Chapter 12
NAVIGATION
01
“Why am I here?” Shell repeated the words to himself over and over, muttering in a state of near
delirium.
Boiled watched with steely eyes as Shell sat there on the bench, head in his hands. The two of them
were the only ones currently in the Broilerhouse waiting room. Shell removed his Chameleon Sunglasses.
Holding the deep violet sunglasses in his hand, he turned to Boiled, his voice a pitiful mess of selfrecrimination.
He should have worked it out long ago.
“If only I’d told you everything right from the beginning, none of this would have happened… I was a
fool to imagine that it would be easy to kill the girl.”
Boiled sat there. He didn’t make a sound; his expression remained constant. He didn’t nod and he
didn’t shake his head.
“I can change. I can become anyone you want me to be. I can clean up any dirt. I’ll make the best of
any situation. So, please, just get me out of here,” Shell continued.
Boiled crossed his legs and met Shell’s gaze. Still he said nothing.
“I’m frightened, Boiled, and I have absolutely no idea what it is that frightens me so. That’s the worst
part of it.” Shell sounded as if he were about to burst, his innards ready to spill out of himat any moment.
“I’ll make everything disappear,” Boiled replied, his voice soft.
Shell’s eyes, so full of pain and distress, opened up ever so slightly.
“It’s time to talk to your lawyers,” Boiled continued and started to rise, when Shell clamped his hand
on Boiled’s arm.
“I’mbegging you… Help me… Help me become a different person again.”
Boiled nodded.
≡
“So it was a matricide, after all…” the Doctor said. His face was calm, almost respectful. “That must
have been the root of all his deviant behavior. Despite losing his memories—no, because he’s lost his
memories—he was left with no other way to control his emotions, to keep his urges in check.”
–Why?
Balot snarced the words through the choker on her neck, Oeufcoque.
“Imagine that you’re experiencing constant feelings of terrible fear and anger and have absolutely no
idea how to deal with those emotions—you have no idea what will help you calmdown. Then you’ll get a
sense of what it is to be Shell. Wouldn’t you do whatever you could to try and stop the terrifying feelings
that are gnawing away at your mind? Sure, you’d be fine so long as you could find a way to successfully
sublimate those feelings—in your professional and social ambitions, maybe—but what happens when
you’re no longer able to sublimate the urges? Self-restraint goes out the window.”
“And as Shell grew used to the whole process, he became inured to it and started to believe that what
he was doing was entirely normal,” added Oeufcoque, now taking the shape of a geometric pattern inside
the crystal pendant on the choker. “It was probably a self-defense mechanism against his memory loss. He
was afraid of the spirit of his dead mother coming back to haunt him, but even stronger than that was the
feeling that he was responsible for the girls’ deaths, that their sacrifice was all his fault.”
–Because his first lover died, I think.
Balot found herself contributing to the conversation.
–The girl that Shell really did love. It was a real shock to him to find out that she had an abusive
past, similar to his. A shock to discover that they might have chosen one another because of their
similar histories.
Balot felt a pang of sadness in her chest. Sure, she felt uncomfortable and irritated too, but the feeling
of sorrow was winning out over all other emotions. She hadn’t imagined for a moment that Shell had lived
through experiences similar to her own. On the contrary, Shell had always looked for such girls in order
to convert theminto that which was beautiful to him—Blue Diamonds, money, the stairway to success.
I’m going to make you clean. I’m going to clean you up. When Shell had first yelled this out, it was
as a lonely soul, but also as a kindred spirit. Burnt out and wanting others to join him.
“Empathy, eh? Well, people do indeed actively seek out people like themselves—birds of a
feather…” the Doctor murmured. Then he coughed, conscious that the mood had been brought down
somewhat. “Anyhow, all the memories we copied from the chips have already been submitted to the
Broilerhouse as evidence. All we have to do now is wait for the DA to start moving, and then we hit them
with a chronological simulation of Shell’s memories. It’ll be just like fingerprinting him. Our aim for
today’s trial is to get official recognition that this will serve as proof of Shell’s crimes.”
–What’s myrole in all this?
“You’re here as a preemptive gag, as it were, to stop Shell from speaking too much and trying to deny
everything. Don’t worry, this trial won’t be anything like the last one. The only person who needs to
worry is Shell—he may have been laughing last time, but he’s certainly not going to see the funny side of
this one. Not only will his past be dragged up for all to see and judge, he won’t even remember it for
himself.”
–Not even the memory of killing his own mother?
“He was only about eighteen years old at the time, and we know that he killed his mother in cold
blood, with half an eye toward her life insurance policy. He systematically cut the brake pads. The whole
incident would have thrown his moral perspective askew, and the stress from that would have been
enormous. And then there were his sexual relations with his mother…”
The Doctor trailed off at this point, searching for a new, slightly more comfortable, tangent. “Also,
Shell’s mother was, in her own right, no stranger to the law. We ran a search on the old records at the
DA’s office and discovered that she’d been arrested for insurance fraud, and not just once either.
Furthermore, her husband was dead, and she was even suspected of murdering him in order to get her
hands on his insurance, although nothing was ever proven. There’s every chance that Shell knew all about
this and decided to do the same thing for himself. The mother had assaulted him, effectively, and what
better way for Shell to repay his misadventure of birth than with her death by misadventure?”
The Doctor laughed in a somewhat forced manner at his own somewhat forced joke. Balot didn’t
respond.
“You might want to work on that one, Doc,” said Oeufcoque, speaking for Balot as well.
The Doctor shrugged. “I’m just trying to get in the mood. Shell’s past may be somewhat useful as
concrete evidence in the courtroom, but more importantly, it’s going to pique the curiosity of the jury. The
more detailed and salacious the better, even if it does come in the form of a bad pun, as you so helpfully
pointed out, thank you, Oeufcoque. The DA is certainly delighted with this new turn of events, anyway.
He’s now confident that we’ll nail the case.”
The Doctor’s voice was steeped in cynicism, just as the whole situation was steeped in irony—
indeed, there was no greater irony for Balot. At the previous trial, she’d found herself on the receiving
end of the most thorough and gut-wrenching attack imaginable, all on account of her own history. As a
result, she was forced to repudiate her past, cut it off and cast it away, or else her heart would have died
fromthe pain.
And now Shell would find himself in exactly the same position. The difference was that Shell had
already repudiated his past and cast it away. All he had left was lingering trauma.
“This is not about revenge, Doctor. Tell the DA to make sure he sticks to the relevant facts and doesn’t
waste any time on unnecessary distractions,” Oeufcoque said, again seemingly speaking for Balot by
proxy. “We’ve already filed papers for the next case, the one that this all leads to. Let’s make sure we
don’t lose sight of the biggest fish of all.”
“Sure, sure. I know full well that it’s not our job to fan the flames of curiosity for the jurors and the
media—they’re perfectly capable of doing that for themselves.”
–Thank you.
“Having said that, there are no guarantees, I’mafraid,” the Doctor continued, somewhat apologetically
now. “The counsel for the defense is quite a lawyer. I wouldn’t put it past Shell to stir up the hornets’ nest
either. If that happens, it’ll be hard for me to hold the DA back fromlaying it on thick…”
Then the Doctor’s tone changed abruptly, and he turned to look at Balot, his eyes sincere. “It’s just—
well, this is only a theory, but hear me out. You can shave away the memory, but the shape of the memory
still remains. All you need to do is apply emphasis—stress—to the outlines of that memory, and
everything in your mind is thrown up in the air. Your moral compass goes haywire. What better proof do
we need than the living example of Shell to show firsthand the sort of damage to society that’s being
caused by OctoberCorp’s irresponsible, gung-ho technology?”
–Do you think Shell would stop killing people if he had his memories returned to him?
Balot asked the question out of a simple desire to know the answer.
Oeufcoque fielded this one. “Well, there’s absolutely no doubt that Shell’s missing memories are
exacerbating his urges. If all his memories were to be returned to him then his desire to rape and murder
would certainly diminish, possibly even fade away completely. But Shell wouldn’t want this for himself.”
–Well, I wouldn’t want his past either.
After she spoke, Balot hung her head in contemplation. The Doctor and Oeufcoque left her in peace for
a moment. After a suitable pause Oeufcoque continued gently, “The past is nothing more than a fossil. To
think that the past always has to determine the future is to doom yourself into becoming no more than a
fossil yourself. Shell made the wrong choice, that’s all.”
–Wrong choice?
“At the very least, we can say that he didn’t endure, didn’t resist, unlike you. He just thought to
console himself with the sacrifices of others.
Balot thought about this for a while, then touched Oeufcoque.
