell her something.He was about to explain their next course of action, she realized.Is there going to be another trial? Balot asked. The Doctor shrugged his shoulders and fell backinto his usual habit of pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.There's not much point in another trial at the moment. Not until we understand exactly what's behindtheir movements and we're ready to move in for the checkmate. As things stand, if we were to make ourmove now they'd be able to get themselves off the hook one way or another.Their movements? What do you mean?The Doctor seemed relieved that Balot was jumping into the conversation. The wedding.Huh?That is to sayhe's getting hitched to this woman from the upper classes. We knew he was planningsomething like this for a whileand now he's finally putting his plan into action.Shell's getting married?Uh, yeah, that's about it. The Doctor spoke as if he had a bitter taste in his mouth. Balot couldn'thave cared less about this news, but it seemed like the Doctor was expecting her to react, so she thoughtshe'd better say something.Will you tell me about it?Sure. I hope this isn't too hard for you. Basically, Shell is asking for the hand of one ofOctoberCorp's director's daughters. Using the data on his dodgy dealings as a pretext.That doesn't make much sense. What's that got to do with marriage?Well, uh, exactly, that's the point. There's a reason why the director in question can't refuse Shell'srequest. Or rather, maybe better to say that he doesn't need to refuse.I still don't understand. What do you mean?It seems that the woman he wants to marry is mentally handicapped. The Doctor seemed troubled.Balot's eyes opened wide.The whole household is full of distinguished individualsother than the woman. She's been confinedindoors all her life, apparently. A matter of keeping up appearances. Such an old-fashioned way ofthinking. Deplorable, really. They knew about her condition long before she was bornand before youask why the mother didn't have an abortion, the answer is because their faith didn't permit it. But reallyit wasn't about faith at all, just about saving face. They had to take into consideration all their politicalaffiliationswhat their supporters would think, that sort of thing. Now, I don't know how Shell got holdof all this, but he did. He learned about the girl's existence and said something to the effect of I'll takecare of her if you take care of me'in other words, make sure he's treated as one of the family with allthe social benefits this entails. With the unspoken threat left dangling there that if the father didn't allowthe marriage then Shell would reveal the girl's existence to the outside world. How the family has treatedher, all sorts of things they wouldn't want seeing the light of day.Balot put her cup down on the table quietly.I feel like killing them.She didn't say who, but it was quite clear: anyone and everyone.The Doctor shrugged his shoulders as if to say Me too. Then, apropos of nothing, he changed thesubject somewhat drastically. I told you that I split up frommy wife, didn't I?Uh-huh?I have a daughter. A little younger than you, I seemto remember.Balot was genuinely surprised. The Doctor gave a wry smile. I'm not sure if that's the reason, butpart of me is starting to think of you as a daughter. I can even feel your deep personal hatred toward Shell.The thing is, I don't think my feelings are very healthy.I don't understand. What's wrong with them?Doesn't it make you feel uncomfortable? When I tell you that I feel that way?Not reallyI don't think of you like myfather.Well, uh, I'm sure you don't. It's just that I'm kind of acting out of self-interest when I'm guiding youtoward your next step. I just thought you might feel a bit uncomfortable if, on top of that, I started imposingsome sort of unwanted paternal affection on youI'd feel very uncomfortable. Balot gave him a serious look. Uhthe Doctor was clearly flusteredby her uncompromising answer, but Balot smiled a little to try and reassure him.But I am very grateful to you. And I really want to help you. For my own sake too.The Doctor nodded. He was showing his own gratitude. So, what do you want to do? After the caseis solved, I'mthinking we do just as you like, really.I haven't been able to find an answer to that question. I can't really get my head around theidea of this case ever being over.She answered truthfully and followed up with a sudden question.When is Oeufcoque going to die?The Doctor was taken aback. Uh, I've just performed some maintenance tasks on Oeufcoqueit's notlike I've euthanized himor anything.Tweedledum was saying. Professor Faceman too. That Oeufcoque only really started to thinkabout living when he learned that he was going to die.Ah, I get it. The Doctor's face became difficult to read, and he stared into the air. Five years,worst-case scenario.His tone was breezy. That's if we discover a particularly malignant tumor that we can't treat. Inreality? I don't know. Double that, or triple? He might even live on for another half a century. It'spossible. Butit'll be tough for him.Tough?His whole body will start swelling up. I'm not just talking about obesity due to extra fatty deposits.Noeverything will get bigger: hypercorpulence, it's called. His bones, his