Mardock Scramble

“Here.” Medium lifted his left hand, now covered in a black glove. He balled his hand into a fist, and there was a grating noise. “Makeshift electronic parts—but they should stand up okay in battle. We don’t really have the time for me to leisurely transplant a new set, do we? So, unleash me whenever you’re ready!” Medium bared his teeth. His breathing was rough, and his knees were shaking restlessly. He was just like a dog drooling in anticipation of feeding time.

“Are you on drugs?” Boiled asked.

“Just some stimulants. The aftereffects of the electricity are so bad that I can hardly use my hands and feet when I’m sober. Don’t worry, I’m used to using them. I’m not about to go flying off the handle. Anyway, more importantly, have a look at this.” Medium took a PDA-style monitor out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Boiled.

The monitor displayed a map centered around the city, with a red line showing the wake of a boat.

“This is Flesh’s legacy. Using his hacking routes, we’ve managed to penetrate both Air Traffic Control and the Broilerhouse, just as you requested. It wasn’t strong enough to track that flying egg or tell us where it landed, though.”

“We have enough for now.” Boiled folded the monitor up and returned it to Medium.

“There’s one region where boats seem to cross paths a number of times, with overlapping wakes. The route that the Broilerhouse uses.”

“You know their whereabouts?” asked Medium.

“The outskirts of the city. It’ll be a while. Get some sleep. Staying high for too long ruins your stamina,” said Boiled.

“I’ll be okay. I’m so looking forward to meeting that little kitten again that I’ll go anywhere. Just say the word. Where do you want me to attack?”

Boiled turned the key in the ignition. “Paradise.”

The engine roared to life, and Medium whooped with joy.

?

They entered the trunk road from the northwest of Mardock City, and Medium took some capsules, prompting Boiled to murmur, without any emotion, “Heroic Pills…”

“Yeah, we’re not talking about the adulterated crap you get in Times Square, though. This is the real thing, pure and unspoiled. Will you try one too, boss?”

Boiled was about to shake his head to say no, but then he stopped himself mid-action.

“Just the one.” Boiled stuck his hand out. Grinning, Medium dropped a single capsule into Boiled’s massive palm.

Boiled swallowed it, and Medium asked, “How is it?”

“Not much difference.”

“It’ll kick in soon, and you’ll start to feel happy.”

“The back of my head is starting to feel itchy,” said Boiled. Medium was visibly disappointed. “Boss…why did you try one if you’re not in the mood?”

“I have a client who’s addicted, and I wanted to understand the effects for myself. But it looks like that’s beyond me.”

“It certainly seems that Welldone was right about you, boss—you’re a proper hunting dog. You’ll do whatever it takes to catch your prey. I could wish for a bit more of a sense of humor, though.”

Boiled made no effort to respond. Instead, he said, “We’re heading to the Broilerhouse now, in order to check a few things out with night duty.”

“Roger that, boss. Shall I drive for a while?”

“No need. You rest your body,” said Boiled.

“Still, you’re holding up well, considering you don’t take any drugs. When exactly do you get a chance to go to bed?”

“I’ve forgotten how to sleep,” said Boiled.

Medium grinned. “Good one, boss. Glad to see you’ve got a sense of humor after all.”

“I haven’t slept for nine years.”

“That’s the spirit, Mr. Iron Man. Although you’ll need to work on your facial expression—it’s still a bit dour,” said Medium.

Without another word, Boiled stopped off at a motel they were passing by and, out of Medium’s earshot, contacted the Broilerhouse using a dedicated line.

Boiled climbed back into the car and was just about to turn the key again when he stayed his hand for a moment, thinking.

He was thinking about the last time he’d slept—had he dreamt anything then?

The answer was no.

Boiled started the car and drove off.

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.

Tweedledum spoke and Balot nodded as she retrieved data from the pool.

Bubbles leaked from Balot’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 stuff—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 swam in 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