–It was you two who saved me. Thank you.
The Doctor threw his arms up in the air and grinned, a twinkle in his eye. “I hope you got that on tape,
Oeufcoque! There’s the proof of our usefulness for the Broilerhouse! What better words of validation
could there be for Mardock Scramble 09?”
“Doc, you know as well as I do that there’s no way I’d do such a thing without Balot’s permission.”
“Hmmph. Shame…”
Balot laughed in spite of herself.
The atmosphere in the room—so heavily laden with the pressure of having all their lives so
inextricably linked—lifted, just a little.
≡
The trial began half an hour later.
As ever, the proceedings moved along at a sluggish pace, but at least Shell’s lawyer could see which
way the wind was blowing, and he put up no more than token, ineffectual resistance. Rather than fighting
the case, the defense attorney seemed almost to withdraw from the scene, looking for an escape route that
would—as much as possible—allow him to keep both his dignity and career intact. As a result, Shell’s
memories were shielded from the worst excesses of scurrilous gossip that usually came with the public
dissection of juicy secrets—though Shell didn’t seem the least bit grateful that, in this respect at least, he
had escaped the worst.
The trial was over by 16:45, four hours after it had begun.
Shell was taken to prison.
02
There was a sudden ping—a message had arrived.
The Doctor looked suspiciously at his PDA after fishing it out of his jacket pocket.
They were in the middle of an early dinner at one of the fancy restaurants in the neighborhood of the
Broilerhouse.
It was the sort of place lawyers went to celebrate a victory or victims went to celebrate after being
awarded a windfall compensation. Balot, the Doctor, and Oeufcoque were celebrating there too, although
it wasn’t so much in order to enjoy a gourmet meal as to take a much-needed pause before the case was
finally wrapped up. A pause to mark the end of one chapter in Balot’s life, to celebrate all she had
achieved and to prepare her to embark upon a new chapter. Oeufcoque and the Doctor felt she needed a
little treat.
“It’s from the DA. Apparently the other side wants to talk, and they’re putting in their offer to us
immediately.” The Doctor looked away from his PDA and toward Oeufcoque, who was still in the form
of a choker. “The person offering the settlement isn’t even directly related to this case—he’s stepped in to
try and broker a settlement.”
“Who is it?”
“The director of OctoberCorp. Shell’s boss—and putative father-in-law.”
–What’s going on? I don’t understand.
Sensing that Balot was concerned, the Doctor smiled in order to try and calm her down. Behind his
spectacles though, his eyes weren’t smiling. Rather they were set in steely resolution.
“You remember the man standing beside Shell at the Casino. Cleanwill John October. Well, he’s
proposing a negotiation.”
–To negotiate what?
“The second case, as it were. The one that will implicate all OctoberCorp officials for more or less
ordering Shell to commit his crime spree. You see, we intend to use your case as a vein and continue
digging till we find the mother lode—it’s not just Shell that we’re after. That’s what they’re afraid of, so
they’re asking for certain facts to be made public…”
–Use mycase?
Balot frowned a little.
The Doctor hastily covered his tracks. “Not in a bad way. I just mean that the chips you won give us a
lot of power and leverage.”
–So, to put it in blackjack terms, what we’re doing is instead of staying, we’re hitting in order to
try and draw out some more criminals?
“Well, in the end, Shell’s just as much a victim of OctoberCorp as anyone else is. You’ve seen his
memories firsthand, so I’msure you understand that.”
Balot nodded. Oeufcoque remained silent.
The Doctor continued. “The brain surgery Shell received as a child, the A10 operation, that was
OctoberCorp’s handiwork. It’s entirely possible to believe that this is what made him slavishly follow
OctoberCorp’s orders.”
–You mean theymessed around with his head and made him their slave?
“Not in the sense of controlling his thought processes directly, but I’d say there was a good chance
they were artificially stimulating his pleasure centers, making it far more likely for him to follow orders
with blind devotion.”
–How?
“Well, for example, they could make it so that every time he hears the OctoberCorp name or sees its
symbol, a dopamine shot is released inside his brain, and he feels just that little bit better. Reinforced
tens, hundreds of times, it becomes an unbreakable habit, absolute.”
–I think that all Shell really wanted to do was escape. From his own life.
Oeufcoque interjected for the first time in the conversation. “And what OctoberCorp did was provide
himwith an escape route. The ultimate inducement into temptation.”
Balot nodded. She started to remember what it felt like when she was watching Shell’s memories.
–Shell seemed to think that working for OctoberCorp was just like a fish returning upstream to
spawn. He considered himself as no more than a little fish, placed deliberatelyin the river.
Then Balot turned straight to the Doctor to look at himand ask hima question.
–The case that they want to try and settle—is it mycase too?
The Doctor was about to nod, but Oeufcoque interrupted him. “You’ve already solved your own case.
There’s no need for you to put yourself in danger’s way anymore.”
“Hey, wait a minute, Oeufcoque. Her case leads to the mother lode. All that’s happened so far is that
Shell has temporarily lost his liberty. As yet, OctoberCorp is still untouched and untroubled. In any case,
she’s already been officially recognized as a co-opted civilian aide to this case. As your user, we do
really need her.”
Oeufcoque was unconvinced—and not only that, he was now uncharacteristically raising his voice.
“Are you saying that we are the ones who get to choose whether Balot gets burnt out in the process?”
The Doctor appeared to falter, but he had a rejoinder. “I don’t know if you noticed, but at the trial just
now, Balot’s Life Preservation Program was extended indefinitely. You know why, don’t you? Because
the Broilerhouse recognizes that she’s still in danger. We don’t know what Boiled’s got up his sleeve,
and depending on how these negotiations go, we may find that both Shell and Balot end up targets of
OctoberCorp…”
–Half-baked little Oeufcoque…
Balot spoke quietly. The Doctor swallowed his words. Oeufcoque also was silent.
–Thank you so much for trying to protect me from ending up even more burnt out.
Just as Oeufcoque could now sniff out Balot’s innermost feelings, Balot was attuned to Oeufcoque’s
emotional state. She knew full well that he blamed himself for not being able to protect her fromthe worst
excesses of Shell’s corrupted memories while she was in her dreamstate.
–This is what I’ve chosen, though. I want to use you constructively. If you want to protect me, the
best wayto do that is to guide me.
“Even if, as a result, you end up facing something deeply unpleasant?”
–Bell Wing called you my guardian angel. Guardian angels are strict but kind. If I run away
from everything that’s unpleasant, I’ll end up just like Shell messing with his own mind in order to
try and find peace.
Why me? She still wanted more answers to this question. She was the Concerned Party in this case,
and she wanted to find out what that really meant…
She wanted to determine with her own eyes what exactly it was that lay beyond the depths that she and
Shell had fallen into.
She wanted to be able to feel with conviction that her own life was somehow meaningful.
She touched the choker on her neck, gently transmitting these feelings to Oeufcoque, like a prayer.
–This is our case. Yours and mine. All three of us. Won’t you please show me your way of
resolving it?
Oeufcoque stayed silent for a while. Then, wordlessly, he agreed to bring Balot out. To take her away
fromher safe place and into the maelstrom.
“We need to solve the second case, and as such I’d like Balot to use me,” Oeufcoque said eventually.
The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief. “I have absolutely no aptitude for this sort of thing myself, you
see. Gunfights aren’t my scene. Preparation and maintenance—now, you can rely on me for those—but if
things start getting violent it’s Balot who will to need to protect me.”
Balot nodded. As long as she had Oeufcoque by her side she was confident she could do anything.
“Looks like we’re on the road to victory, then. Come on, let’s go. Time for us to solve our case.”
≡
Balot went to sort out her outfit in the bathroomwhile the Doctor settled the bill.
She rolled up the long skirt that she had worn for the trial and took her underwear off and placed it on
top of the toilet.
She took off her shoes and socks, placing her socks next to her underwear. Then she reached around
and unzipped her dress, unhooked her bra, and loosened the belts that ran up and down her body.
She focused her mind on the precise image of the new outfit—a new shell—that she wanted.
–I’m ready.
She touched her choker to transmit the image to Oeufcoque.
Oeufcoque’s turn was quick and thorough. A skintight bodysuit spread out fromunderneath the choker,
sliding neatly between Balot’s body and the clothes she still had on. It enveloped Balot swiftly fromtip to
toe. Power flowed through her.
Balot adjusted her clothes, put her shoes and socks back on, and left the bathroom. She glanced at
herself in the mirror on the way out and subtly altered the design and color of the bodysuit so that it
matched the rest of her clothes.
She returned to the restaurant and joined the Doctor to head out to the parking lot.
