Chapter 2

MIXTURE

01

Adagio string music floated through the bar, caressing its contours.

A man sipped a scotch at the counter.

It was a bas.e.m.e.nt bar in a hotel on the East Side of Mardock City. The hotel epitomized the postwar

excesses of the city: brash, shiny, flourishing.

As the night went on customers flocked to the bar. Here and there, business was discussed. Big deals

—the sort you wouldn’t even hear of in the south or west parts of the city—were discussed as if they

were a new type of drug.

The man listened to the noises of the joint, as expressionless as the bartender in front of his eyes.

The man’s name was Dimsdale-Boiled.

Right now he worked for Sh.e.l.l. His body was big, but cold-blooded.

Before long, Sh.e.l.l-Septinos appeared in the bar and sat down next to Boiled.

Sh.e.l.l took his lead-gray Chameleon Sungla.s.ses off and ordered a gin. Cut a lime in two and drop the

halves in, Sh.e.l.l ordered, and don’t forget the powder.

The bartender silently chopped the lime, took a capsule in his hand, and sprinkled its contents on the

flesh of the fruit. He squeezed the lime into the gin and dropped it into the gla.s.s.

The powder was from a Heroic Pill, one of OctoberCorp’s special bargains. It had recently started

getting popular with the East Side rich, so in this place it was actually quite pricey. Drugs leaking in from

the west could actually go for almost ten times the rate in the east. The Social Welfare Department had put

some safer drugs on the market, but no one liked them. They didn’t have the same effect. The Garden

Plaza in Central Park supplied this bar, and most of those who went shopping there returned home with

these pills. There were those who fed them to babies who wouldn’t sleep. They helped you quit smoking,

give up drinking. But whether from the east or west, very few of those people who took the drug actually

knew what happiness was.

“What’s it like to be reborn?” Boiled asked.

“Like I was in a long dream.”

Sh.e.l.l smiled a watery smile.

“Clapping—memory preservation—that’s what I’m about.” He pointed to a spot just above his right

eyebrow. A small pin was embedded there. “I attach a cord here. It’s linked to my frontal lobe with

fiberoptics. Fromhere I can download my memories and save them. This wipes themneatly frommy mind

at the same time. I have to do this once in a while, apparently, or my brain wouldn’t be able to cope with

all the memories and would start decaying. Originally I had the operation done to cope with the

aftereffects of A-10 surgery, but now I’mfinding it useful in all sorts of other ways.”

“Sounds useful.”

“Oh, it is.”A crackly laugh spilled from Sh.e.l.l’s lips. “And when you say you’ll let them fiddle about

with your brain you get a free pa.s.s to any hospital you like. Gives them invaluable clinical data, you see.

You’re treated like royalty.”

“And what happens to the data? I mean the stuff downloaded from your brain, not the clinical sort,”

asked Boiled.

“Put it like this: are there any dentists who want their patients’ cavities after they extract them?”

“And what’s the chance the data is being copied?”

“I won’t say zero, but the odds are tiny. I’d say about the same chance as someone going all-in in a

poker game when they have nothing at all in their hand.”

“How many times has that situation come up during the course of your life?”

“Who knows. We’re talking about what happens in my dreams, after all.”

Sh.e.l.l grinned. A smile as cold as the drink in his hand. And, his expression suggested, would be just

as sharp as the gla.s.s would be when it smashed. “With my most recent memories, I’m now ready to

proceed with the deal. Not a deal like the sort that’s always come down from higher up. A deal that I’m

proposing myself. My memories are the chips. And in order to beat any concealed card, I have you as my

ace.”

Boiled nodded silently.

“And, as payment, the past. For most people it’s invaluable. In my case it’s just worthless. We’re just

talking about a josh, stuff I don’t even want to remember, stuff that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

A low-pitched laugh leaked out of Sh.e.l.l. Boiled said nothing.

“I started life as a cheap little bookie—a punter—for OctoberCorp. Then I earned my stripes as a star

gambler. I had a casino entrusted to me, and money started flowing in left, right, and center. That led to a

job cleaning money. I cooked up schemes to launder their money—and accrue interest at the same time—

that they hadn’t even dreamed of. I gave rookie politicians—those on their way into federal government—

the chance to enjoy themselves at preferential rates. I got them to pool the money from their parents’

businesses in our treasury. All sorts of dirty deals.”

Sh.e.l.l spoke in a singsong voice. He was in a frighteningly good mood. Sh.e.l.l was a man who was

climbing the Mardock—the Stairway to Heaven—out of the slums and right to the top.

“But do you think I’m going to settle for that? If that’s all I achieve then how am I different from a

high-cla.s.s maid cleaning the toilets of the rich? Maids clean dirty toilets and take care of the beds. I clean

dirty money and take care of the bets. No real difference. So I’m making a deal. To make me one of them.

I’m able to abandon everything. I can throw everything away, completely, and become a new person.

They should know that—I’ve shown it to them many times over, haven’t I? And then when they

remembered all the things that I cleaned for them, they started to take me seriously. Do you think that I’ve

been pointlessly discarding my memories up till now? You must be joking. They’re safely recorded and

stored in a safe place that only I know. That’s my game. And it’s your game too. That’s right, isn’t it,

Boiled?”

Boiled slowly nodded his head.

“I’m happy being an empty sh.e.l.l. The contents are still to come. A container to be filled with glory—

that’s what I am.”

At this point Sh.e.l.l finally calmed down. Such was the madness of Sh.e.l.l. Who could understand the

feelings of a man who sold the memories of his own past piece by piece?

“I think that I’mgoing to work extremely well having you as my employer.”

Boiled spoke softly. Then, quietly, he took a newspaper cutting from the inner pocket of his jacket and

placed it on top of the counter.

“A Mardock Scramble 09 has been proclaimed.”

Sh.e.l.l read the article in silence. He ordered a second gin, then looked at the article again. Not read—

looked.

“Who is she? This girl?”

“Rune-Balot. A girl fromyour dreams who should have died.”

“Dreams? Ah, so, the raw material for a Blue Diamond that the cops in our pay were going to collect

for us—it’s still alive and kicking, is that it?” Sh.e.l.l murmured in a voice devoid of any emotion and drank

his gin. He drank away his possible past along with the lime juice and Heroic Pills. Sh.e.l.l’s next move

came quickly.

