Mardock Scramble

The monument that migrants had built long ago to express their hope and their faith.

Mardock—the Stairway to Heaven—was now seen by the steady influx of people into the city as a symbol of their own dreams and ambitions. This epitomized life in the city: to climb to the top, to arrive, was the ultimate virtue.

Under the stairway that soared up over the municipal offices of the Broilerhouse, Balot waited, Oeufcoque wrapped round her neck as a choker and the newly besuited Doctor beside her.

–Every time I look at this staircase I can almost see the phantoms of people falling from the top.

Balot snarced Oeufcoque, and he replied, “It’s the system that people devised long ago, sorting the world into winners and losers. But it doesn’t necessarily have to be that way—there’s more to mankind than that. We’re just talking about part of a system. Try not to let it get to you.”

–If I fell from the top, I’d die, wouldn’t I?

“I’d turn into whatever tool I needed in order to prevent that.” Oeufcoque’s voice may have been small, but it was wonderfully reassuring to Balot.

Balot readied herself, then entered the Broilerhouse with the Doctor.

The court hearing started at nine thirty precisely and later broke for a thirty-minute lunch recess.

After everyone was seated they waited another two minutes for the judge to return from the restroom.

Twenty minutes later Balot decided on absolute silence, and before long the time was 15:32 and the judge lowered his gavel, signifying the end of the proceedings.

The six hours of deliberations produced results that were entirely satisfactory as far as the Doctor, Oeufcoque, and the district attorney were concerned. For Balot though, it was all one long humiliation.

“The fact that you can’t speak may well turn out to work in our favor. Consider the impression it makes,” said the DA just before the discussions started.

“It might only be a grand jury, but there’s no better way of demonstrating the suffering you’ve been through,” said the senior assistant district attorney, a man in his early thirties—the DA assigned to their case. He was welcoming the Doctor and Balot who had joined the throng of court personnel congregating on the eleventh floor of the Broilerhouse on Central Street and was treating them like royalty. He wasn’t the only one—DAs who were supposed to be busy with other cases were finding reasons to drop by the waiting room to catch a glimpse of Balot.

Hey, is that the survivor that everyone’s talking about? She seems in pretty good shape to me, what’s she going to accuse them of?—they could hear these sorts of snippets of conversation from the other side of the door.

“Some of the veteran DAs like to make fun of this sort of case,” said their DA apologetically. “They still don’t think prostitution or rape is anything to get worked up about.”

Their DA seemed different, though. He said so himself, and the Doctor introduced him as a different sort of man. A man who was sympathetic toward innocent victims, women who were the victims of violence, and those of a low social standing.

“The counsel for the defense will probably follow the same line of thinking. Are you sure you’re ready for that? Just try and compose yourself as much as you can. Remember, the counsel for the defense doesn’t really care whether their client is guilty or not.”

The DA smiled brightly as he gave Balot her instructions. As if that was part of the plan to ensure that Balot would be nice and relaxed.

“Remember, the truth means nothing to these people. No matter what sort of criminal their client is, they’ll use every sort of legal trick up their sleeve to try and get them off the hook, and in return they’re rewarded in the region of sixty thousand dollars a year, a pretty damn good salary these days…” The DA shrugged his shoulders at this point, as if to say he was troubled by it, but what could you do?

“And it’s our job to face these people, specifying which of the material witnesses should be treated as suspects,” he continued with a shake of his head. “The counsel for the defense we’re up against in this case is quite a formidable opponent, I have to admit. Even as we’re bringing the lawsuit against them, there’s no sign of the defendant, Shell-Septinos—he’s not in jail, and he’s not even been named a formal suspect. He hasn’t even denied the charges—just called to have the deposition denied. Well, to make up for it we left everything right till the last minute ourselves, as well, I suppose, not letting them see the charges before we absolutely had to.”

The DA giggled, as if he’d told a particularly witty joke.

“I bet there was some discussion among the other side’s camp when it came to tactics—they would have been wondering right till the last minute what we were going to hit them with.”

Balot just sat there, still.

In the waiting room. And later, at the DA’s table in the courtroom. She sat still, making no noise or sound of movement, just enduring words such as She seems fine to me or Well, it stands to reason, I’m not surprised.

“So I’m sure the defense will be unnecessarily—well, they’ll say all sorts of things about you and won’t pull any punches. If he could get a not-guilty verdict for his client by appealing to the court’s latent misogyny, he’d do it, make no mistake. At any rate, all you need to do is stay calm—even more so this time given your injuries—and all you need to do is to press the yes, no, or no answer button.”

At this point Balot nodded for the first time. That was all it took for most men to take the lead, tell her what to do. The DA was no exception.

“Well then, let’s go,” said the DA, heading toward the courtroom with the petitioner and Concerned Party, Balot, and the Doctor, who was the Trustee in charge of the case.

In the elevator the DA spoke to the Doctor. “I have to say, you’re looking good, Mr. Easter! I wish you were always dressed like this—you’d put my mind at rest no end.”

The Doctor’s hair had been dyed back to its original black and was combed down and slick.

His suit looked good on him—it made him look gentlemanly, like a man of distinction. The Doctor gave a shrug and a little smile. The DA relaxed a little and then whispered in the Doctor’s ear.

“But for next time let’s rethink the girl’s outfit. We’re trying to show that she was a poor girl from the West Side preyed on by one of the East Side rich, and she’s a little too—elegant—for that.”

Balot could hear that too. Not the precise words, but a general sense of what they were talking about, by sensing the atmosphere. Unconsciously she folded her arms and wished for something to wrap around her tights. Her dress was dark, of course, just as the DA had specified, with the skirt hem coming down past her knees. She dealt with his request as she did with any of her clients who were fixated on her clothes.

Oeufcoque, still a choker, said nothing.

His existence was a secret to all other people, of course, but even if it hadn’t been, Balot wouldn’t have wanted him to say anything at this moment. There was still an egg-shaped crystal hanging from the choker, but this time there was a simple geometric pattern at its core, not a picture of a golden mouse.

09:25 hours. Balot sat at the plaintiff ’s desk.

On the defense side was the counsel, the accused man himself, and the Trustee for the defense.

Balot was very conscious of her own abilities. She didn’t have to look that way, but she knew where everyone was and what they were doing. The defendant was calm, composed. There was a very faint sign of fear, but it wouldn’t be this man doing the fighting in any case. And he wasn’t the one who was going to be hurt. That was the counsel and the Trustee’s job. And Balot’s job. The accused didn’t even look at Balot.

A number of reporters from the press—with their tags dangling from their necks—had firmly ensconced themselves in the front row of the spectators’ gallery, and all eyes were on Balot. They were here with a very different set of aims from Balot and the Doctor.

They were here, inevitably, to write up events as scandalously as they could.

They wanted to write about Balot as a modern-day Lolita. Someone who was all too aware of her sex appeal though still a girl, a girl who had seduced an important man from the amusements company, bringing him to ruin; that was how they were looking to make the story play out.

How had she become the lover of this important man? And how was the girl connected to the Trustee of her