muscles, his internal organseven his eyeballs. He's okay right now because he can distribute his Living Unit across severaldimensions, but even now his physical structure is already about the size of the pillow you sleep on.Eventually he'll get to a size where he can't even fit inside this Humpty.Here the Doctor paused. His hand was now on his mouth, as if he were deep in thought, and after awhile he continued. The real question is not how long he's going to live, but how. He's made hisdecisionhe wants to prove his usefulness. Like me. He doesn't know when he's going to die, butneither do I, and neither do you, for that matter. We don't know how we're going to die, either. All weknow is that sooner or later we will die.Balot nodded. She thought she understood what the Doctor was talking about.I want to stay with him. Can I?You can, if you want to, I imagine. Do you mean even after this case is finished?Is the work that you two do here rewarding?Balot deliberately asked the same sort of question Faceman had asked. But the Doctor didn't respondimmediately. After a pause, he stared at Balot's face as if to try and work something out. I'm contenthere. So much so that I can't even imagine what else I could do.Do you think I could do it too?Well, taking into consideration your natural aptitude and all the data we have so far, I don't see anyreason why not.I remember seeing these boys and girls, younger than me, working at underground Shows.Usuallyin the kitchen or as wait staff, but occasionally on the stage too, dancing.Being a PI is a little different from working a Show, you know. You have to try and find ways ofresolving situations where all these burnt-out, morally bankrupt people are fighting it out. It's hard work.And I often feel that all we end up doing is projecting our own world-weary selves onto other peopleeven as we solve our cases.Still, I want to tryit out. Just as Oeufcoque is trying. I want to try.Sheesh, you don't make things easy for me, do you the Doctor mumbled, then laughed to try andcover his feelings up. Look, I can lay out all the bare facts and data in front of you and advise you as towhat I think is best, but I can't make your decisions for you. And I'm not sure that I can provide the, uh,best environment for you to develop in. You're probably best off going to school, reallyIf you want me to study, I will. I'll help you as I study.The Doctor finally caved, throwing his arms into the air in surrender. Well, for now let's focus ourefforts on solving the case at hand. After all, if we don't get a result soon, all three of us are likely to bedisposed of by societywe'll be together then, but I don't think that's what you had in mind. So, first wesolve the caseand then why not have a proper chat with Oeufcoque after that. Just talking to me is goingto give you a pretty one-sided account of our work, after all.Balot nodded and picked up the coffee cup again.I'll learn how to make proper coffee too.Balot was deadly serious.The Doctor watched, bemused, as Balot steeled herself to the task of learning what was involved ingood coffee.Balot made the next pot.There was enough food in the kitchen to last themfor a while.The Doctor and Balot ended up sharing kitchen duties.I still can't believe that Boiledfancy firing at a Humpty! However much he sees himself as ourenemy, he didn't have to go so far as risking becoming a felon! the Doctor grumbled as he tucked into ahamburger.That man used to be Oeufcoque's partner, right?That's right. He was every bit as accomplished as you are at using him.Why did theysplit up?The Doctor was momentarily lost for words.Is there something you can't tell me? Were theylovers? Like Tweedledum and Tweedledee?No, no, nothing like that. The Doctor shook his head hastily. They were the perfect fighting team.No one could stand up to them. But then, this one time, Boiled went on a rampage.You don't mind me asking all this, do you?The Doctor seemed to be thinking hard. He put his food down. It's probably no bad thing that youunderstand what sort of a man Boiled is. So I'll tell you.Such was the Doctor's preface to what was to come.It was about a year ago, on a certain case. A young mana university studenthad been beaten upso badly that he was in a comatose state. The client was the father, and the young man was his eldest son.There were five of them in the family: the father, the mother, the student, and a younger brother and sister.The father ran a factory, but it was up to the hilt in debt. The family's only hope was the eldest son, thestudent. He was a so-called golden boy'not only did he have a full scholarship to the university, but heworked on the side, bringing in money for the family. He was their main source of income.So who attacked him?At first we all supposed drug dealers. The student's girlfriend had become hooked on drugs, and thestudent challenged her dealers, leading to the fight that put him in a coma. Oeufcoque, Boiled, and I tookon the case because we thought that by doing so we might be able to find a drug link back to OctoberCorpand crush their illegal trade that way.And then?First we honed in on the people who allegedly put the student in the coma. It wasn't too difficult totrack them down. It was the group of drug-dealing students, and the university was