“Since when has the case been under someone’s charge?”

“The preliminary courtroom business was concluded a few days ago. The girl gave the Broilerhouse

some sort of information and filed charges of status fraud and attempted murder,” said Boiled.

“The Life Preservation Program’s in effect. Proof that Trustees—dirty little PIs—are involved. Have

you looked into them?”

“I’ve made inquiries.”

Sh.e.l.l floated a laugh and nodded. The man in front of him wasn’t the sort to commit an oversight.

Boiled was much tougher and smarter than any bodyguard Sh.e.l.l had ever hired, and because of his

effectiveness and broad remit his salary was also in a different league than his predecessors’.

During the war Boiled had been part of the elite Airborne Division and had partic.i.p.ated in the

invasion of the enemy’s land across the sea as part of the Commonwealth’s front line of troops. Whereas

Sh.e.l.l had avoided conscription due to his mental disorder and had no experience of war. So Sh.e.l.l was

extremely pleased with Boiled’s past as a former soldier. Boiled was able to wipe away Sh.e.l.l’s

inferiority complex at not having been able to take part in the war and for this reason was seen by Sh.e.l.l as

a most distinguished, talented man.

But at this point Boiled’s face revealed a strange expression. An expression Sh.e.l.l had not yet seen.

You could have even called it a troubled expression. Face the same, he spoke the PI’s name:

“Oeufcoque-Penteano.”

“An unusual name. Is he fromthe Continent? Did he defect over here during the war?”

“No, well—it’s likely that the person who gave himhis name did. But you couldn’t really say that he’s

from anywhere.”

“You know him, do you, this PI?”

“We were on the same team, a while ago.”

Sh.e.l.l’s expression turned to one of astonishment. But Boiled would go into no further detail.

“He can obtain legal clearance for all territories within a day. He’s going to be exploiting his authority

as a Trustee to the absolute fullest, gathering information on us. He may even have already sniffed out the

details of this deal that you’re working on.”

“Or, equally, he may have taken an interest in this girl’s case just so that he could get to me, right?”

Sh.e.l.l said.

“A distinct possibility. I’m worried about the fact that this chatterbox of a mouse is suddenly so

silent.”

“Huh, calling your old partner a mouse. The partnership must have really ended badly.”

Sh.e.l.l seemed somewhat amused. Boiled shook his head slowly and said, “No, he’s a very

professional mouse.”

His face was serious.

Sh.e.l.l shrugged his shoulders. “I see.”

He ordered a third gla.s.s of gin and murmured jackpot before taking a sip.

“This is my game. I won’t let anyone interfere. A Life Preservation Program, you say? Well, if the

programisn’t adopted then I’mguessing the PIs will lose their jurisdiction to interfere?”

“Indeed. If the person concerned were to die or otherwise disappear, the case would close

unresolved; that would be quickest,” Boiled informed him blandly, and Sh.e.l.l smiled a satisfied smile at

himbefore draining his gin.

“I’m relying on you. And it’s fairly certain that the doctors in question aren’t keen on the possibility

that there are people other than me involved in the jackpot. You understand what I’msaying?”

“Sure.”

“You’re the ace in my sleeve, Boiled.”

Sh.e.l.l smiled a thin smile and rose from his seat. He moved with such composure that you would never

know he had a PI on his heels. His eyes hid an air of decisiveness as he stared into the air.

Then Boiled said to Sh.e.l.l, with emphasis, “I need to hire. I need money.”

“Can’t you manage on your own? We’re talking about a girl who’s been cooked through and is now at

death’s door in an ICU somewhere, right?”

Boiled shook his head at a surprised Sh.e.l.l. As if he were gently pacifying him.

“I need someone disposable. Like your past. Each time you discard your past you become sharper, like

a razor. This is the same. I want to be absolutely sure.”

Sh.e.l.l made a broad gesture.

“Use one of our nest eggs. I’ll give you the key code later. I’ll be looking forward to receiving good

news.”

And then, out of nowhere…

“It’s strange.”

Sh.e.l.l became serious and looked at one of his hands.

“When I was looking at the article, one of my fingers started throbbing—even though I couldn’t

remember the girl. I must have been planning on wearing the girl on it. A new Blue Diamond. And yet…”

He rubbed the ring finger on his left hand,

“Was she really such a special girl that I was planning on wearing her on this finger? So special that I

wanted to turn her into an engagement ring? Or was it just a pa.s.sing fancy with no particular reason

behind it?” he asked himself in a low voice. Boiled couldn’t answer. It wasn’t a question that anyone

could answer.

“The memory of a woman—that’s always the first thing to go. It’s always the thing that stresses me out

the most,” Sh.e.l.l said. “Women try to destroy my mind. Why’s that? They’re just women, right?”

Sh.e.l.l laughed as he spoke. A self-mocking laugh.

“All it takes is a twenty-grambullet and a person will die,” Boiled whispered in a low voice.

Sh.e.l.l nodded and laughed sharply before putting his Chameleon Sungla.s.ses on. The gla.s.ses that

changed color with the pa.s.sing of time were now a deep violet. Like the color of Sh.e.l.l’s pain. A

forgetfulness that could never be undone. That sort of pain.

“Send me the ring. I’mcounting on you.”

Sh.e.l.l finished speaking, then disappeared.

Boiled stared silently at the newspaper cutting on the counter.

“Looks like we’ll be meeting again, Oeufcoque,” he muttered in a subdued tone, out of Sh.e.l.l’s earshot.

≡

The Doctor had just finished the last of his work on the display when Balot entered the office with

Oeufcoque on her shoulder.

“Can we put off Balot’s court appearance, do you think?” Oeufcoque asked in a surprisingly plain tone

of voice.

The Doctor, taken aback, replied, “You’re joking, right, Oeufcoque? You know what I’ve just done?

Yes, of course, I’ve just finished transmitting the files of her conversation with the public prosecutor—

along with the pet.i.tion files—to the court secretariat. We’ve just had the preliminary courtroom

proceedings over the monitor. That’s like asking to put the egg back into the sh.e.l.l after it’s broken.”

“But the egg’s not been fried yet.”

The Doctor gave a strangled groan.

“Fine. So why not get the raw egg, the electronic data that’s just finished dashing full-speed ahead

toward the government offices, and tell it that, oh, actually we haven’t decided how to cook you yet. Try

doing that now at this late hour, eh?”