The red convertible was as good as new, brought back up to scratch in a week.
The car was officially registered as being made by an obscure custom car company, one that existed
more or less in name only. There was only one garage that did repairs, and they had to special-order the
parts on contract.
The parts in question were, of course, Made by Oeufcoque. Oeufcoque’s existence as a sentient being
may not have been officially acknowledged, but the parts that he made certainly were.
They climbed into the car and the Doctor inserted the key and set the controls to AutoDrive. The
steering wheel sank into the dashboard and found itself fixed in position.
“I’d be drunk driving otherwise. It’ll take us a little longer, but let’s go on auto.”
Balot fastened her seat belt, and the car moved off.
Their destination was a high-class bar on the North Side, and they had plenty of time to get there.
“Excuse me a minute,” the Doctor said as he leaned over toward the passenger seat and pressed his
fingers against the electronic fingerprint scanner. A compartment in the dashboard opened out, revealing
maps, a wallet, a small handgun, and a bottle of pills.
The Doctor placed the handgun in his jacket pocket and took the bottle in his hand.
The pills contained a potent double dose: a mixture of caffeine and enzymes that accelerated the
breakdown of alcohol. The Doctor threw a fistful of them into his mouth as if they were so much candy,
then popped the bottle back in the compartment, which he pushed back into the dashboard.
“Now, let’s see how they’re going to play this one…”
“They’re doing everything by the book so far,” Oeufcoque said, his voice emerging from the vicinity
of Balot’s left hand. The Doctor nodded as if the short conversation had settled everything.
Balot looked straight ahead at the road. She thought how there was still so much she needed to learn.
“This is not a good smell. They’re waiting for us, ready for something. We’re not talking just one or
two people there, either—there are at least five of them,” Oeufcoque said when they parked the car two
blocks away fromthe bar.
The Doctor checked something out quickly on his PDA, then shrugged. “I get it. The bar’s part of a
chain, and guess which corporation owns the chain? Not that I imagine many of their directors visit on a
regular basis, of course.”
“How convenient for them. I guess the idea is that the whole bar could disappear off the face of the
earth if need be,” said Oeufcoque.
“Uh-huh. It’s the underbelly of their empire—a place they use to conduct the shadier end of their
business transactions. Rather than bothering to go in, why don’t we just launch a rocket or two at them?
The joint’s a front, anyway—it’s not as if there’d be any innocent bystanders caught up in it.”
Balot braced herself, imagining for a moment that the Doctor was indeed about to do as he suggested.
“So we’re terrorists on top of everything else now, are we, Doc?” Oeufcoque’s sarcastic reply made
Balot realize that of course they were going to do no such thing. “They’re going through the official
channels, and as long as they stick to this, we do the same.”
“Sure, sure. Can’t say I’m wildly enthusiastic about the prospect, though. I suppose we can expect
them to suggest some sort of trade or information exchange, although I’m not quite sure what they imagine
is going to be in it for us. They must know by now that we’re not the sort to be bought off.”
“So we go in fully expecting that they’ll have other means of persuasion at their disposal,” said
Oeufcoque.
–Are we going to be using guns?
“Hmm… If it comes to it, I’ll leave that side of things to you and Oeufcoque, if that’s okay. My
speciality is really the negotiating part. If the going gets tough, I hope you won’t mind if I’m first out the
door?”
The Doctor looked so serious that Balot nodded without even thinking.
“Right, then, let’s go!” With these words the Doctor hopped out of the car and walked toward the quiet
bar on the quiet street. Balot followed, and soon they had reached the main entrance of the pub.
There were two sets of doors, and Balot realized that something was up the moment they passed
through the first set.
Someone was watching them. The Doctor had noticed it too.
They opened the second set of doors and went in. The clientele seemed at first glance to be a
surprisingly refined lot—some were smoking cigars or drinking brandy from large goblets, others were
reading newspapers or discussing the latest stock market fluctuations.
It was a veritable pocket of resistance against the recent all-pervasive trend of smoking bans.
Balot and the Doctor went up to the center of the bar and took a seat. Had they not been in the clothes
they wore for court, they would have felt terribly out of place. No one else sat at the bar; patrons lounged
on plush leather sofas or in boxes lined with red velvet curtains.
The Doctor pointed to a bottle on the counter, then went into a detailed spiel as to how exactly the
bartender was to prepare it.
The bartender—middle-aged, receding hairline—took his order with a nod, and then looked at Balot.
Balot didn’t really need anything, but she thought back to a Western she had seen in her childhood and
recalled what the hero ordered when he was in a bar.
–A glass of milk, please.
She spoke through the crystal on her choker. A funny look flickered across the bartender’s face.
Balot didn’t know whether it was her order that was at fault or whether he was just surprised by her
voice. Or it could have been that he was surprised by the very fact that someone like Balot was in this
place.
If he felt something was odd, the bartender certainly hid it well. “Would you like ice with that, miss?”
he asked.
This part wasn’t in the Western.
Balot thought for a moment, then nodded meekly.
The bartender prepared the two drinks with a precision that could only come from years of practice.
He put the bottle the Doctor pointed to on the bar so that the Doctor could check the label. Balot thought
for a moment that the bartender might do the same for her with the carton of milk, but it wasn’t to be—it
went straight back in the refrigerator.
The bartender placed the glasses on the bar, then retreated to one side.
“Hmm, maybe I should have ordered the same as you,” said the Doctor, who could barely keep the
laughter out of his voice. Balot looked at him.
“This is just some token hospitality before negotiations begin in earnest, by the way. They could well
be here already, of course, just making us wait…” The Doctor took his glass in his hand.
Suddenly, Balot’s left hand jumped up to rest on the Doctor’s shoulder—without Balot controlling it.
“There’s a fast-working sleeping draught in yours, Doc. Balot’s is clear,” whispered Oeufcoque.
The Doctor seemed more nonplussed than surprised. “So it’s Balot they’re after, is it? They’re still
hoping for the Trustees to slip up, I guess. They sure don’t give up easily.”
“All seven people in the room, including the bartender, are armed with handguns of one sort or
another,” continued Oeufcoque, before his hand moved off the Doctor’s shoulder.
The Doctor shrugged. “Not much I can do to help, then. Looks like you two are on your own, sorry
about that!” He clinked his glass with Balot’s and downed his drink. “Urgh…and I’d only taken an
antidote just before I came in too. I think I’mgoing to be sick…” The Doctor pulled a sour face, and Balot
looked on at himwith wide eyes.
The very next moment the pub entrance opened wide, and in came a well-built man, smiling broadly.
“Dr. Easter? I’mSkyscraper. I trust you received my messages?”
“You’re OctoberCorp’s legal representative?” The Doctor’s eyes were already starting to sag. Balot
couldn’t tell whether it was an act or not.
Skyscraper smiled again. “I’m one of the legal team, yes. I mainly handle criminal cases and
compensation claims. I do apologize for having kept you so long. Please, do come and take a seat over
here where it’s more comfortable.”
“Thank you,” said the Doctor, walking over to the chairs as if he were floating on clouds. Balot
followed him.
The man who called himself Skyscraper sat down last, squeezing his generous frame into the chair.
“I’ll have the same as she’s having,” Skyscraper said to the bartender when he came to bring over
Balot’s glass on a tray. “What about you, sir, are you not drinking?”
“No, I’mfine, thankshh…” The Doctor’s speech was growing suspiciously slurred.
It was pretty clear by now that the Doctor really was getting tired. Balot nudged his shoulder gently.
She was trying to tell him that he could fall asleep safely and that she had everything under control, but
Skyscraper evidently interpreted this move as concern on Balot’s part.
“You do seemto be tired, sir. We’d better get this over with as quickly as possible, then. Not to worry
about your return—we have a chauffeured car on hand to take you both back to wherever you need to go.”
“You put in your request for a pretrial settlement just this afternoon?” The Doctor yawned.
“Yes, although we’ve had all the relevant paperwork prepared for some time.”
“That’s very considerate of you.”
“Ah, yes, well, we may be on different sides, but we do have certain issues in common. Our jobs are
to safeguard the long-term interests of our respective businesses by ensuring that our people are protected
and that our businesses are allowed to develop progressively.”
“Is that right? Well, uh, I suppose that’s so, isn’t it?” said the Doctor.
“Yes, and we at OctoberCorp are most concerned about the man you brought to trial, Shell-Septinos.
We feel that his future prospects are most lamentable,” said Skyscraper.
“Well, you would, wouldn’t you, given that he seems to know everything about everything. And?”
Skyscraper’s beaming face was unflinching in the face of the Doctor’s flippant riposte. Then he
shrugged his shoulders and smiled at Balot with a concerned expression.
