Mardock Scramble

–Flashbacks. That’s what she told them when she was in the holding cells, anyway. She didn’t say anything at the trial. I watched Queen Bee’s trial. With the rest of the girls. And after that we watched the trial of the M girl case I was talking about earlier. Neither trial went on for long. Nothing to them. Just men working for pride and money. Really pathetic. A lousy Show. That’s what all the girls were saying. I thought so too. No one found out why Queen Bee flipped out. The men just kept arguing with each other. Queen Bee was grinning and laughing all through her trial. Flashbacks. The men tried desperately to ask if something had happened when she was younger, but Queen Bee wouldn’t tell them anything. At the end the manager gave Queen Bee a kiss and said, “I’m really sorry.” Queen Bee replied, “That’s okay, love you.” And, “Goodbye.”

“First degree murder…so it was a life sentence for premeditated homicide, I suppose? The women were lovers, were they?”

–Queen Bee and the manager weren’t an item, if that’s what you mean. Not a lesbian couple. They loved each other like family. I sometimes yearn to see the girls from back then myself. As if they were family. In the end, everyone drifted out of town and ended up here in Mardock City. ’Cause this is the city where you can earn the most. But also the cruelest city. I don’t know what’s happened to the girls who escaped from the institute with me, but I’d like to see them again too.

“And you’ll be able to. You can see them as much as you want once this case is resolved.”

–But I bet if I did go and see them I’d only get jealous—or be envied myself. We’ll end up competing to see who is the most beloved. So it might be better that I don’t go and see them after all.

“Most beloved?”

–By a partner, a man, in a same-sex relationship, anything. Even by God or by fate. Whether we are loved, or not. The worst thing of all is to die without. But in the end, I think most of us will end up dying precisely because we aren’t loved.

Eventually the car pulled off the road that was taking them toward South Street and veered toward the city center. Toward the place—the vast space—where the multitude of different streets and townscapes came together.

Oeufcoque seemed to be thinking hard about Balot’s words.

–Hey, Oeufcoque.

“Uh-huh?”

–Do you think they’ll ask me about my father at the trial? About my flashbacks?

“Hard to tell. If the counsel for the defense comes across your background and decides that it’s to their advantage to destabilize you emotionally by asking you questions about him, then, yes, they probably will.”

–Will the case fail if they prove that I’m crazy?

“Well, uh, yes…”

–What will the official titles be? Of the crimes we’re accusing them of, I mean?

“Violation of the protection of minors law for starters, then forgery of official documents, status manipulation, rape, and attempted murder.”