At this point the Doctor stopped moving. He stared fixedly at Balot’s face.

“Really? Just like that?”

I don’t believe it, his body seemed to say, as he stooped over the display to check the data that he had

just sent not a minute ago. The contents of the files were empty. Pure white. Not even a destination

address. Right next to them was a new set of entirely different files. He opened them and found the data—

that he was sure he had just sent—copied and preserved exactly. It was like magic.

“The abilities that your snarc gives you are truly incredible.”

The Doctor rose fromhis stooped posture and looked straight at Balot.

“There’s no one I’ve known who’s been able to manipulate electricity at this level. Or perhaps I

should say no one has ever existed. The velocity of the electricity usually blows one’s mind. In your case,

even though almost your whole body is accelerated to such a high level, you’re completely unaffected and

it’s working perfectly. Amazing. Still…”

Balot wouldn’t raise her eyes. Her face was downcast, expressionless.

“Will you explain to me if there’s any relation between the fact that, on the one hand, it’s less than

three hundred hours since your operation and you’re defying the boundaries of your threshold of

consciousness, and on the other hand you refuse to appear in court? Do you want to shut yourself away in

this hideaway—this sh.e.l.l—forever?”

Balot shook her head sideways. In small, repeated movements. And that was the extent of her answer.

On her shoulder Oeufcoque looked at the Doctor with a troubled face.

“She’s like a mascot, isn’t she, Oeufcoque?”

The Doctor spoke in a severe tone of voice. Balot raised her eyes with a jolt. But in the corner of

Balot’s field of vision Oeufcoque calmly shrugged his shoulders. He stood there as if to say that this was

his job, to look like a charming little stuffed animal.

The Doctor sighed, tired.

“She’s nominated us as Trustees, with responsibility for this case. She has to give the courtroom a

satisfactory account—and response—regarding what happened. Have you explained this to the girl

properly? Unless we do this, we can’t take a step further, and all there is left to do is sit and wait for the

enemy to send his a.s.sa.s.sins.”

At that moment there was a pinging noise. The doorbell-like sound that signaled the arrival of an

incoming data packet.

The data packet he had mailed a minute ago had just bounced back, target address unknown.

The Doctor peered in at the display dubiously. And with his other hand he pushed his gla.s.ses up in

surprise.

–I have n.o.body, nowhere.

The message floated up as a single line of text.

This was Balot’s response. As if to say that this was the one thing she knew for certain.

“You mean that you can’t trust us?”

The Doctor’s voice was much gentler than before. Not ingratiating, but as if to say that at last he

understood where she was coming from.

Balot shook her head.

Another ping.

–I’m afraid.

The Doctor was about to say something. Then another pinging sound.

–I don’t want to be betrayed.

The unaddressed mail had these messages, one by one.

“By no means are we going to betray you. We’ll use all our power to help solve this case. That’s right,

isn’t it, Oeufcoque? Whatever dangers we come across…”

But Oeufcoque wouldn’t answer. He merely stood there, face deeply troubled.

“Hey, say something, will you?”

Another ping.

–You were both peeping at me for ages.

The Doctor opened his mouth in surprise. A further chime.

–The two of you brought me back to life, then raped me.

The Doctor read this with an astonished expression, then sat back down in the chair, drained of

strength.

“Raped?”

Balot hung her head in shame. It wasn’t like she was trying to forcefully impart a message—more like

words hidden away in the depths of her heart were suddenly revealed.

“When I was accepted onto the government’s research team, I received a couple of hundred counseling

sessions, and I started my research after having a profound respect for human rights bashed into me, along

with a deep understanding of ethics and morality.”

The Doctor spoke as if he were wringing out his voice.

“Well, I drowned in that ocean of counseling and became completely impotent. As a result, I split up

with my wife. Even now, I’m almost proud of my s.e.xual inadequacy—it’s like a badge of honor. There

are even times when I start feeling like I’ve become a saint or something—”

“Erm, Doctor—”

Oeufcoque tried to interrupt, but the Doctor was having none of it.

“Very well. I’ll now give you a full account of what happened to you.”

The voice now showed a hint of anger, and Balot’s shoulders flinched. But the Doctor was polite

through to the end. You couldn’t say he was calm and collected, but he showed no sign of needing to

resort to more than words.

“In the first case, we made it our absolute priority to save your life. But there was no way of getting

you from where you were to an emergency hospital. The enemy would have gotten wind of your

whereabouts, and if you’d been in a hospital they would have come and finished you off. That’s where a

quack like me comes in. As I diagnosed it, a normal skin graft wouldn’t have been anywhere near enough.

You’d have met your maker long before your condition stabilized. And that’s where my craft comes in.

On this point I think we’re in agreement, amI right?”

Balot gave a little nod. The Doctor was using plain words—not the slang of wh.o.r.es, or the affected

language of posh princesses, but simple, direct language that hit Balot with everything she needed to

know.

And that was good enough for Balot. The Doctor didn’t notice that this was one of the reasons that

Balot was sad—it was good enough for the likes of her—he was, after all, the Doctor, and his mind was

on other things.

“In the second instance, in order to help you face up to the case that’s now confronting us, we needed

to make sure you had the ability to resist. Now, shall we have Oeufcoque give his testimony at this

point?”

He pointed at Oeufcoque as if to say that he wasn’t the only villain in the piece.

Oeufcoque raised his hands and with noticeable reluctance carried on with the Doctor’s explanation.

“All right, Doc. My response. We could have handed you over to the care of the public bodies in

charge of protection, but we wouldn’t have been able to tell if any a.s.sa.s.sins had infiltrated them. There

are those within the police forces who almost look upon that sort of thing as a second job. And so we

deemed it appropriate that we keep on guarding you while you developed your own powers of

resistance.”

A pinging sound.

–Powers of resistance?

“Yeah, well, fighting strength, as it were. Learn self-defense skills, how to use a gun, that sort of—”

Another pinging sound.

–No way. I don’t want to become like a soldier.

Oeufcoque gave a little shrug of his shoulders. That was the last reply.

The display was now buried in Balot’s words.

The Doctor turned to the display and nimbly took the files one by one and collated themin a single file

to be saved. Balot’s eyes followed the Doctor’s actions with a quick glance. She thought her words

would be deleted, but the Doctor just carried on reading them.