Balot knew all too well how quickly the smiles of these sorts of men changed.
“The crimes that the man committed are terrible, of course. There’s no denying that. But to refuse him
any possibility of rehabilitation is to refute the significance of the law. OctoberCorp’s position is that we
would like to give him the opportunity to reflect on his crimes and thereby gradually redeem himself. We
will of course, Ms. Rune-Balot, foot the bill for any portion of the compensation that you are awarded and
that he is unable to pay you out of his own assets.”
Skyscraper smiled at Balot in anticipation of her answer. This is how much I’ll pay, now will you
give me what I want? Balot had seen that inane grin too many times.
It was the Doctor who spoke next, though. “And so it came to pass that Shell lived out his days
peacefully under the thumb of his corporate masters… That’s how the story goes, is it? Presumably we get
our brown envelope under the table if—and only if—we don’t touch on any, uh, inconvenient truths
during the next trial?”
“Dear, dear, Dr. Easter! I do hope you don’t speak quite so bluntly when you’re in court!”
“Maybe not out loud, but I certainly think it. As for your answer, well, I’ll make sure that a reply is
sent to you by email through the official Broilerhouse channels. It’ll be a short reply, though. Shorter than
the password you’ll need to get into it.”
“And what sort of reply might that be?”
“‘Dear Balloon-face. Eat shit.’ ”
Skyscraper’s smile seemed to stretch even farther.
His face turned crimson, his eyes bloodshot. Yet he was still smiling. A grotesque sight.
“You see, we’re PIs, and our job is to solve this case,” said the Doctor, smiling back, a very different
sort of smile. “The courtroom antics are only a small part of that. The best thing you can do now is run
along and try and deceive the judge into believing that there are any number of holes in our case, maybe
appeal for a retrial. Won’t do you any good in the long run, though.”
With that, the Doctor toppled face-first onto the table in front of him.
Balot was visibly concerned. She was worried that the Doctor might have hurt himself.
Skyscraper thought she was worried about her own safety. “Poor little princess. Aren’t you enjoying
your milk anymore?” he said, his voice now steeped with sarcasm. “Don’t blame me, blame this idiot
here who you trusted to keep you safe.”
His dark red cheeks puffed out as he rose out of his seat toward her. He wore a whole new expression
now, one in which rage and joy intermingled in equal measure. He was practically drooling as his thick
arms reached out toward Balot to grab her, but Balot slipped to one side.
“We know you’re unarmed, we scanned you on the X-ray as you came in,” Skyscraper smirked. “The
man has a handgun in his pocket, but that’s all you have, right?”
So that explained the uneasy sensation Balot had experienced when she entered the bar.
Balot realized that the people at the other tables were now drawing in.
–Oeufcoque, these people are enemies, right?
Balot wanted to make sure she was doing the right thing before she did anything she couldn’t take
back.
“That’s right. They’re planning on holding you for ransom, and in exchange for your release they’ll try
and force us to relinquish the chips as evidence,” Oeufcoque said out loud, unconcerned as to who could
hear him.
A puzzled expression crossed Skyscraper’s face. “Who’s that speaking—”
–Am I allowed to shoot them?
“Sure, but no more than absolutely necessary. No need to stoop to their level.”
Balot’s left armwas under the table, and she felt it grow heavy with the weight of cold steel.
There was an explosion, and Skyscraper screamed and staggered backward. He’d had a lucky escape
—Balot had actually aimed for his crotch, but Oeufcoque had stayed her hand and made the bullet fly
through the top of his foot instead.
Balot lifted the table up quickly with Oeufcoque’s help—the bodysuit that was him melded with her
body, allowing her to lift the table up as if it were made of cardboard.
She threw the Doctor’s sleeping body onto the sofa to keep him out of harm’s way, scattering their
glasses across the floor as she turned the table on its side. Fragments of glass and ice shattered and flew
every which way. Balot wondered where she had seen such a scene before, and then she remembered.
The Western, of course.
“We keep the death toll to a minimum. Got it?”
–Fine.
Balot emerged from behind the plush red curtains and fired at three men in order as they attempted to
fire bullets or electronic charges at her. She hit their shoulders with pinpoint accuracy, and they fell to the
floor and rolled around in agony.
The other men were flustered now, and they fired a storm of bullets at her. The upturned table shook
from the impact. Balot stuck her arm out from behind it and fired swiftly. Not a single bullet of hers was
wasted. The first two men found their fingers blown off; Balot had targeted their guns, piercing the
cartridges and causing them to explode. The men never knew what hit them. Balot then fired a couple
more shots for good measure. The bullets thudded into their thighs, bringing themdown.
Balot jumped out of the booth, table leg under her arm.
The men looked on in disbelief as Balot advanced with the table—a lump of wood that weighed at
least as much as she did—as a shield. They gave her everything they had, firing blindly. In return Balot
fired a salvo of bullets straight into their collarbones. Not a single one of her shots missed.
Just then the bartender emerged frombehind the counter with a shotgun in his hands.
Balot didn’t even need to look at him to thrust an arm out sideways and put bullets straight through
both his shoulders. Unbelievable, his face seemed to say, as he turned a backflip into the array of bottles
that lined the bar.
The last man standing in the bar had his gun held out with a stupefied expression. Balot stuck her head
out from behind the table, and the man hastily fired off a series of shots. He was at point-blank range and
still failed to hit her, and indeed one of the flying bullets grazed his own armas it ricocheted back, making
him yelp. The bullet smashed into a large mirror at the end of the counter, and Balot expected it to shatter,
but other than the new hole adorning it, the mirror seemed fine—as it turned out, it was a fairly sturdy
specimen.
Balot brandished the table over her head and threw it at the man.
The man screamed, loud and shrill, and was thrown back into the booth along with the table.
The bar was evidently fitted with quality air conditioning, as the white smoke in the air was already
being sucked away. No one was dead, but all Balot’s assailants were thoroughly incapacitated. Balot
ejected her cartridge, reloaded it with a new one generated from within the gun, and went to sit back
down in the same booth she had been sitting at.
There, the Doctor was snuggled up against Skyscraper, the former happily snoring away while the
latter whimpered in pain and fear. Balot tapped Skyscraper on his shoulder, causing him to scream and
push his chunky frame back against the wall. He squirmed so hard, it appeared as if he hoped he might be
able to melt into the wall.
“I…I’m just a hired hand! Please…” For someone who had succeeded so far in one of the most
sought-after professions in Mardock City, the lawyer cut a pretty pathetic figure.
–What do we do now? Just go home?
“Let’s establish just who this ‘hired hand’ was hired by.” With that, Oeufcoque turned with a squelch,
and Balot’s glove became a cell phone.
Balot tossed the cell at Skyscraper’s knees.
“Call your employer. We want to speak to him directly.” Oeufcoque’s voice emerged from the cell
phone. Skyscraper, a quivering wreck, needed no additional encouragement.
He had to try the number a few times before he eventually got through. “Hello…this is Sky…
Skyscraper here. The other party in the negotiations…um…that is…they’d like to speak to you directly.
Er…yes, surely…”
He passed the phone back to Balot with a trembling hand. Balot didn’t even bother putting the earpiece
to her ear. All she needed to do was connect to the part of Oeufcoque that was inside her suit.
“Mr. Cleanwill John October? Director at OctoberCorp? This is Oeufcoque-Penteano here, PI and
Trustee for this case.” Oeufcoque spoke out loud so that Skyscraper could hear too. Balot was starting to
get fed up with Skyscraper’s miserable face, so she got up and wandered over to the bar in search of the
carton of milk.
Then they heard the sneering laughter of Cleanwill John October on the phone.
–That was quite a show you put on for us back at the casino. How did you use your last ten
thousand dollars? A fancy meal at some restaurant you couldn’t normally af ord? A holiday to take
your mind of your woes, perhaps?
“The game’s up. We’re arresting you for attempted kidnapping and blackmail.”
–Where’s your proof that I’m behind this? You have no witnesses. No one will arrest me.
Balot shrugged. Thinking how she was grateful that she didn’t have to talk directly to such a person,
she placed her gun on the counter, took a carton of milk fromthe refrigerator below the counter, picked up
one of the few glasses that remained intact, and poured herself a glass. She was effectively committing
robbery, she realized, but there wasn’t any other way she was going to get her drink.
She added a couple of ice cubes to her drink and took a seat at the bar. She stared into the mirror at the
end of the bar, repelled by the nearby phone conversation.
–More importantly, why don’t you think about settling? The trial’s going to be a washout.