their turf. But then,something strange happened.Something strange?The ringleader of the groupanother studentsuddenly committed suicide. He was drugged uphimself. People put it down to something stupid he did while he was out of his head, but it all seemed alittle too neat for us, and we figured that something suspicious was going on behind the scenes. Then,about the same time, the comatose student's addict girlfriend went missing. And we discovered thatbehind the original university drug ring was another, more complex, organizationall part of a scheme tosell OctoberCorp's illegal wares. The police were involved too. It was all one big tangle. And it waspretty difficult to work out who was controlling whom.The organization was trying to hide something?That's what everyone thought. We tightened the screws on some of the people we managed to trackdownthey all thought the same thing. But our enemy was all people connected to the drug trade, oneway or another. And at the core of all this was the original comatose student.What do you mean?We'd misread the situation. The student wasn't just the victim. He was also the perpetrator.Balot was visibly stunned.The Doctor furrowed his brow and continued with difficulty. I told you that the comatose son was themain source of income for his family, right? Well, drugs were the main source of income for him. To alloutward appearances, the ringleader of the student drug ring was the youth who'd committed suicide. Butbehind the scenes it was the comatose son who had been running the show. And that wasn't all. It was theson who had gotten his girlfriend addicted in the first place. It's called fishingthey tried to collect asmany girlfriends as they could, using drugs as bait.So who put him in the coma?The student who ended up committing suicide had punched him. Because of an argument over money,or maybe just because he was on a bad trip. The blow caused him to stumble and fall down a flight ofstairs, and he hit his head against the wall at the bottom. The student who hit him was so shocked that heretreated further and further into his drugs until one day he got so high that he decided to dive head-firstfrom a pedestrian bridge onto a busy roadway. The incident was pretty gruesome, and there were cutmarks on his arms and legs, so we assumed that somebody had decided to make an example of him. Butno, it turned out that it was just a straightforward suicide by an addict who happened to have a history ofself-harm.That's hard to take in. Who would have suspected that the victim was also the perpetrator?Yup, it was hard to take in for us too, and we were working on the case. The police wereinvestigating it as well, and at the same time they were indicting a number of their own for corruption andinvolvement in the drug ringit was a great scandal at the time. Some of the police had been keeping thedrugs that they had confiscated on raids and selling them off on the sly to the student drug ring, you see.And the student who killed himself was involved in that part of the operation. Not particularly heavily,though. Everyone just saw himas someone who was there.So it was one wrong guess after another?Well, the comatose student's family had put in a pretty staggering request, you see. In order to pay offthe debts of the father's factory, they had to try and wrangle a huge sum of money out of the Broilerhousein the shape of child welfare reparations. But in reality, the student was just as guilty as he was a victim,and really he was just reaping what he had sown. And the student's family didn't help matters eitherhisyounger brother tracked down one of the other dealers and assaulted him. It was pandemonium.Eventually, though, the missing girlfriend re-emerged. It turned out that she had fallen asleep in a car in adrugged-up state and slept for three days solid. It was only when we discovered the girl that we managedto get to the bottomof the case and were finally ready to go about solving it.So how did you go about solving it?In the worst way imaginable.The Doctor put his hands to his forehead. It was as if all the horrors of the time were flashing right infront of his eyes.If the truth were made public, everybody involved in the whole sordid affair stood to lose. We triedto imagine what would have happened, and it went something like this: the student's family would sufferthe worstthey'd lose their factory, the younger brother would be arrested for violent and disorderlyconduct, and not only that, they'd end up having to pay out reparations, never mind receiving them. Thewhole family would live out the rest of their lives in debt. The police and the Broilerhouse would sufferan embarrassing loss of face, and the university where the whole sordid scene was set would be knownforever as the drug school.' The drug ring would split up into smaller units, and one of these wouldeventually rat on their police connections, causing additional scandal. So, you see, we were in a realpredicament. If we were to let things slide then the Broilerhouse would do more than rap us on theknucklesthey'd repudiate our usefulness, our very reason for existence. So with enemies all around us,or so it seemed, Boiled came up with the worst possible solution to the case. He didn't even tell us whathe had planned.What