“While you were unconscious we brushed on the memories in your brain’s outer threshold of

consciousness,” the Doctor said, face still turned to the display.

“We’re not talking about tangible memories here, but rather your subconscious—we took all our

technology and planning and threw it all together, and had the computer interrogate the mix. It’s one of the

protocols used with patients in a vegetative state in order to decide whether or not to euthanize them. So

we looked at the results after the prescribed six hours of interrogation, and then while you were asleep

we conducted another six-hour interrogation. The results were the same on both occasions.” The Doctor

wasn’t shouting now. He was informing her calmly, as if he were reciting a poem.

“Your current body—and this situation—this is the result that you chose.”

There was a short gap in the conversation, but before long there was another ping right before the

Doctor’s eyes.

–I know that excuse. You men are all the same. “It’s what you wanted, you were asking for it.”

That’s what you always say.

Balot stared nervously at the Doctor’s profile as she watched him read the sentence. Keenly. With the

same expression as when she said that she didn’t want to be betrayed. Oeufcoque had placed a little paw

on the base of Balot’s neck, as if to praise her for her bravery.

“That counseling…like a tsunami…” the Doctor muttered without thinking. As if he were remembering

anew what he had gained and what he had lost. The meaning of the phrase that he’d said to Balot,

everything turned topsy-turvy.

An almost diffident sound pinged before the Doctor’s eyes.

–I also know that you people aren’t lying.

The Doctor took this, and her earlier words, and stuck them into the file he had opened. As if he were

scooping up her words. Then he turned back to Oeufcoque and said, “Now then, I’ll leave this bit up to

your heart, Oeufcoque. I’ve been doing the maintenance on your guts all these years, after all. We’ll use

its beat as a barometer.”

His facial expression was calmbut also a little twisted.

“I know what needs to be done, but I don’t know what we should do. In particular when it comes to

rebuilding the body of a fifteen-year-old girl and getting her to stand in front of a court.”

A pinging sound, and,

–Rune-Balot.

“Hmm. That’s your name. It’s been a while since we’ve called the person involved in a Scramble 09

case by their proper name. Rune-Balot. You’re competent enough to be able to give informed consent to

your doctor. So, right now, what do you want to do?”

Again Balot’s head was bowed, eyes downcast.

The Doctor showed no particular sign of getting impatient but sat back in his chair and looked at

Oeufcoque.

“The clothes Balot just ordered online have arrived.”

Oeufcoque answered in her place, meekly.

The Doctor raised both hands as if to say so? Balot hesitantly tugged at the hem of the hospital robe

that she’d been wearing since she emerged fromthe insulator.

“And she wants to try them on and head outside. For lunch. And at the same time file a pet.i.tion to have

her manipulated ID canceled.”

The Doctor’s mouth twisted.

“So you weren’t particularly hiding away, then? Why didn’t you say so?”

Balot cowered, but the Doctor was just looking to Oeufcoque for confirmation.

“And I suppose you’re going with her, right? In an I’m your bulletproof armor kind of way? But take

care, though. The preliminary report for the case is already out there. There’s a good chance the enemy

will try something.”

“Well, it’d be good to have an opponent she could try out her new powers on. In any case, she’s yet to

experience my usefulness when it comes to dealing with Scramble 09 cases.”

The Doctor shrugged his shoulders and stood up. He took out a card carrier fromhis back pocket.

He chose a cash card and handed it to Balot.

Balot had no idea what to do.

She stared at the Doctor’s face before almost secretively taking it fromhis hand.

“The application to the Broilerhouse for your social security compensation has already gone in, but it

takes a bit of time for the approval to come through. So, in the meantime, this is your property. Ask

Oeufcoque for the PIN, I don’t know it.”

No man had ever given her money in this way before. Balot stared at the Doctor’s face with

trepidation. The Doctor suddenly turned serious.

“Indeed. So. Looks like this is going to be the first test of your abilities. It’s certainly worth doing

before we go to the courtroom, I suppose. I’m praying that you’ll be able to use Oeufcoque well without

abusing him.”

Balot didn’t understand the Doctor’s words. She just looked at Oeufcoque, still perched on her

shoulder. This mouse had listened to her heart in a way no one ever had before. And with a precision that

no counselor could ever hope to match. There were still loads of things she wanted to talk about and

countless things she wanted himto understand.

Right now, that was everything to Balot.

Balot returned to the room she had been allocated—the old morgue—and opened up the packages one

by one, laying their contents out on the bed. She lifted up black leather and placed it against her skin. It

was a rather snug little outfit. No skirt, but shorts.

Oeufcoque stared at the outfit, nonplussed.

“Ah…” he exclaimed, rather unenthusiastically.

Balot shrugged her shoulders and showed him the next outfit. This time they were normal pants, the

blouse sleeveless, and Balot indicated by gesturing that she would add arm-warmers to it.

“Um, yeah… You know what, Balot, I’ll wait in the Doctor’s room. Come and get me when you’re

finished.”

After speaking Oeufcoque jumped off the desk and walked to the door on his two feet.

When he was directly below the doork.n.o.b he leapt up—quite a jump for a mouse—and turned the

k.n.o.b, opening the door. He landed and was about to walk out of the room when Balot pinched the

suspenders holding up his pants and hoisted himinto the air.

“I’m not really one to ask for advice on feminine aesthetics, you know. And I’m not too keen on being

called a Peeping Tomagain…” Oeufcoque said somewhat miserably.

Balot pursed her lips and closed the door, putting Oeufcoque onto the bed.

She then took some clothes and ran into the bathroomwith them. After a while Oeufcoque stood up and

got off the bed, and just then the bathroom door opened. Still in her underwear she gestured at Oeufcoque

to stay put. Her face showed unease rather than anger. Like when she said she was afraid at the display on

the Doctor’s desk.

“Fine, fine. I’ll wait—no, stand guard—here. Don’t you worry.”

Balot still looked a little anxious, but she carried on and closed the bathroomdoor anyway.

“You’d be able to sense what was happening on this side of the door, you know. You’re still very

insecure because you’re uncomfortable with your new powers, I suppose. Or no, maybe that’s why you’re

so anxious—it’s your new powers that bring home the fact that no one is there,” Oeufcoque muttered,

grumbling, and flopped down on his side. He gazed at the ceiling for a while, and then Balot was staring

down at him.