“Washout? It’s too late for you to try and bring our case down by establishing a counter-case, if that’s
what you mean.”
–Not if we’ve already applied for our own case. Looks like we’ll be taking the same defendant to
court.
“The same defendant?”
–Shell-Septinos has brought about considerable damage to OctoberCorp. The man has tarnished
our good name and standing, took on fraudulent loans for his own personal advantage, and even had
the audacity to demand a share of our assets.
“How convenient for you. By assets I assume you’re referring to the dowry he would presumably have
received as a matter of course in marrying your daughter?”
–Marrying her? Ah, yes, there was such talk at one stage, wasn’t there?
John paused to laugh, a most peculiar sound.
–Ours is a family business—family is our rock and the foundation of our success. I was actually
pleased to think that I had managed to find someone suitable to take that woman of my hands.
Balot squeezed her glass tightly. Suddenly she had a feeling that she was missing something.
Something to do with the building they were in…
–Shell—I didn’t actually dislike him, truth be told. He had a good head on his shoulders and a
certain tenacity of spirit. I admire that in a man. It’s no lie to say that he had excellent prospects, and
we’re telling the truth when we say his current prospects are most lamentable.
Balot’s feeling of unease started to solidify inside her. John’s words were triggering alarm bells
somewhere deep inside her unconscious. Balot tried to put her finger on the reason.
–But our company—we’re just as much victims of Shell as you are. We could just sit here and
squabble amongst ourselves, of course, but wouldn’t it be better if we collaborated in prosecuting
Shell together? There’s plenty of scope for negotiation here, don’t you think?
“What exactly are you planning to do? Have him imprisoned and transported to a state where they
have capital punishment, so that you can have the law do away with himfor good?”
John laughed. Balot heard the laugh as if it were echoing in the room right beside her. His future
prospects are most lamentable. Someone had said something like this before. Skyscraper.
–We need not trouble ourselves right now about what may or may not happen after Shell goes to
prison. The important thing is that there is a certain someone who has been hurt deeply by Shell’s
actions—a certain someone who was hoping to marry him and has been damaged as a result of what
Shell has done. She’ll be inheriting the mantle of this case—or rather, OctoberCorp will on her behalf.
“Inheriting it…”
–Shell’s case will be closed shortly, and with it he’ll lose the right to have a PI investigate on his
behalf. We’ll simply rehire the excellent PI that he currently has in his employ and have him work for
us. The contractual negotiations are already in place.
“You’re going to have Boiled kill Shell, is that the idea? You…”
–Well, it looks like the children of Scramble 09 are going to have the opportunity to fight this one
out amongst themselves. In the meanwhile, it’ll be our own OctoberCorp that’s wholeheartedly
received by the people of Mardock City, just as the Three Magi wanted.
“You dare to invoke the Three Magi? Can you put your founding director on the line to support your
cock-and-bull story?”
–She’s a sleeping beauty who won’t be waking up anytime soon. You know as well as I do that she’s
brain-dead.
“What I do know is that OctoberCorp is taking advantage of her comatose state to abuse the technology
she gave you and make dirty money, under the pretext of ‘what the Three Magi would have wanted.’ You
know full well that none of the Three Magi really want such a thing.”
–Is that so? I can tell you that plenty of people in this city would disagree with you—they like
being “abused” by our technology, as you put it. We’re just doing our duty as a clan to develop our
inheritance—our duty to ensure the progress of OctoberCorp.
“That’s a foul deceit—trying to justify the suffering of innocent victims, hiding behind weasel words.”
–Do you know the origin of what we call the Stairway to Heaven, Mardock?
“What—”
–Mardock was the name of the son of the goddess. He killed his own mother and usurped her role
as creator, ruling in her place far more ef ectively than she ever did. In much the same way, we at
OctoberCorp are here to use the technology brought into the world by the Three Magi. The old moral
values are obsolete in the face of social progress.
“That’s just a fantasy that you guys conjured up to suit your own ends. There’s no such thing as old or
new morals, just morality.”
–I wouldn’t expect you to think anything else—a creature who narrowly escaped destruction only
by hiding behind the shield of Mardock Scramble. Your so-called Scramble 09 is nothing more than a
smokescreen whipped up by freaks such as you so that you can desperately try to justify your existence
to a society who never asked for you in the first place and doesn’t want you now. But has society ever
felt that way about OctoberCorp, the OctoberCorp that fulfills so many of its needs? I don’t think so,
somehow…
John’s voice was more sonorous than ever, and Balot honed in on the direction fromwhich it came.
“No one who refuses to acknowledge that they themselves are potentially dangerous has any right to
lecture others about morality,” Oeufcoque stated boldly. As he did so, Balot jumped into action.
With all her might she threw the glass in her hand toward the mirror at the end of the bar.
The mirror that one of the men’s stray bullets had cracked but not destroyed only a minute ago.
The glass smashed against the mirror, splashing the milk across the surface.
There was an audible gasp on the cell phone. This confirmed Balot’s suspicions, and she moved
quickly. She picked up her gun fromthe counter and unloaded it into the mirror in one swift movement.
It really was a sturdy mirror. It took over ten shots before it gave up the ghost and started to collapse.
Finally, though, it started peeling fromthe wall.
It was a one-way mirror. And the scene behind it was now revealed to all in the bar.
Balot threw her gun down and snarced the left hand of her bodysuit so that she held a brand-new one
in her grip.
Gun outthrust, she stood in front of the warped mirror.
A wave of disgust ran over her, one that made every hair on her body stand on end. Before she even
had the chance to think about what she was doing, she pulled the trigger, hard. Oeufcoque was there for
her, suppressing the bullet, stopping the action inside himself.
“Ah…you seem to have us at a disadvantage, sir. I never imagined for a moment that you would be in
such a place. Although I daresay the disadvantage is now all yours…” Unusually for Oeufcoque, his voice
dripped with sarcasm. But Oeufcoque was Oeufcoque, after all, and he could only take so much—the
whole scene was evidently getting to him. “I can’t say I think much of your hobbies, sir. By the look of it,
I can see all sorts of laws being broken…”
Beyond the mirror were five or six boys and girls in varying degrees of undress, all young. Preteen
young. In the midst of them was a giant lump of flesh—far bigger than Skyscraper—sprawled on a sofa in
a nightgown, holding a phone in his hand and looking at Balot in mute terror.
“This is private property…” the corpulent figure finally managed to spit out. It was the same man they
had seen back at the casino—none other than Cleanwill John October.
“Indeed, so we’ll refrain from actually entering unless we’re forced to. We’ll just wait here, keeping
you under guard until the police arrive. Cleanwill John October, as a PI and Trustee for this case, I invoke
my jurisdiction to arrest you on charges of attempted kidnapping, extortion, and—well, lots of other
things.”
Oeufcoque managed to stay levelheaded. The proof of this was that he kept the safety catch on the gun
firmly engaged. “Balot, call for police backup.”
Balot shook her head. She wanted to kill them—kill them all, even the young boys and girls with John.
She remembered the lecherous smirk on Skyscraper’s face, thought again about what it meant he wanted to
do to her, and felt her blood rushing around her body so quickly she thought it might start flowing
backward.
“Balot.” Oeufcoque spoke even more deliberately.
“Yaaargh!” A scream came at them from behind, though not before Balot and Oeufcoque both realized
it was coming.
Skyscraper had emerged fromthe booth and was charging toward them, gun in hand.
Balot didn’t even turn around; she merely fired off a number of shots over her own shoulder.
Both of Skyscraper’s shoulders and both his knees were pulverized in an instant. His scream rose in
pitch a few notches, and he writhed helplessly on the floor.
Balot’s eyes remained fixed on the giant figure on the other side of the mirror. After the gunshots, all
thought of resistance had been wiped from Cleanwill John October’s mind, and he blubbered, “Peace!
Let’s do this in peace!” Both his arms were raised in a wobbly surrender.
Balot would have rather seen himin pieces than in peace, but she managed to overcome this feeling to
take a step back fromthe broken mirror and snarc her cell phone to call the police.
She left the rest to Oeufcoque. It was the only way she could get through this.
She was exhausted. There was much she still had to learn. It made her head spin.
≡
Police sirens converged on the bar. Balot was in the passenger seat of the red convertible, watching
the young children as they were wrapped in blankets and escorted to safety.
John October had already been taken away in custody along with the other men in the bar.
“To think that we’d be able to catch one of OctoberCorp’s directors so easily,” said the Doctor. He
was relaxed, still a little sleepy, but was focused on the task at hand. The second case could now
progress.