did he do?He annihilated. The Doctor spat the word out as if he were vomiting up an indescribably bitterobject. First, he shot the comatose student.The Doctor saw Balot's eyes widen but just shrugged his shoulders weakly. Yes, he killed the verysame piece-of-shit student that we were hired by our client to protect in the first place. Then, he found thejunkie girlfriend, dragged her back to the car she'd been sleeping in, and shot her. After that, he roundedup the students in the university who were involved in the drug ring and killed them one by one. Then hewent after the ringleaders who were involved behind the scenes and killed every single one of them too.Accurately and swiftly. Oh, and in the process of this he also killed a number of corrupt cops along theway.How many people did he kill?At that point, eleven.With Oeufcoque as the weapon?Oeufcoque trusted Boiled completely. He thought that Boiled was acting according to his owndirections.Oeufcoque's directions?When we discovered that the student was at the heart of the drug ring, Oeufcoque said that we shouldtell his father the truth. Try and get him to drop his claim for reparations. Oeufcoque was just trying towork out what the right thing to do was, until the bitter end. Boiled headed out with Oeufcoque in order todo as Oeufcoque suggested, but along the way Boiled decided that he had a better way to solve the case.For the next forty hours or so, Boiled told Oeufcoque that he was protecting the family from the drug ring,who were now out baying for the family's blood. They went on a killing spreenearly twenty people intotal. Boiled's story wasn't totally unbelievable, as some of the drug ring were actually out to get thefamily.How come Oeufcoque never worked out what was really going on?Both of Boiled's hands have metal fibers grafted into them for electronic interference, just like yourskin grafts, the Doctor said, surprising Balot again. Not quite as powerful as yours, though. At the time,Oeufcoque wasn't really able to grasp his surroundings after he had turnedhe didn't need to. So all themain information about his surroundings was fed to him through Boiled's hands. This allowed Oeufcoquet o turn with the greatest level of precision and speed. It's different now, of course. He hasomnidirectional receivers to pick up sights, sounds, andin particularsmells. He's like a Christmastree decorated with cameras instead of baubles. Like the compound eyes on insects. Oeufcoque asked forall this after the case had finished. And I obliged his request in order to try and assuage his paranoidneuroses.Balot nodded. She understood Oeufcoque so well that it hurt.How it felt to have things done to you when you had no control, no knowledgeIt was a type of hopelessness. No hope in others, and no hope in yourself. She felt pain in her chest. Asa victimof violenceand as a perpetrator of violence.When did Oeufcoque learn what he'd done?Long after the family's factory was sold off, and after the family only received one-eighteenth of thereparations they'd originally put in for. When Oeufcoque learned the truth he fell into a trancelike torpor,shut away inside himself. To make matters worse, Boiled killed another two people using Oeufcoquewhile Oeufcoque was in this state. After that, Oeufcoque never entrusted himself into Boiled's handsagain, and Boiled in turn disappeared straight after the double murder. According to rumor he was pickedup and recruited straightaway by OctoberCorp's scouts.The Doctor sighed, remembering the past. At one point it seemed as if Oeufcoque and Boiled mightend up killing each other. I even wondered to myself whether I'd made the right decision in choosingScramble 09. But I didn't want it to end like that. Oeufcoque and I have since acted as Trustees on anumber of cases to try and recover our credibility as PIs. Boiled is Boiled, and has ended up on theopposite side of the fence to us in order to prove that he didn't make the wrong choice, that his solutionwas the best. And the result of all this is that here we are again, happy families, with our guns rammeddown one another's throats.The Doctor took a sip of his coffee to try and wash the bitterness in his mouth away.Thank you for sharing all that with me.Don't mention it.Why does Boiled kill so many people, do you think?The last bit of stability he had in his life was his military training. Killing is probably the only wayhe can cope with the great emptiness he now feels. The sense of nothingness that he carries around withhimisn't your everyday stress and strain, after allThat man wanted Oeufcoque.I'm sure he did. Oeufcoque is the only handheld Living Unit in the world. He's the ultimate hand-tohandweapon.I think I can empathize with Boiled a little, though.The Doctor choked on his mouth full of coffee. You're not saying that you want to become a PI so thatyou can turn into the ultimate killing machine?Nobut I still understand Boiled a little, I think. Because I was like that, for a while. I rapedOeufcoque. He became a sacrifice to my own burnt-out moral bankruptcy. And I think Boiled wasthe same. It's hard to give that up when you're on your own.You're different from him, though, said the Doctor. But the truth was that the Doctor knew thateverybody had it in them to turn into another