Balot was wearing a black outfit. Her neckline—and just below it—were exposed, and her hair hung

straight down. Her hair was newly grown—regenerated by the Doctor fromthe remnants of her old hair—

so she didn’t tie her hair up or else a lot of it would have fallen out. The sleeves extended to her

fingertips, covering the backs of her hands with triangular pieces of cloth, her middle fingers jutting

through holes in the fabric. Underneath the shorts the stockings covered her legs perfectly, and she

staggered unsteadily in her knee-high boots toward an abruptly rising Oeufcoque, twisting her body from

left to right. Oeufcoque searched for the right words, but all he could come up with was, “I think it’s

nice.”

Then, craning his neck: “Not too tight?”

When Balot heard this, she squeezed both arms together. Her att.i.tude suggested that she preferred a

snug fit. She looked like someone was hugging her, warmly. She took some fashion belts from the

packages and fastened a few tightly around her hips and stomach and also her legs. Over this she put on a

leather jacket. She looked like she was bound from head to toe. As if she would be s.n.a.t.c.hed away if she

didn’t wrap up tight.

She dropped in on the Doctor before leaving the building.

“Hmm… I like to think that my own doctor’s whites are something special, but I think I may have met

my match with your outfit.”

Balot scowled a little at the Doctor’s honesty.

“It looks like we’re in for a chilly night tonight. Don’t get caught out just because spring’s begun. And

make sure you take your medicine with you. There are still a few places where your cortex hasn’t

completely stabilized.”

Balot made a gesture in front of her outfit. I’m plenty warm enough, she seemed to say. Then she

patted her pockets. Like a child wordlessly answers a nagging parent.

“Well then, shall we head off?”

Oeufcoque, on Balot’s shoulder, changed his shape with a squelch. He turned into a velvet choker and

wrapped himself around Balot’s neck, then extruded the shape of a piece of metal.

Not so much a pendant as a dog tag.

Balot touched this, entwined it in her fingers as if she were meditating on it. When she let go the piece

of metal had become an egg-shaped piece of crystal, and frominside it a gold-colored mouse winked.

The Doctor looked at the pendant with a complex expression.

“Our current client seems to be very good at telling us how things should be, doesn’t she?”

“Well, it’s good that we’re flexible enough to offer a variety of different services…”

Oeufcoque’s voice, serious to the last.

“Can we reconfirm that we have all our necessary doc.u.ments, Doctor? And can you let the public

prosecutor know about our deferred court appearance? There’s always the possibility of doing it by

proxy, but the question is whether that would be enough to get the Broilerhouse moving.”

“The court doesn’t move according to an individual’s convenience, you know. It’s a power game—

and a money game—run by the letter of the law.”

“Yes, and I’mnot about to start playing a game that goes against the interests of the Concerned Party in

this case.”

“Sure, sure. Well, I’ll look for something constructive to do.”

“Sorry about earlier.” The voice sounded a bit different now. In tone, if not timbre.

“Uh, in what way?”

“I hurt your feelings. But thank you. And I’ll be sure to pay you back your money.”

“Um…more importantly than that, would you mind not using Oeufcoque’s voice when you’re

speaking? It’s pretty disconcerting.”

Balot touched the crystal with her hand.

–I can’t remember what my own voice sounds like.

She made a sound much more high-pitched than Oeufcoque’s voice. She opened her mouth and took a

wheezy breath. Like a draft in a wind tunnel.

“She’ll get it back one step at a time, you’ll see. Step by step.” This time it was the real Oeufcoque

who spoke, in his real voice.

02

Balot took one step out of the doorway and stood still. She looked petrified.

She closed her eyes and felt the sunlight, read her surroundings with her body. There were no

disruptions in the surrounding air.

No men appeared to be waiting at the bend in the road, ready to ambush her.

From beyond the buildings in the distance that intersected like a chess board, she heard the noise of a

gasoline-powered car.

Everything was different fromanything Balot had ever before experienced.

It was different from the time she’d lived in the industrial quarter of the harbor town where she grew

up, and different again from when she’d arrived in Mardock City 170 miles to the north. The time in her

life she was allowed to receive money, and the time when she wasn’t.

“Let’s go straight to the main street. We can hire an electric car,” Oeufcoque said fromher neckline.

Balot opened her eyes. She started walking, head bowed at first, but soon she lifted her chin. The

sidewalk was clean and tidy, with manicured lawns on either side of the street. It really didn’t look like

the sort of place in which you’d expect to find a morgue.

After a short walk she came to a small shopping mall. A hardware store, a computer shop, a

dressmaker, a café, and a vegetable market—all were immaculately kept.

She arrived at a large intersection and was a.s.saulted by dizziness. Her attention had been focused on

the insides of the buildings, and she hadn’t realized that she was in such a big place. She stopped on the

sidewalk for a while, considering what the best thing was to do. She soon decided. She set her own

personal boundary. A field of recognition.

A circle of roughly fifteen meters in diameter. That was Balot’s personal s.p.a.ce.

“That’s it. You can hire cars fromthe kiosk in front of you.”

There was a car kiosk on the other side of the intersection. Balot crossed at the green light—walk

—and halted underneath the red light—stop. Without looking at them she could feel the inner workings of

the traffic lights. She comprehended them fully, down to the fact that they moved like clockwork, never

missing a beat.

Balot gently brushed against the pillar supporting the traffic lights. She gently interfered—snarced the

signals.

The signals on the traffic lights quickened. Seeing the light had started flashing, pedestrians sped up,

fl.u.s.tered. The gas-powered car stopped with a loud noise, and the driver looked up at the light with a

surprised expression.

Balot crossed the road. Oeufcoque said nothing.

There was a billboard for eCar Rentals. Just below was a sign: MINIMUM AGE 14 YEARS. Balot stared

at the phrase. MINIMUM AGE 14 YEARS. She was a little surprised at the fact that she indeed qualified.

Fifteen had snuck up on her. And she was still fifteen.

“What is it?” Oeufcoque asked. Not knowing what to answer she just shook her head.

On the other side of a thick layer of bulletproof gla.s.s, the shopkeeper sat reading a magazine.

“How can I help?”

He looked at her carefully. Balot pointed at the rental sign and touched the crystal at her neck.

–A red car, please. I’m fifteen.