Oeufcoque told him the details of his conversation with John, and the Doctor frowned. “Doesn’t that
make Boiled more or less a fully paid employee of OctoberCorp?” the Doctor asked.
“It could be that Boiled is now planning on taking Shell prisoner. I suggest we play along with
OctoberCorp for a little longer and make out that we’re interested in continuing discussions with them.
That will buy us some time.”
“OctoberCorp is more ruthless than you give them credit for, Oeufcoque. At this stage it’s do or die.
The only thing that’ll make the difference between victory and defeat is Shell and his memories. That
Shell—” At this point the Doctor and Oeufcoque fell silent.
“Where’s Shell right now?” asked Oeufcoque sharply.
The Doctor fumbled with his PDA. “He’s been released on bail pending his final trial, and he’s
permitted to travel within a two-kilometer radius of the hotel he’s staying at. There should be specialists
fromthe DA’s office tailing him, of course, but…”
“How long before Boiled hears about what’s gone down here?”
“He’s probably already heard,” said the Doctor.
“We need to hurry, then.”
Without another moment’s notice, the Doctor revved up the car, and it sped off from a standing start.
Balot, who had zoned out, was jolted back into consciousness and rushed to secure her seat belt.
–What’s the matter?
Balot spoke by snarcing the car stereo.
The Doctor shook his head. “It’s Boiled. Unless he gets an order from OctoberCorp to stop him, he
might end up killing Shell. It’d be such a shame to lose our main piece of leverage now that we have one
of OctoberCorp’s directors in the bag.”
–What are we going to do?
It was Oeufcoque who answered this. “The Doctor will head to the Broilerhouse. We’ll go to the hotel
Shell is staying at and ensure his safety.”
–I’m going to go and save Shell’s life?
This time she didn’t use the car stereo, but rather snarced Oeufcoque directly.
“That’s right.”
–How strange…
Balot was silent, thoughtful.
They arrived at the Broilerhouse, and the Doctor jumped out and rushed in without even looking back.
Balot programmed the name of Shell’s hotel into the display, and the car set off.
The car pulled into the hotel’s underground parking lot, and Oeufcoque gave Balot the latest news.
“Just in fromthe Doctor. Shell’s in room663.”
Balot took the key from the ignition and hurried toward the hotel lobby. She headed into an elevator,
then suddenly realized that the buttons stopped at the fortieth floor.
“This is an emergency. Protecting Shell takes priority over any legal niceties,” Oeufcoque said, before
Balot even had the opportunity to ask. She snarced the elevator, sending it up to the sixty-sixth floor.
There was no one else in the elevator and no sign of anyone in the corridor when Balot stepped out.
Suddenly—without Balot having to snarc anything—she felt a squish about her left hand and realized
that she was holding a gun. “Be careful.”
Balot progressed with the utmost care. She walked down the corridor with silent footfalls and stopped
right in front of the target door. She sensed what was on the other side of the door—no sign of movement.
Balot snarced the electronic door lock open, calling on help fromOeufcoque to decode it.
No sooner had she opened the door than Balot was assaulted by a lukewarmblast of air.
The air conditioner wasn’t working. Next to the door was a large dresser coated with a layer of
condensed water vapor.
There was the sound of running water; Balot headed slowly for the bathroom. An orange light was on,
and steambillowed out, filling the room.
Balot steadied her gun and entered the bathroom. She was filled with an uneasy premonition. She was
sure that there was no sign of movement frominside, and her mind couldn’t help but carry this observation
through to its logical conclusion. She walked across the polished marble floor and past a large mirror
toward the source of the steaming, bubbling water.
Balot’s feet stepped in flowing water.
She put her hand on the shower curtain and, taking a deep breath, yanked it back.
The sight that assailed her made her heart miss a beat.
A woman swayed in the water, her mouth O-shaped, as if she were screaming silently. Her head
floated but her mouth was full of splashing water, and her eyes had started to go muddy, cooked by the
near-boiling hot water.
The woman was naked, and her long blonde hair covered her body as the hot water continued to flow.
Her body was covered with black and blue bruises. Bruises that were no doubt inflicted on her when
she resisted, or perhaps bruises she received because she couldn’t resist.
Finally, Balot exhaled. A streamof cold vapor in the steamy room.
“Looks like this was Shell’s fiancée…” Oeufcoque muttered.
Balot was suddenly overtaken by an urge. She left the bathroom and headed for the living room,
positioning herself in front of the television. She snarced it to grasp its inner workings, then accessed the
Internet.
“What’s this about, Balot?” Oeufcoque seemed concerned, but Balot ignored him, turning the
television on and bringing up a map of the city. Her eyes remained wide open as she logged into a number
of servers, cracking the encrypted passwords with ease.
“Stop it, Balot! What are you trying to do—find Shell? You’re hacking into public networks, you
know! That’s a crime! There are official channels we need to go through for this sort of thing. Don’t you
start running off the rails too!”
Balot stared at the television, tears suddenly filling her eyes. Her face crumpled and she sat down. She
cried without making a sound, lifting her gun in her hand as she did so.
–Let me kill Shell.
Her face was painfully sad as she snarced Oeufcoque.
–Let me kill that man Cleanwill too.
“Balot, it’s no good thinking like—”
–Please. Let me. I don’t even care if I die afterward.
“Balot…are you angry? Or sad?”
Balot shook her head. Neither. Both. She felt her destiny swirling about her. Her terrible, terrible
destiny. Why did Shell have to kill that woman in the bathroom? I’m going to make you clean. I’m going
to clean you up. The words echoed around Balot’s mind.
–I think that woman in there was the same as me.
Balot managed to snarc the words to Oeufcoque through the terrible memories that were resurfacing
inside her.
“The same…? You mean, that is to say…” Oeufcoque started, but he didn’t need to finish. He’d
understood perfectly. The woman in the bathroom had things done to her by her father. Or perhaps other
men and women had done things to her.
–Please, let me kill them all. I don’t care if I die myself. I don’t care if I die.
“Calm down. This has nothing to do with you. Don’t get sucked in. Take a deep breath and calm
down.”
Balot held on to her gun. Her whole body shook as she cried. Quietly, her breathing a mess.
Every possible horrible fate seemed to be in this room. For the first time ever, Balot experienced the
feeling of seeing her sorrow transform not into anger but into sheer murderous intent. She wanted to kill
Shell. She wanted to kill everyone who worked for OctoberCorp. She wanted to kill the others caught up
in this case, Boiled and even the Doctor. Then, after she had done all that, she wanted to save the last
bullet for herself.
–I can’t bear it. Help me. Save me.
Balot felt a soft warmth in her left hand. She realized that Oeufcoque was trying to materialize.
Balot clasped her hands together in prayer, and Oeufcoque’s upper body emerged. She almost
smothered himcompletely, so desperate was her desire to have himcomfort her.
Oeufcoque’s piercing red eyes stared straight at her.
Tears dripped from Balot’s face and splashed onto his little head, and he lifted his head toward the
warmshower and said, “It’s a good smell.”
Balot’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the mouse, the ultimate weapon and the last word in morality.
“Your soul—it smells good. Pure. It’s telling me that if there’s one thing I should believe in, it’s you. I
want to make myself believe in you. Shell and Boiled—they can’t find it in themselves to believe in
anything, so they’re doomed to stay on the other side of the mirror forever. That place where Cleanwill
was hiding. A place with no doubts or regrets to trouble you, but no hope either. I don’t want to go to such
a place.”
Then Oeufcoque spread his arms out in a broad gesture, just like when the two of them had been
introduced. “I entrust myself to you.”
Droplets of tears welled up in Balot’s eyes. She realized that he was indeed telling the truth.
He really was trusting everything to Balot. If Balot so wanted, she would have been able to snarc
Oeufcoque away in an instant. Any abuse she wanted—she’d meet no further resistance. And yet it was
this very lack of resistance that would prove to be the final restraint. It was the very fact that Oeufcoque
was surrendering himself completely that would stop her.
Balot nodded. The sound of the water overflowing in the bathroomechoed all around.
Balot sniffed. She turned around where she sat so that she now faced in the direction of the bathroom.
As she did so, Oeufcoque turned back into a gun without saying anything.
She hadn’t promised himanything. Even so, Oeufcoque had slipped back into her palm, ready.
Balot took a deep breath so that she could feel her entire bodysuit the better—the suit Made by
Oeufcoque. Her chest swelled and she exhaled calmly. She stood up silently, went to the bathroom, and
turned off the hot water.
She turned her back to the floating corpse of the woman and headed for the underground parking lot.
She climbed into the car, snarced the monitor next to the steering wheel, and the car took off.
Outside the sun had just gone down, and a cold night was closing in.
