“The outskirts of the city. It’ll be a while. Get some sleep. Staying high for too long ruins your stamina,” said Boiled.
“I’ll be okay. I’m so looking forward to meeting that little kitten again that I’ll go anywhere. Just say the word. Where do you want me to attack?”
Boiled turned the key in the ignition. “Paradise.”
The engine roared to life, and Medium whooped with joy.
≡
They entered the trunk road from the northwest of Mardock City, and Medium took some capsules, prompting Boiled to murmur, without any emotion, “Heroic Pills…”
“Yeah, we’re not talking about the adulterated crap you get in Times Square, though. This is the real thing, pure and unspoiled. Will you try one too, boss?”
Boiled was about to shake his head to say no, but then he stopped himself mid-action.
“Just the one.” Boiled stuck his hand out. Grinning, Medium dropped a single capsule into Boiled’s massive palm.
Boiled swallowed it, and Medium asked, “How is it?”
“Not much difference.”
“It’ll kick in soon, and you’ll start to feel happy.”
“The back of my head is starting to feel itchy,” said Boiled. Medium was visibly disappointed. “Boss…why did you try one if you’re not in the mood?”
“I have a client who’s addicted, and I wanted to understand the effects for myself. But it looks like that’s beyond me.”
“It certainly seems that Welldone was right about you, boss—you’re a proper hunting dog. You’ll do whatever it takes to catch your prey. I could wish for a bit more of a sense of humor, though.”
Boiled made no effort to respond. Instead, he said, “We’re heading to the Broilerhouse now, in order to check a few things out with night duty.”
“Roger that, boss. Shall I drive for a while?”
“No need. You rest your body,” said Boiled.
“Still, you’re holding up well, considering you don’t take any drugs. When exactly do you get a chance to go to bed?”
“I’ve forgotten how to sleep,” said Boiled.
Medium grinned. “Good one, boss. Glad to see you’ve got a sense of humor after all.”
“I haven’t slept for nine years.”
“That’s the spirit, Mr. Iron Man. Although you’ll need to work on your facial expression—it’s still a bit dour,” said Medium.
Without another word, Boiled stopped off at a motel they were passing by and, out of Medium’s earshot, contacted the Broilerhouse using a dedicated line.
Boiled climbed back into the car and was just about to turn the key again when he stayed his hand for a moment, thinking.
He was thinking about the last time he’d slept—had he dreamt anything then?
The answer was no.
Boiled started the car and drove off.
Chapter 6
INJECTION
01
–It’s a hit! There are about a hundred Shells in Mardock City, but this is definitely our man. There’s a casino called Eggnog Blue owned by one of OctoberCorp’s holding companies. He’s the director in charge there.
Tweedledum spoke and Balot nodded as she retrieved data from the pool.
Bubbles leaked from Balot’s mouth, heading to the surface.
She was swimming in the computer terminal pool, breathing through a set of EasyGills.
The EasyGills were made in Paradise, of course.
The Doctor, Faceman, and Tweedledee all watched from the side of the pool, keeping a lookout for Balot.
–Good stuff—you’ve got the gist, now try accessing a little deeper. Try not to get distracted by all the electronic noise. Think semantics—you need to commune with the computer, not just connect.
Underwater, eyes closed, stark naked, Balot stretched out her arms and legs and used her entire being to converse with the computer. Millions of data channels opened up, and she focused on the semantics—the nuances of how everything interrelated, how the channels developed, and what this all meant. This then led her on to search for data directly, floating through the various data systems of the city. What did Shell do, when, where? What did Shell touch, what did he buy, who was he with, what sort of activity was he involved in—all was being calculated at cutthroat velocity.
–What an amazing machine…
Balot was full of wonder as she swam in the pool of data. It was like when she had looked up her own citizen’s ID with Oeufcoque—only incomparably faster and vaster in scope.
It was as if she were excavating, like they were fossils, the footprints of a man called Shell, scouring the whole of Mardock City, discarding the ephemera like so much dirt and gradually piecing together the skeletal remains of a giant dinosaur.
The computer was constantly calculating the patterns of information, piecing together the implications of Shell’s various actions in order to try and work out what he was doing, discarding the impossibilities one by one in order to establish what the most likely—or least improbable—implications were.
–So much of the data is contradictory or inconsistent. It looks like they’ve been constantly updated—or rather better to say falsified. It’s a bit like a half-assed software update rushed to market far sooner than it should have been with nowhere near enough time to iron out the bugs just to save a few bucks.
Tweedledum was happy to comment and advise but wasn’t lending a hand himself.
Neither did Balot try and force him to help her. Only one of them needed to violate Commonwealth law.
–He has all these memory defects listed. That’s a common thread; it’s coming up again and again. And someone seems to have fiddled around with the university hospital’s neuroscience department. Its research data has been manipulated by outside sources.
–They’re probably trying to hide something by erasing it. But erased data always leaves a hole, babe. Why not have a poke around to see just how deep that hole is?
–Sure.
The countless streams of data whirling around her looked like rays of sunlight, pouring in and piling on top of each other. Balot used her arms and legs to push herself farther underwater and then turned, face up, to caress the rays of information one by one.
≡
“Amazing…to be able to bend all that information to her will…” Faceman’s voice dripped with pure admiration.
–She’s dancing. Looks like fun.
Tweedledee held his knees together at the side of the pool, looking somewhat bored.
The Doctor stared at the pool with a tense expression fixed on his face.
Just then, Faceman’s expression changed suddenly.
“Phew,” he sighed, staring into space in apparent wonderment.
“What is it, Professor?” asked the Doctor.
“Ho hum. Looks like someone’s come in search of Paradise. The checkpoint at the bottom of the hill confirmed that there’s a vehicle drawing near. Two passengers, one of them a PI and Trustee of a case. He’s lodged a request through official Broilerhouse channels to be allowed to pay a visit to Paradise.”
The Doctor’s face turned blue. “Not Boiled?”
Faceman watched the Doctor, amused. “Looks like the Rusty Gun has come to spread some fire around. What to do…?”
“It’d be deeply disadvantageous to Paradise if it’s revealed that Rune-Balot is here,” the Doctor responded hastily, desperately, but Faceman’s only response was to laugh.