Balot spoke like a machine, lips tightly sealed, and the shopkeeper watched her with a vague

expression before speaking.

“We also have a car suitable for the disabled. What do you think? You get free parking with those

too.”

Balot gave a small nod and stuck her cash card in the window.

“Your signature.”

Rune-Balot, she wrote on the blank form that she was given. Oeufcoque secretly whispered the

address in Balot’s ear. It was obviously not the address of their hideaway. It’s a decoy address ,

Oeufcoque said.

“If anything happens, press the emergency b.u.t.ton. You can use a telephone?”

–Yes, I’ll be fine.

This time her voice was unnaturally high. The shopkeeper looked a little concerned.

“It’d be swell if it didn’t come back broken, that car. And if you encounter any trouble I’d appreciate

it if the blame didn’t come back to—”

–I’ll be fine.

She adjusted the voice so that it had as calming an effect as possible. The shopkeeper gave her the

obligatory lecture about fastening her seat belt as he handed over the keys.

The car was a two-seater, with s.p.a.ce for luggage in the back. As she turned the keys the Nav, the incar

navigation system, started up and offered a list of possible routes to take.

It was touch-screen activated, but Balot didn’t touch anywhere.

She sensed the car’s structure and applied her will. There was no steering wheel or mirrors, and the

only things that were adjustable were the destination and the speed—and even the speed was limited by

the eCar regulations. There was a stereo and TV, and the TV started up automatically with a sightseeing

guide. She turned it off and put the stereo on.

The car pulled out into the intersection, accompanied by an uplifting tune. Warm rays of sun filled the

car, and having commandeered the Nav, she traveled down the road for a while before pulling up at a red

light.

Balot looked through the windshield at the traffic lights. She could easily snarc themfromhere…

“Stop it, Balot.”

Balot stiffened under Oeufcoque’s sudden words of restraint.

“Are you being threatened by the traffic lights at the moment? To the extent that you feel your life is in

danger?”

His voice was strict. Balot gnawed on her lips. Cheerful music was still playing.

–Why didn’t you stop me earlier?

She asked directly through the car speakers without using Oeufcoque’s body. She sounded somewhat

vexed.

“I was observing your self-restraint. Ideally your powers should be used purely for self-defense. One

of the reasons I gave the go-ahead for this little excursion was in order to have you learn this for

yourself.”

Balot looked sullen. The lights changed and Balot raised the speed. Right up to the limit.

She tried to lift the electronic restraint on the car, and found she could, increasing the speed further

and further.

“What about your seat belt? You want to drive the car at full speed, have some fun? Then let’s set our

course for a theme park. There’s this fighter plane game where you can experience Mach 2.”

–Why are you suddenly being nice to me again?

“Because I want you to obey the rules—and to learn to choose for yourself which rules are worth

obeying.”

Obey the rules—those words again. Balot swung her head back. She really didn’t want Oeufcoque to

be telling her this.

–But you lied when you gave a false address. Is it right to lie?

“It’s a perfectly legitimate forwarding address. There’s an apartment and a postal address there. It’s

just set up so that no one can tell who lives there.”

–Are you angry with me? Because I tampered with the traffic lights?

“No, not angry. It’d take more than fiddling with some lights to make me angry. Even if we’d been hit

by a car, it’d be you who was hurt, not me. Even if someone died as a result of your actions I’m sure no

one would be able to work out the cause of the accident, and I wouldn’t turn you in. And even if there was

then another similar accident, well, I’d give you a good cross-examining, but I still wouldn’t be angry.

Just sad.”

–I just got a bit carried away. Don’t get so mad at me. I was enjoying our shopping trip.

“I just want you to promise. About using your abilities in ways that could hurt innocent bystanders.

You don’t want to throw away your rights to use your Scramble 09 powers, right?”

–I won’t do it again. I’ll think before I do anything. Don’t be mad at me.

“I’m not mad at you. You’ve got such incredible apt.i.tude. I was surprised by your manipulation of the

traffic lights. They’re specifically designed so that they can’t be controlled remotely, at least not easily.

You’re full of surprises.”

–Don’t put it like that.

“Okay, okay, sorry.”

–I’ll promise.

“Sure. And for my part, I’ve no desire to make you obey any arbitrary rules.”

Oeufcoque spoke in a soothing voice.

“In other words, when I’m telling you no, I’m talking about a fairly basic precept when it comes to

using your powers. It’s also something that will protect you. And, similarly, if I tell you not to do

something then I won’t be doing it either. Absolutely not. As a basic precondition for my being with you.

This is the deal between us—do you understand?”

At that moment, out of nowhere, she remembered the Doctor’s words. Balot had chosen her current

body, chosen her circ.u.mstances. This was part of the answer to the question—Why me?—it was, she

thought, an established fact.

Balot gripped the crystal. Not to snarc it. She just held it tight.

After that she put on her seat belt and reduced the speed of the car.

The car now entered a district filled with cl.u.s.ters of tourist shops and was about to settle at the base

of the imposing Trump Tower. Balot snarced the car and changed its destination to the East Side.

The harbor drew near, and both the sidewalks and the roads started to grow more congested. All

around her were gasoline-powered cars, and among the proliferating shopping malls of the Cheap

Branchers—the middle cla.s.ses—she found the flea market.

Now and then men would wolf-whistle at Balot, seeing her in the car alone, but they showed no signs

of advancing on her, guns in hand, grinning maniacally.

Balot opened the window and sniffed the air, which carried a hint of brine.

Eventually the car came to a stop in a designated car park for rental cars.

As she got out of the car and started walking, she came across a gathering of obviously able-bodied

teenagers who had parked their gas-powered cars in the free s.p.a.ces designated for vehicles with placards

for the handicapped.

As she walked past Balot snarced the gate of the parking lot. The teenagers looked on in horror as the

gate slammed shut. As one, their faces turned to the emergency aid b.u.t.ton. Faces that were silently

calculating the fines they would have to pay for being caught using the handicapped s.p.a.ces without a

permit.

–Well, you’ve got to obey the rules, right? Balot asked through the crystal, using a silent, electronic

signal.

“Uh, yeah.”

Oeufcoque seemed about to say something else, but in the end that was all he said.

The mall was bustling, and a fresh breeze blew through the arcade.

