Mardock Scramble

–When it became necessary for a scapegoat to accept responsibility for the alleged war crimes, he voluntarily put himself forward as the sacrificial lamb. Well, there were a few who had to do this, but Dr. Easter was a special case.

–In what way special?

–Out of all the researchers, he was the biggest advocate of the view that their research should be turned over for the benefit of civilians. So, when the Three Magi put forward their proposal for Scramble 09, he was the first volunteer. Even though he’d go straight to prison if it failed. That’s why he’s the Black Sheep.

–Three Magi?

–The three founders of Paradise. Two of them have left, of course, so it’s just the One Wise Man at the moment.

–The two who left set up Mardock Scramble? Balot asked, thinking that the conversation was starting to take a strange turn. It wasn’t really hitting home that they were now talking about how she, ultimately, was rescued just a little while ago.

–No, one of them originated the idea of Mardock Scramble, but the other one thought of a different path and opposed the abolition of the Research Facility.

–A different path?

–She founded OctoberCorp.

Balot’s footsteps stopped abruptly.

–What’s the matter?

Tweedledee looked puzzled. Balot shook her head absentmindedly. She felt as if she’d just been told why she was killed and why she was saved all at once.

Suddenly Balot remembered what the Doctor had said right at the very start, when they first met. OctoberCorp—whose usefulness consisted of supplying a steady stream of amusement to the denizens of Mardock City—was his nemesis, against everything that he and Oeufcoque stood for.

Still, Balot had no idea what she was supposed to do with this information at the moment.

–Is Oeufcoque also known as a Black Sheep? Balot asked. She resumed walking.

–Nah, he’s the Golden Egg. All the other researchers at Paradise wanted a piece of him.

Tweedledee giggled.

–But all he wanted to do was get outside. And the researcher who founded Scramble 09 was also Oeufcoque’s inventor, you see. So no one could stop him from leaving Paradise. But everyone says they never imagined in a million years he’d end up teaming up with the Black Sheep or the Rusty Gun.

He suddenly turned to Balot as if he’d just noticed her for the first time.

–The Rusty Gun is a man that you know. Dimsdale-Boiled.

Only when he spoke his name did she actually get it.

–Sounds like you’re the one who knows everything.

Balot shrugged her shoulders, bracing herself against the pain that inevitably followed.

She was beginning to relax around this young man, so intelligent and yet so innocent. The idea of conflict seemed to be an alien concept to this Tweedledee. He had the placid demeanor of someone who had never been troubled by any sort of disturbances during his upbringing—and yet he wasn’t excessively clingy or needy.

Hand on the wall, Balot moved on, dragging her whole body along with her. Her muscles were inflamed, and in particular both her wrists were swollen. Yet Tweedledee made no effort to help her or even to adjust his pace to match hers. He talked as he liked and walked as he liked. Not selfishly, exactly, for every once in a while he paused to give Balot the opportunity to catch up. He showed no sign of irritation or impatience.

He’s probably used to this, Balot thought. Tweedledee sees people in a far worse state than me on a daily basis. That was the feeling she got from him.

As she was thinking this, three people emerged from around a corner.

All were old. A man wearing a black hat, a man in an electric wheelchair, and a woman wearing sunglasses were in the midst of a lively conversation as they headed toward Balot and Tweedledee.

The man wearing the black hat was the first to notice Balot and Tweedledee, and stopped.

“Ah, Tweedledee, taking that young lady for a walk, are you?”

–Yes, I’m showing her around, Tweedledee informed them. All three of the elders had hearing aids embedded in their inner ears; Tweedledee transmitted his speech directly to the devices.

The man took his hat off and bowed to Balot. Thousands of little connector terminals were planted in his head, so many that they almost looked like a second set of hair.

“Is this young lady a new experimental candidate, Tweedledee?”

–No. She’s a client of Dr. Easter.

“Client…? From the outside world?” the man asked, puzzled. “Dr. Easter’s lab seems to have its lights on at the moment—is he back with us? Is he conducting some unauthorized experiments on his own? Without publishing an official code name?”

–Her name’s Balot. Rune-Balot.

“I’m sure that no such code name has been registered,” the man answered.

The old woman beside him was next to speak, blue eyes twinkling behind her sunglasses. “The regenerative metal fibers seem to suit her very well. Beautiful skin. Have you measured her Interference Rate yet? Do you know how far she is into her threshold of consciousness?”

–She’s over 80 percent.

“How marvelous.” The old woman’s eyes and ears were fully mechanized, and her electronically produced voice was indistinguishable from the real thing.

The man in the wheelchair scooted around to Balot’s flank and asked, “Is it the aftereffects of the Lightite skin graft that makes her unable to walk straight?”

Balot shook her head. She wasn’t sure how best to answer this question.

“I think that Pod Number 3 is free at the moment. Let’s have her swim in the Sheep-Dip Craft for a while. She hasn’t shared her data yet, has she? Her muscle pulse may have been overridden by the sudden acceleration of her senses,” the man in the wheelchair continued, happily letting everything go right over Balot’s head.

–She has an appointment with Dr. Easter right now.

When Tweedledee said this, the man in the wheelchair assumed a sullen expression. “And do you have a good reason for monopolizing her data?”

–Dr. Easter said it’s because she’s a civilian.

The word civilian seemed to have a magical effect on the three old people, who drew back immediately.

“You’ll be sure to get data that we can usefully adapt, at least?” The man in the wheelchair pressed his point nonetheless.

Balot was bewildered by this exchange, and a sense of discomfort closed in on her.

–We have to hurry, I’m afraid. And we really don’t know much about the details.

Tweedledee spoke quickly, as if he had sensed Balot’s feelings.

“Well, we’ll file a request for data sharing. Until then, be sure not to upset your biorhythm.” The tall man placed his hat back on his head. The old woman gave Balot a bow. “Take care of yourself, young lady. I’d love to have tea with someone with as much aptitude as you. Tweedledee, you’ll have tea with me, won’t you?”

–I’ll think about it.

The old woman laughed. Then the three old people fell back into their previous lively conversation and were gone.

–You have to watch their tea parties—they go on for a while. They pile on the medication in order to conduct their little examinations. And then there’s their biorhythmic indices and inspections…

Watching the backs of the three old people as they disappeared down the corridor, Balot thought about how