Balot wiped the last of her tears away and focused on the road ahead. There was still a lot she had to
learn. There really was.
≡
“Don’t tell the police yet! Do you want OctoberCorp to get wind of what’s happened?” Oeufcoque
was speaking into the cell phone in Balot’s grip. “That’s right. Look up Shell’s file. Right away.”
There was a moment’s silence, then the Doctor’s voice, clearly surprised.
–Shell has a number of large outstanding debts that will be paid of by the woman’s life insurance
policy. As ever, he’s made money out of the woman. Her death certificate reads two hours ago exactly.
What sort of doctor would issue a certificate just like that?
The convertible was heading straight toward the Doctor at the Broilerhouse, but they were ready to
change their course at a second’s notice should new information arise. New information being Shell’s
whereabouts.
Balot stared ahead in a daze, thinking about the dead woman’s face.
“Cleanwill must have been expecting Shell to kill that woman. That’s what he meant by Shell losing
his rights as a Concerned Party in the case. If the murder is made public, there’s nothing to stop Boiled
fromofficially being hired as Trustee for OctoberCorp and apprehending Shell.”
–That’s incredible… Whatever else has happened, imagine sacrificing your own daughter…
“This is no time to start dissecting our opponent’s motives. It’s only a matter of time now before
OctoberCorp brings their case against Shell. We have to track him down by whatever means necessary.
Quickly and discreetly.”
–We have no idea of Boiled’s whereabouts either. What if he’s already with Shell?
“Use whatever pretext you can to track them down. The police are of no use at this stage. The one
thing we have going for us is the fact that there are still negotiations that need to take place before
OctoberCorp brings its case against Shell.”
–Are you planning on having Balot secure Shell’s person?
Balot’s eyes narrowed. Secure Shell—the words reminded Balot of something. What was it the
Doctor had said this morning, just before the trial had started?
“Once we have him in our care, use the police or special forces or whatever necessary to cordon off
the area.”
–If Shell had his memories back, Shell would stop killing people.
–Roger that. Wait, what was that? Shell’s memories? Balot, is that you speaking?
–You said so yourself before the trial started, Doctor. Shell can’t restrain his own urges because
he has no memories.
–Ah…yes, that’s right. Shell’s amnesia means that his urges grow and grow and have nowhere to
go, no escape, that’s what we were—
–Will you let me borrow something? I’ll be sure to return it safely.
–What’s that? Borrow? Are you talking about…
The Doctor gulped.
Oeufcoque took advantage of the small pause to interject. “Doctor, if Balot says she needs something,
you trust her judgment and hand it over without further ado. Got that?”
Something seemed to have got the Doctor’s tongue for a moment, but eventually he managed to speak.
–Fine, I’ll leave Shell’s security completely in your hands. The pair of you. Come over to the
Broilerhouse to—
His tone of voice changed abruptly.
–Just in! The first information disclosure on Boiled’s whereabouts. Shell called Boiled from a pay
phone on the banks of the East River. At around seventeen hundred hours. I’m going to publish the fact
that we’ve just had some negotiations with OctoberCorp ourselves, okay?
“Do it, Doctor. Force their hand, make themgive us as much information as possible.”
–There’s every chance that Shell is now hiding out somewhere in the vicinity of the phone booth.
Let’s use the pretext that he may be armed and dangerous in order to force the other side into
disclosing his exact location. I’ll get the DA to gather what information he can, top secret. So… Balot,
I’ll have what you need ready for you—just come on over to the Broilerhouse to pick it up.
–Thank you.
The phone cut off. The car sped on toward the Broilerhouse, and the monitor already showed a map
that displayed the likely whereabouts of Shell.
03
Shell arrived at the hotel room that Boiled had told him to come to. He sat down on the bed, and the
first thing he thought was Now I can become a dif erent person again.
He was even prepared. Thoroughly. Or so Shell thought, at least.
He had his overnight Boston bag on his lap, and he pulled out a bottle of Heroic Pills from inside his
jacket pocket and washed them down one by one, chugging a bottle of scotch as he did so. The Blue
Diamonds on the seven rings on his hands shone brilliantly.
The lenses on his Chameleon Sunglasses were a fawn color.
Before long the bottle of pills dropped out of his hand, and the bottle of scotch tipped over onto the
floor, its contents seeping into the carpet.
Why am I here? The question arose as Shell’s mind passed into an increasingly euphoric state. Is it a
good or bad thing that I’m here? Bad, if you consider that I’ve lost the battle that I’ve been fighting
for the last few months. But also good—that having lost the battle, I’m still here now, safe and sound.
He’d managed to run away. He had left the horrors firmly behind himand was now in a safe place.
The slate would be wiped clean. The past, so disagreeable—all that would be washed away. There
were no cracks in his shell—only the contents had been removed.
Shell hugged his Boston bag tight as he was filled with desire for his new life.
What good friends he had! That burly friend of his had proven himself indispensable in helping him to
acquire another one of these. Helping him turn that crazy woman into another one of these. While Shell
was strangling the woman in the bath, his burly friend had taken care of all the details. It was wonderful.
That other girl might still be chasing after him, but now he would always be able to repel her, destroy her,
subsume all thoughts of her.
Shell opened up his bag at one end and stuck a hand inside to feel its contents—newly minted bills. He
flipped through a wad of notes, and as the bills brushed against his fingertips he muttered. You like that,
don’t you, my little ones? You want some more, don’t you? Then he stopped suddenly and withdrew his
hand in haste. The corners of the bills had given him a number of paper cuts on his fingertips, and blood
was welling up.
Shell put his bleeding finger in his mouth and sucked away. The taste of his own blood spread to the
corners of his mouth. The taste brought to mind vestiges of an old memory. A memory that should have
been long since erased, but that clung tenaciously to the void of his inner mind nonetheless.
A giant shadow loomed over Shell as a young boy. Trace memories—all sorts of indecent things being
done to him. But he’d always managed to submerge the memories, the feelings, everything, in the girl,
whoever she was. He had repelled all, killed all, and turned everything that was dirty clean. He was
proud of this. This was his life.
He giggled out loud. Uncontrollably, as if his lungs were going into convulsions. Huhh huhh huhh. He
scrambled around for the bottle of scotch that lay on the floor. “See! That’s how I find what I’ve dropped.
I never lose anything. Shell never drops the ball. Ever.”
Gleefully, he gulped down the last of the liquid. Then he collapsed face-up on the bed and fell asleep
in his euphoric state.
In Shell’s dreams, the faces of all sorts of women appeared and disappeared.
Shell tried to remember each of their names, but the harder he tried the more elusive they became.
Eventually the girls’ faces swarmed together in a bizarre montage, and girls would appear with three
eyes or with nipples growing out of their noses. Then the melee of body parts all converged into one face.
Shell thought that he cried her name out, in his dream.
He felt an emotion welling up—love, the sort that makes you want to stick your chest out and hold your
head up high. It was for the first woman he had ever truly loved, the one he met only after he’d finally put
his mother to rest. Not so much a woman as a girl. But the girl herself had long since disappeared from
Shell’s memory, leaving only a lingering scent of her in his dreams. A scent full of sorrow. He wanted to
make everything clean. What was it that brought the two of them together, that caused their fates to be
intertwined so? The fearful, fearsome past?
Or were they simply in love? The sad smell seemed to reject every possible explanation.
A new shadow floated across—the shadow of the girl, dying and wasting away into nothingness.
Shell’s ire was turned toward the girl’s father. Shell spent many years tracking him down, and when he’d
finally found him, he killed him. But the father’s mind had been completely addled by drugs by then, and
he couldn’t even remember the things he had done to his own daughter.
His memory was gone, just as Shell’s was now. Shell had beat him to a pulp before finally snapping
his neck.
As Shell did so, he remembered his own memory disappearing. He had already forgotten what he was
doing even as he did it. I’ll make everything clean. I’m going to clean you up. All sorts of possibilities
occurred to him at that moment. He thought up a scheme to launder money. He thought of turning the girl
into a Blue Diamond. He thought of making the girl clean again.
Shell turned the desiccated remains of the girl into a Blue Diamond to wear alongside his mother, and
his mind gave up the ghost and his memories faded away completely. His mind may have been in deep
turmoil, but he knew how to use people.
By the time the diamond was ready, Shell’s mind was completely clear. He was relaxed again.
The Blue Diamonds that shone resplendent in the open air—they were Shell’s last hope.
In Shell’s dreams, the light shining off the diamonds suddenly changed.
