Mardock Scramble

–So I think it’s just a question of whether I’m prepared to play along. It’s the only game left in town. I don’t think I could give it up now, even if that would somehow make everyone happy.

The moment she finished speaking, Balot felt incredibly small. Ineffectual, weak, and self-conscious, that was all she was.

So what? A beating from the depth of her heart. The ability that she had now was only a fraction of her true potential. What she had now was just a crutch, something to help her propel herself toward her ultimate goal by hook or by crook. Calm descended on her as she realized this. It was as if she had just had her eyes opened to something that should have been glaringly obvious all along.

–At the very least I’d like to use up all the chips I have at the moment and see how far this takes us.

She spoke without bravado, but with plain confidence.

“Bravo,” said the Doctor. His eyes were looking at Balot’s hands. At Oeufcoque, who was contained inside them.

“That’s pretty impressive, in our line of work. Isn’t it, Oeufcoque? Balot’s coming up with her own sense of values and pushing them to the limit.”

Then words that Balot didn’t really understand. “You should really try and be a little more honest with yourself, Balot. You’ll find it easier in the long run.”

–She’s doing her best already, said Oeufcoque. He seemed a little disgruntled.

“Well, from here on out it’s nonstop,” said the Doctor. “We have to win, no matter what. No turning back.”

Balot nodded. She felt as if her heart were about to burst with gratitude toward the pair.

She prayed that it would always be this way. That would be a real victory.

03

The moment the man appeared, the manager of the motel instinctively knew that resistance would be futile.

There were security guards in the motel, of course, and the high-caliber shotgun under the counter was fully loaded.

The manager knew that none of these precautions would be remotely effective, and that in any case the man had the law on his side.

“Dimsdale-Boiled—I’m a PI and Trustee on a case.”

The manager had surrendered completely even before he was shown the official ID. Boiled exuded pressure from every pore in his skin, and his mere presence was too much for the manager to take.

“I’ve already checked with the relevant taxi company. These people have been here, right?” As he spoke, Boiled placed photos of a man and a girl on the counter with his massive hands.

The manager definitely remembered them and had no intention of keeping this information back, no sir. The only problem was that he didn’t have any idea when they had left their rooms. He had no idea that the pair—who had just come from the airport in a gas-powered taxi, after all—would have changed their appearances so quickly and headed out in a limousine. He though they would still be in their rooms. After all, they both had the do not disturb sign displayed clearly on their doors, didn’t they?

“Show me their rooms,” said Boiled.

The manager swore with all his heart that he’d take full responsibility to find out which rooms they were in and then to open the doors personally.

The first room that Boiled went into was the one that the Doctor had reserved. There was no sign of life. The manager waited in the hall, twitching.

Boiled went over to the trunk that had been left open and started examining the contents as if he had every right to do so.

He looked through the maps and bus tickets that the Doctor had undoubtedly prepared.

The map had a number of red crosses marked on it—destinations, evidently.

There were crosses on Shell’s apartment and the hotel that he ran.

Boiled exhibited no sign of emotion as he threw the map to one side.

Then he went to the room that Balot was supposed to be in. No one was there either.

She had hardly any luggage, only a few outfits that had been cast to one side, forsaken. She had a map similar to the one in the Doctor’s room, and it too was covered in crosses. Boiled took one glance at it.

Suddenly his cell phone rang. He answered and was met by Shell’s voice.

–I’ve just seen the email you sent me last night. Not what I wanted to hear. And what the hell do you mean by “They escaped to an altitude of 15,000 feet”?

“A Floating Residence, military issue. It’s made of a fine, light alloy, and it’s under the jurisdiction and protection of the Commonwealth,” explained Boiled calmly. “I figured there was a high probability that they would be back on the ground by now, so I’ve been searching for them. They came to a motel via the Broilerhouse. I’m at that motel right now.”

–And? They’re not there at this moment, I assume? Won’t they be coming back?

“They’re certainly not here now. They’ve left some clothing and maps.”

–Maps…?

“Maps with markings on them. Your apartment, the hotel where the woman involved in your transaction is staying, that sort of thing.”

–What?

Shell seemed about to erupt, to rush after them in hot pursuit, but Boiled stopped him.

“A childish bluff. If they’d really intended to target your residences they wouldn’t have left their maps lying around.”

–This is a nightmare, Boiled. I’m not talking metaphorically. An actual, factual nightmare. I see her in my dreams, day in, day out. I’m being assaulted by a girl I can’t even remember! She’s destroying me!

“It won’t be long before I work out what they’re up to.”

Shell laughed when he heard Boiled’s words, spoken in an unchanging monotone. A laugh of relief.

–You know that I was planning on showing my father-in-lawto-be a good time at the casino later today, right?

“Yes.”

–Well, I can’t show him the slightest sign that I’m worried about either the girl that should be dead or her PIs. Nothing gets past my father-in-law—he’s a shrewd customer. So I’m completely defenseless at the moment. If our enemies try something in front of us, we’re not even allowed to react, because we have to show the world that we’re completely unconcerned by this case. That’s right, isn’t it?

“Sure…” Then Boiled spotted something from the corner of his eye.

A small square card. Boiled leaned down to pick it up from the side of the bed, cell phone still to his ear.

–I’m leaving it all to you. Do whatever you have to do to crush the girl and the PIs.

“I understand. But in order to do my job properly I need to work out what their aims are. In order to make sure that I cover this from every angle, will you tell me what this key to your deal is—”

–Stop it, Boiled. Don’t you understand that I can’t tell you that? Not you, not anyone. The whole point is that I’m the only one who knows. If I tell you, that’s gone; the company has all sorts of ways of finding it out, and I lose my edge.

“You know I have a duty of confidentiality to—”

–Listen to me carefully, Boiled: fuck right off. Your “duty of confidentiality,” as you put it, isn’t worth shit to me. This is my deal. The reason I’m going to be able to pull it off is because I’m doing it alone. Can you manipulate the contents of your own mind? Can you break your memories into pieces and use them as bargaining chips?