Mardock Scramble

The evening sun was painting the sea a bright scarlet as he reached the gates that marked the checkpoint to the harbor.

Boiled handed over his ID card at the gatehouse.

The security guard, a young man, stuck the card into his machine to confirm that Boiled’s jurisdiction was active and asked with a whistle, “An incident at the harbor, eh?”

Boiled took the card as it was returned to him, shaking his head. “Not a big one.”

The young security guard was clearly thrilled as he opened the gate. “Call me if it looks like anything’s about to go down. I train every day at the shooting range, you know.”

“Guns won’t be needed.” Boiled cut him down instantly, but this only impressed the young security guard even more.

“Just as I thought—a true PI.” He nodded in agreement.

The car entered the harbor, where heavy machinery was lined up all around. He drove past a giant mechanical crane that looked like a mutant crab, which was unloading a multicolored convoy. He passed the part of the convoy that had been stripped of its load before turning around and returning, skeletal now, via the overland route from which it had come.

Boiled parked his car in the car park where the trailers were lined up, took the attaché cases from the trunk, and carried one in either hand as he walked toward the boats. He soon spotted the crane that he was looking for.

BANDERSNATCH: ANIMAL HUSBANDRY EXPORT AND IMPORT

The billboard was written in large letters above the crane house. Boiled looked up at the person in the cockpit. He slowly approached the workplace videophone and pressed the call button.

–Whassup?

A crude-sounding voice answered. Then an image. A man in fatigues.

He had a broad face partially hidden under a mass of dread-locks. His skin was brown like a scorpion.

“Where’s the company?”

–You gotta say which company you talkin’ about.

The man maneuvered his body uncomfortably in the tight cockpit so that his ear was on the earpiece.

“I’m bringing payment. For the company that’s said to be involved in animal husbandry import and export,” Boiled informed him, and in return received a shrill laugh from the video phone.

–What’s your name?

“Dimsdale-Boiled.”

–Heard aboutcha from the boss. That’s us. Import and export of livestock. Wait a sec, I’ll just get everythin’ sorted. Come on to the weir. Yeah, come inside the white line.

Boiled did as he was told. Before long a giant shipping container was lowered down from the sky. A rectangular box big enough to fit a whole house. It was an impressive sight to behold as it hit the ground with a thump.

The electronic lock on the door lifted, and the door slid open sideways. Boiled entered the container, and as he stepped in, the door closed behind his back automatically.

It was dark inside, but not for long. Pale fluorescent lights illuminated a number of workspaces divided by partitions as well as filing cabinets and sofas. There were even monitors on the desks. It was like being in an office somewhere.

An unexpectedly high-pitched giggle emerged from behind one of the partitions.

“Are you surprised at the contents of our trailer? Welcome to our offices.”

Judging by voice alone, it was a young girl who spoke. But when the speaker emerged from behind the partition he was clearly a man, probably in his late thirties. He had evidently had an operation of some sort on his vocal cords. He was very small—short—and had long hair. His hair was all one length, with parts of it blond, others streaked red, all of it random.

Boiled took one look at the little man, then continued to scour his surroundings.

“It seems we’re moving.”

There was a sensation of gradual elevation. The whole container was being lifted up again.

“Don’t you worry. Little Minty is a veteran crane operator.” “The man in the cockpit?”

“The very same. Mincemeat the Wink. Used to be a bomber helicopter pilot. A famous pilot in the Commonwealth Forces, he was a proper macho little angel of death, raining down his showers of fire on the Continent.”

“Where are you planning on taking me?” asked Boiled.

“We’re just taking you aboard our ship. That’s our home base, you see.”

Boiled didn’t ask any more questions. He made no move to put down the attaché cases in his hands but just stood there in silence, facing the little man.

“You’re a real hunk, Mr. Boiled. Little Minty is quite the tough guy, but you’re not bad yourself.” The little man seemed fascinated by him. “I’m Rare the Hair, by the way. That’s my registered trademark within the company.”

He combed his hair upward with a flourish. His multicolored hair flowed like water through his fingers.