Mardock Scramble

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.

Tweedledum was 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 affect 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 official 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 official 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, Medium burst 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