Boiled. To arrive at a state where the only way to washaway your dark and hollow sensation of world-weariness was to see yourself as a monster and actaccordinglyDo you think Oeufcoque will ever be able to forgive me?There's nothing really to forgive The Doctor caught Balot's eyes and nodded neatly. You'll befine. You'll learn, you'll reflect on your actions, and you'll grow. Oeufcoque understands that all toowell.Balot nodded too. Both Oeufcoque and the Doctor were very kind people.But she didn't want to start relying on that kindnessshe suppressed any feelings in her that suggestedshe might. She was too embarrassed to rely on other people anymore.She needed to think for herself, decide what her best course of action might be and act on it.Oh, by the way Do you mind if I ask you something in return?What?To do with Shell's hidden memories The Doctor seemed awfully reluctant all of a sudden, as ifhe were terrified of imposing on her.Balot put her hand to her mouth.I'm sorry. I'd completelyforgotten.She was speaking the truth.Then she blurted out:Chips.Chips?One of Shell's casinos is called Eggnog Blue. They have chips worth a million dollars eachthere, and he's hidden these special media storage devices inside them.A million-dollar casino chip, eh? Well, wella hidden treasure-within-a-treasure, huh? TheDoctor looked at Balot, full of admiration. Well done, a great spot. You're really quite something.Tweedledum helped me. I never would have been able to work it out on my own. There's a strictban on taking the chips out of the casino, and other than at the big Shows the punters rarely get achance to see them.They're probably there as a way for other companies in the OctoberCorp group to secrete away someof their accumulated funds. They deposit a million dollars in the casino as a way of laundering money. Atthe same time, it's great for the casino as the chip becomes an ostentatious sign that the casino has funds inreserve.Yup. It looks like they were doing exactly as you say, Doctor.But to go out of your way to hide your memories in thereI looked at the production records for the chips, and there were traces of evidence that they hadbeen made specially. The records themselves had been deleted, but there were still fragments of dataflying around, so I reconstructed them.Amazing. I know you had the might of all of Paradise's facilities behind you, and Tweedledum'ssupport, but even so it's pretty incredible that you managed all that in just a few hours.I wouldn't mind trying it again sometime.Balot laughed as she spoke. The Doctor rolled his eyes. Violation of Commonwealth law andaggravated hackingyou're looking at up to twenty years in prison. If you don't play your cards right youwon't be able to go near another computer for almost half a century, either. So just do me one small favor,will youdon't go near that thing again unless absolutely necessary.I'm sorry.Balot seemed to grow smaller. She'd been told off for something similar by Oeufcoque not that longago, and here she was doing it again. She needed to wield her power from a state of readiness. She wasdone with abusing power. She felt truly ashamed.No, don't feel sorry. It just means that, in reality, you've taken a whole load of risk upon yourself,and you need to be ready for that. So, back to those million-dollar chipshow many of themare there?Twelve in the whole casino.That's quite a lotall containing Shell's memories?No, just four of them. The ones that have the OctoberCorp company emblem stamped on them.They're made byspecial order.I seeWhat are we going to do? Steal them?She was half joking, butRobbing a casino is just as tricky as robbing a bank, you see. Burglary should be our last resort.Balot was a little surprised that the Doctor took her question seriously.We could ask the DA to conduct an official investigation, but once Shell works out what we're up toit'll be too easy for him to palm his chips off somewhere else. And if Shell warns OctoberCorp, we'll beletting the big fish get away. We need to move carefully. Let's see if we can be granted special searchprivilegesbut no The Doctor muttered to himself in this vein for a while.Then, all of a sudden, Hmm. I think the best thing for starters is to head on in as if we're ordinarypunters. He grinned at Balot. It was somewhat disconcertingalmost as if he were raring to go, lookingforward to the prospect.Balot I'mgoing to ask Oeufcoque too. I think he will agree with my decision, butYes? What?Have you ever played at a casino before?No. I've been inside them with men, but I always just stood next to the man as he played.Do you know the rules to poker and roulette? What about blackjack or baccarat?Um I know the rules to snap?Lesson number two, then, said the Doctor. As soon as Apprentice Private Investigator Ms. RuneBalotlearns how to brew a proper cup of coffee, it'll be time for her to move on to her next object ofstudy, methinks. How about it, young lady?Can I ask you something?What is it?Do you like gambling, Doctor?The Doctor flexed his fingers. He tried to wear a solemn expression, but he couldn't prevent a widesmile frombreaking out across his face.Let me see. Gambling is the ultimate thrilla game of intellect, but also aesthetics. It's the mostbeautiful thing in the world.Balot was not convinced.