The people were coming and going purposefully, and the occasional pair of Hunters—the city police

—walked past on patrol, but they showed no sign of looking for an easy target to beat up. Rather, they too

walked with a sense of purpose, and there was no particular scent of anyone on this street looking to find

any sort of warped pleasure.

Responding to her surroundings, Balot put on a purposeful expression and started walking. Her heels

clicked along as if she were testing them out, feeling their sensation, and Oeufcoque called out to her,

“Let’s get some papers. It’s hard to keep track of what you’ve spent when you’re using a card.”

Like a dad. He wasn’t going to buy anything. Just cast a watchful eye over her purchases.

They found a nearby ATM and used the card to draw out a wad of notes.

Twenty twenty-dollar bills. The amount Oeufcoque specified. She was worried that this might be too

much and wanted to take fewer than ten, but Oeufcoque said that she would be better off having a few

nerves to keep her on her toes, so she did as he said.

She folded the crisp new bills in half and crammed them into her card holder. She put one bill in her

jacket pocket and deliberately scrunched it up. As if to say This is all I have.

She bought a bag from a stall inside the mall using this bill. Seeing the crumpled note the shopkeeper

threw in a cheap leather wallet, giving it to her along with her change at no charge.

Balot meekly obeyed the rules of the street.

She transferred the bills from her card holder to the wallet in the shadow of a building and put them

away in her bag, and now, instead of scrunching up another bill, she captured the movements of all people

within a fifteen-meter radius.

She wore her bag diagonally over her shoulder and then put her jacket on over it in order to protect it

frompurse s.n.a.t.c.hers.

Now all she had to do was think about what she wanted to put in the bag.

She bought some toiletries and sanitary napkins at the drugstore. She bought some handkerchiefs and

hairpins, then wandered aimlessly through the mall. Clothes and shoes, jewelry, electronics, ethnic goods.

She examined the handicrafts and souvenirs as she chatted with Oeufcoque about nothing in particular.

That frame doesn’t suit the picture, or you could make one of those using my body as a mold, that sort

of thing.

“Aren’t you starting to get hungry?” Oeufcoque asked. He’d been keeping track of Balot’s biorhythm.

He had constant tabs on her pulse, and at the same time was checking the surroundings to make sure there

was no danger.

–Can I eat whatever I want?

“Of course. I was asking for you. I don’t really need much, after all.”

They had a quick look at a plan of the mall attached to a public telephone, looking for the entries for

food and drink stalls, and found a block of open-air food carts. Balot headed in that direction.

Without having to walk for too long she saw a row of carts linked together all serving colonial food.

There were white plastic tables and chairs in a courtyard, and Balot went up to the tableware section

and took a disposable tray before heading over to some of the stalls. The place was a real salad bowl of

races, and anyone working at the stalls could handle a number of different languages. They picked themup

naturally in the course of business with various different customers, and were also used to communicating

even when they couldn’t understand a word of what the other person was saying.

Balot took her tray, laden with paper plates full of food, and found a seat.

Her main dish was a plate of Tick Noodles smothered in red Charlie Sauce. It contained boiled squid

and chunky slices of vegetables. She’d also bought a dish of deep-fried fish slices and chilled whole fish

on the bone.

“You’re pretty good at that, aren’t you?”

Oeufcoque watched with admiration as Balot skillfully used her chopsticks.

“Chopsticks have always been a mystery to me—I’ve never understood why people go out of their

way to turn one piece of cutlery into two smaller pieces.”

Balot sifted through the fish with her chopsticks. She elegantly separated the bones from the flesh,

forming two piles.

–I was always the best at this. The other girls used to sayI was handy.

She transmitted the words to Oeufcoque electronically as she ate. Well, wasn’t this convenient? She

could eat and talk at the same time.

–I think I’d probably be good at excavating fossils, that sort of thing.

“Is that something you’re interested in going into in the future?”

–I’d like to, but maybe I’m saying that because it’s the only thing I can think of that’s at all

related to myskills.

Balot started thinking about the things that had died such a long time ago. Things that had been buried

underground for many years, slowly turning to stone. Things long since forgotten. Why did they then have

to be dug up again?

–I don’t really know.

Oeufcoque changed the subject. “Isn’t it about time for your medication?”

Balot tidied her tray away and went to the self-service water cooler to take the medicine the Doctor

had given her. Skin stabilizers, hair growth agents, medicine to fix her eyelashes, vitamins, calcium

tablets. Lots of things she had to take—and she took themall.

As she swallowed her medicine she thought about the fossils. One fossil in particular. A swirling

sh.e.l.l. What were those things called that stayed hidden in their sh.e.l.ls except for their moplike hands and

feet that they used to crawl along the seabed?

“Ammonite or something, that sort of thing, wasn’t it?” Oeufcoque answered conscientiously when

asked.

After she’d walked through the mall for a while, she did indeed come across a collection of spirals.

They were in the form of some computer graphics projected onto the wall of a building. Balot stopped

in front of the stall that sold them.

The shop sold Eject Posters. Small square boxes that, when fitted to a wall, would project images

onto the s.p.a.ce just below. There were a number of patterns lined up in a row, and there was a memory

card that contained over a hundred different pictures of fossils.

“Why not buy something that takes your fancy? It’d be a pleasant diversion, and the decor in your room

is pretty dull,” said Oeufcoque.

Balot took advantage of his offer. She bought an Eject Poster and a card with the fossils on it, then

walked on, eyes on the instruction manual. Computer simulations of live ammonites, nautiluses, trilobites,

along with photographs of the fossilized creatures, mixed with other minerals and fossilized into spirals

of silver and gold and crystal.

After a while she put it away in her bag. She was somehow excited.

–Is it okayif I buy a few things I like?

“Of course.”

Balot went to the stationery section of a department store and bought a PDA—the sort a child might

use—and six different types of colored markers. And she bought some lipstick that caught her eye in a

shop that she happened to pa.s.s by. Because she liked its bright poppy red and the design of the case.

As she went around the department store she felt more and more that she and Oeufcoque were

becoming one.

No matter where they went they were as one. Like the mojo, that protective charm so often sung about

in the blues.

But there was a moment when Oeufcoque resisted.

“Stop, Balot. I’ll be waiting outside, so…”

The pendant turned back into the form of a golden mouse with a squelch and jumped straight off

Balot’s shoulders. Balot correctly read his path of flight and plucked himup by his suspenders midflight.