The spirits of the girls who were to become diamonds. The ghosts of girls whose names he had long
since forgotten. Their faces were closed and expressionless, but this only made them seem more alluring
than ever. They stared down at their own laps with dark eyes, as if they were looking for a place to hide
themselves. Shell’s task was an easy one. All he had to do was give them an appropriate container, a
final resting place. He would lead the way for them, guide them.
Turn theminto the most beautiful thing in the world. But it didn’t always go according to plan.
The girl who had been engulfed by flames came back to life. It was as if she didn’t want to become
clean again.
In his dreams the girl was ablaze and walking toward Shell, step by step, until she finally grabbed
hold of him. The fire raged away, centered on the girl, and there was nowhere for Shell to run. Her
blackened fingers were around his throat, plastering it with her charred fingerprints.
Shell screamed. More flames erupted inside the girl, and she squeezed down on his throat with a grip
that was gentle but strong, so strong.
≡
Shell bounced up from the bed and realized that there was something on his neck, constricting him,
strangling him. He tried to get it off, but his actions were only making things worse.
Then he realized the truth: he was trying to strangle himself with his own hands.
His face convulsed in a bitter smile. His whole body was drenched in sweat.
He took off his Chameleon Sunglasses, now shining like moonlight, and placed his Boston bag on the
floor.
He realized that he was desperately thirsty and went into the bathroom to wash his face and drink
some water.
As he returned to the bedroom he noticed a ringing noise. Not the hotel room phone. Shell jumped for
his jacket and scrambled for his cell phone, which he found after a couple seconds’ fumbling. “Boiled?”
–Yes.
That sturdy voice. Shell smiled and put his sunglasses back on.
“I’ve just had the worst dream. Like a bad trip. A girl was on fire and she tried to strangle me,” Shell
said, relieved that help was now at hand. “Have you prepared everything as I asked you? I’m going to
head upstream into a different state. Once I’ve crossed the state borders, I’m a new person. I’ll play it
steady from now on. I’ll use my money to set up a legit business. No more gambling for me. That’s all
over.”
–I’ve received a new commission from OctoberCorp. I need to explain it to you clearly. On top of
that—
“What are you talking about, Boiled? Who cares about OctoberCorp anymore? I’m leaving this place,
saying goodbye forever to the whole damn city. I’mheading back to my roots.”
Boiled considered this in silence for a minute before answering.
–I thought that you were born in this city, on the East Side.
“What? Forget about that for now. Home is wherever I hang my hat. If I succeed there, that’s where
my roots are. I don’t know where to, but I’m heading back home now. And I’m grateful to you, Boiled, I
really am. If you hadn’t been there for me, that girl would have crushed me. Strangled me with her bare
hands. I really amgrateful. You’re a true friend.”
–Is that right?
“It is! My only real friend. You’re my rock—there’s no one I can rely on quite like you. You’ve saved
my neck so many times. Let’s stay in touch. Right, Boiled?”
–The PIs for the other side are looking for you right now. We’ve had to publish your rough
location, so they’re most probably already in your area. Try not to make yourself too conspicuous. It’s
probably best you wait until dawn—any ships leaving your area may be tailed. Everything changes if
they find you.
Shell’s brow furrowed, as if he didn’t quite understand Boiled’s meaning. “Are you saying you’ve
been feeding theminformation?”
–Information Disclosure. Unless we publicly share certain stipulated pieces of information, our
opposing case won’t be approved. I wouldn’t be able to work for you.
Shell frowned, rubbing his forehead with his other hand.
“I’ve got a bit of a headache, and I don’t think I’m following you. Here I am telling you that you’re a
valued friend to me, one I know would never betray me…”
Boiled was silent again. This time the pause was a long one. Shell thought he could hear the faintest of
murmuring from the other side of the phone, but then suddenly the line was cut off. Shell looked at his cell
phone with an uneasy expression.
The phone rang again. Surprised, Shell put it to his ear. “Boiled? What are you playing at?”
–I don’t want to die.
It was the voice of a girl. Shell stopped breathing. He felt as if the blood had frozen in his veins.
–But still you kill me.
Shell’s mouth was agape and his heart beat furiously.
The image of the girl in flames came rushing back. The girl who took his precious chips, her face
ablaze. Her name too flamed back into his mind.
There was a noise at his ear that gradually came together in the formof a man’s voice.
–Mr. Shell…
It was Boiled. Tears of relief flooded Shell’s eyes. “What was that voice just then? Was it trying to
scare me?”
–You’re listening in on this line, aren’t you, Oeufcoque? You’re near Shell right now, right?
“What? What’s that? God damn it, I’masking you a question, Boiled, answer me!”
–I’ll take care of you, Oeufcoque. Go and retrieve your bait. Then I’ll appear. That’s how we’ll do
this.
Shell shook his head. The area at the back of his head and neck throbbed with pain.
–Very well, Boiled. We’ll secure Shell’s person from our side.
A new voice echoed down the line, one that Shell had never heard before, and he was hit with another
bolt of fear. His whole body was now drenched in his own cold sweat.
–We’ve already finished evacuating the other guests from the hotel. We are going to solve this case
according to of icial procedure. In order to do so we need to ensure that Shell remains safe. We have
no desire to fight with you, Boiled.
–We are just tools, Oeufcoque, born into this world in order to create nihility. You’re a self-aware
tool, and I’m a human who wants to become a gun. Even your current user really wants to be able to
use you to kill. She just wants to do so legally, that’s all.
–Stop talking such garbage, Boiled. What are you hoping to achieve by killing Shell? What use is
there in massacring everyone in sight? What will be born of that?
Shell frowned.
–It’s not my job to be concerned about what may or may not be born, Oeufcoque.
–So you’re throwing your lot in with OctoberCorp, are you? That’s your choice, is it, Boiled?
“Boiled! Are you planning to kill me? You are, aren’t you? You’re planning to kill me!”
–Mr. Shell. I really do think we would have worked well together. We could have been far more
than just patron and client…
Shell’s face twisted. Boiled continued in his characteristic whispering tones.
–It’s a shame that circumstances have changed.
Then there was another noise—a number of sounds screeching together. The phone went dead.
≡
Shell stood rooted to the spot, the lenses in his Chameleon Sunglasses changing from pale blue to
stormy black. Everything was unreal, a dream, but then Shell snapped to and snatched up his Boston bag
and checked its side pocket for the reassuring feel of cold steel.
He pulled his automatic handgun out, not even bothering to check the magazine before pressing it down
against his leg, then hauled his bag over his shoulder. He felt more rooted, more secure.
Suddenly his cell phone started ringing again. Shell gritted his teeth and answered.
–This is Oeufcoque-Penteano here, PI and Trustee for this case. We are going to take you into our
protection. Remain there until we secure a safe route for your escape. When we arrive, we will expect
you to hand over all your weapons and come peacefully.
“Fuck off!” Shell yelled, flinging his phone to the floor and grinding it with his foot. The phone was
destroyed, the sound cut off.
Breathing roughly, his shoulders heaving up and down, Shell ran around the room quickly to turn all
the lights out.
The bedroom was on the second floor. Shell hid behind the curtains, peeking out of the window to try
and catch a glimpse of what was happening outside.
The lights in the room all flared back on. Suddenly, of their own accord. Shell watched in shock. The
night lamp was on, the bathroom light was on, and the ventilator in the bathroom was on, roaring. Shell’s
face was soaking wet—it was impossible to tell where the sweat ended and the tears started.
Then there was another sound. It was the old television, right next to Shell. There was white noise,
and then the image of a girl appeared on the screen. Her mouth opened in a round shape, and her wide
eyes and rigid fingers seemed like they were about to reach out for Shell’s throat at any moment.
–I didn’t want to die.
Shell watched in horror with bloodshot eyes as he listened to the girl’s voice.
–But I was killed byyou anyway.
Shell pointed his gun at the television and fired repeatedly. The monitor exploded, and sparks flew out
into the room. The image of the girl and her voice were wiped cleanly away. He had made everything
clean. Clean—and he felt his gut wrenching inside. His mouth was filled with the taste of sour liquid, and
he bent over double and vomited copiously.
His body heaved repeatedly, and sticky yellow liquid drooled fromhis mouth.
When he had finished, Shell stood back up and fired a shot at the ceiling light and at the bathroom
light. He put his hand to the doorknob and gripped it tight.
He was so frightened that his hair practically stood on end. There was a horrifying shade on the other
side of the door, he knew it. The thing that he had always fought to repel, to make disappear—it was
back, alive again, and standing right there.
Shell flung open the door with all his might and jumped out, brandishing his gun. He was confronted
by an empty corridor.
Shell’s last remaining shards of reason forced him to notice that something was very strange about this
whole situation.
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