“I’ve already said, haven’t I? That I don’t want to be called a Peeping Tom?”

He spoke so pitifully that she snarced him, making him turn into an alarm bell. A poppy-red alarm

bell. She looked around to check that no one was watching before sticking it on the wall with a fluid

movement.

“I’ll keep an eye out for you, so off you go.”

He spoke as if to a child who was scared of the dark.

Balot went into the women’s restroom.

The toilets were clean and empty. She went into the stall at the very end, loosened her belt, and

lowered first her shorts, then tights and underwear, down to her knees, layer by layer.

Relief and anxiety a.s.saulted her in equal measure as her lower body was freed fromits wrapping.

She sat down on the toilet seat and took some ointment from her jacket pocket. She squirted some

bright white hydration cream on her palm and rubbed it on her stomach and thighs. These were the only

parts that were still rough, still scabbed.

As she rubbed the cream into her skin it started peeling off, like the thin membrane of a boiled egg.

She brushed the skin off and rubbed the remaining creamon her shoulders and elbows.

She sat on the toilet, waiting to pee. She stared absentmindedly at the linoleum wall with not a single

piece of graffiti.

All of a sudden she felt that something was not quite right. As she did her business she thought about

why she might be feeling this way.

Her urine smelled of medicine. A result of the eighteen different pills she had to take every day.

Not a single one of those was a tranquilizer—the Doctor himself was surprised by this fact.

Your psyche is incredibly tenacious—the Doctor was full of admiration. But Balot thought that, in all

honesty, if medication could make her mind even tougher then so much the better, and she should be taking

as much as she could handle.

Even after she had finished on the toilet, washed herself with the bidet, and flushed all the evidence

away, there was still a faint smell of medicine in the air. She fixed her clothes and fastened her belt even

tighter than before.

Then she put her mind to her earlier feeling that something was out of place.

She soon discovered why—a plastic bubble fixed to the tank that connected the toilet to the flush

b.u.t.ton. She gave the bubble a wrench and it came off easily, and, shaking it, a tiny fingertip-sized camera

emerged.

Balot expanded her consciousness and interfered with the camera’s magnetic field, snarcing it.

The two hundred hours of continuous footage stored in the camera’s many microchips was replaced bit

by bit by images of the department store’s mascot doll waving into the camera. As if someone wearing the

doll costume was looking into the camera and waving for all eternity.

Balot then put the camera back and took the lipstick fromher bag.

A LITTLE HORROR SHOW

She wrote on the wall right next to the bubble. And then she added this:

WARNING

Balot left the booth. Purely for self-defense, she murmured to herself as she washed her hands.

But the department store wasn’t about to stop its dirty tricks just because she revealed the existence of

a camera. Balot knew this fact all too well. Bribes given to the cleaners and security guards.

She even knew all about the money paid to the shills, the women who ostentatiously “bought” the most

expensive items on display in order to encourage real customers to spend more.

She knew everything, right down to how much they were paid.

03

As she emerged from the toilet, the alarm bell squooged into the shape of a mouse and jumped onto

Balot’s shoulder. Without missing a beat he ran to her neck and became a choker complete with crystal

pendant.

“You took your sweet time.”

–Don’t blame me, blame the Peeping Tom.

“Look, I…”

–Not you. There was a camera in the ladies’ room. I just fixed it up a little.

“Camera?” Oeufcoque thought about this for a while before it clicked. “You mean illegal cameras set

up in order to get close-up footage of women’s bodies?”

–But do you really understand? What that means to me?

“Well, I think I know how you feel, at least. Right now you’re angry. Very angry. And irritated and

also embarra.s.sed. Mortified. That’s what you smell of, anyway.”

–Smell?

“Body odor. A mouse like me can read emotions through body odor. Didn’t you know?”

Balot squeezed the crystal tightly and started prodding it with her fingertips. Violently. And full of

grief.

And then Oeufcoque did indeed understand Balot’s feelings.

“Oh, sure, sorry. If I’mabsolutely honest I can’t tell exactly how you’re feeling. I don’t really have the

imagination to comprehend it. I’mnot a woman, after all, or even a human.”

Balot found that her feelings were calmed down somewhat by Oeufcoque’s words.

–I think you’re kinder than a human, and more humble too.

Oeufcoque was now attuned to Balot’s change of heart, as if he were sniffing everything up. He

noticed the chemicals secreted from her skin, the change in her pulse, and most of all the change in

atmosphere.

“There’s a café just above us. We should be able to get some work done there.”

The Internet café that Oeufcoque was talking about was on the top floor of the department store.

They could see the harbor city sprawled out in a mess down below and farther in the distance the thin

line of the sea.

The seats were set a comfortable distance apart, perfect for getting down to some work.

When the waiter came over to take her order, Balot ordered a cappuccino by pointing at the menu, and

then opened up the laptop-style monitor embedded in the table.

She was about to connect to the net but then she stopped herself.

–Do you mind if we talk for a while about my new hobby?

They’d completely forgotten about this since the spy camera incident. Oeufcoque cheerfully agreed.

Balot took her PDA from her bag and lined up the six colors of markers alongside the instruction

booklet for the CG fossils. She chose the yellow and marked one of the words in the heading of the

manual.

Then she snarced the PDA and brought up the word that she had just highlighted. The name of a large

spiral-shaped sh.e.l.l. As she read the manual she entered a rough commentary into the PDA, adding her

personal impressions. The same color as agate, or If these were still alive I’d like one as a pet, that sort

of thing.

–I’m going to make a dictionary. My own original.

“Brilliant. When you grow up you could become a linguist, or a poet.”

–Well, I always wanted to go to school and have a dictionary like everyone else. The sort of

school that children like me go to. So this is instead of that. My own self-studycla.s.sroom.

“And you could still go to school. As soon as this case is closed we’ll apply for re-enrollment.”

–Won’t work. You need both your parents’ signatures, Balot replied, bluntly.

–Children who don’t have any get put in the Welfare Inst.i.tute. I don’t want to go back there.

“But aren’t both your parents still alive?”

–They don’t think of me as a child. Not their child, anyway.

She informed him of this without stopping her hand that was holding the marker. Wordlessly. As an

electronic signal.

Balot stopped writing only when the young waiter came over to bring her the drink she’d ordered.

“Is it