Mardock Scramble

“I thought that doctors’ eyes might have been cold and unfeeling, but as it turns out they’re quite romantic. In particular this Linda—she seems to have taken quite a shine to this guy in my stomach, Rock, a big-shot lawyer.”

“Ah, little Minty, that’s just because of how your muscles developed after the transplants,” said Medium.

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Medi. Here, everyone, let me introduce you all to Mr. Boiled.” Mincemeat flexed his muscles, squeezing tightly. The eyes, which had been winking away all over his body, opened their lids as one and turned to look at Boiled simultaneously.

Boiled stared back grimly. The eyes were neatly lined up in pairs, complete with lids, eyelashes, and tear ducts. A number of the eyes were red and swollen, as if they were crying for someone to release them.

“Sorry for keeping you all waiting—Gosh, little Minty! What a naughty boy you are!” Rare had bounded back into the room and was blushing bright red. “Here you go, here’s mine! Five people’s worth.” Rare showed Boiled some pieces of skin and hair pressed between plates of glass, folded up neatly and soaked in liquid.

“None of them really take my fancy, to tell you the truth. The hectic lives they lived meant they didn’t have much time to look after their hair, I suppose,” continued Rare.

Boiled ignored him and turned to Medium. “And are there any of their parts that you discarded?”

“When they catch a whale on the continent they use up all the parts. I mean all—skin, bones, nothing goes to waste. The only part they discard is the nothingness left after the whale is gone, so to speak.”

“And what do you use the parts for?” asked Boiled.

“The flesh is used for transplants, scientific research, as decoration—or as a delicacy,” said Medium.

Rare giggled. “We sell them to people who really get off on the idea of eating human flesh.”

Medium pointed at Rare as if to silence him. Pointing with a finger that could have come from anybody. “We get a good price for the bones, for marrow transplants, or to medical students. And the internal organs have long since been reserved. Even parts like appendixes,” said Medium.

“And the parts that you’ve taken for personal use?” asked Boiled.

“We’d agreed that these were to be part of our payment…”

“That’s fine, I just need confirmation.”

“Well, it’s all safe, everything’s okay. They’ve all vanished. Not a single drop of blood left. Transplant technology advanced in leaps and bounds as a result of the war. There aren’t going to be any leftovers. Three cheers all round,” said Medium.

“And the data the doctors were working on?”

“We’ll show you to our analysis department straightaway. Follow me, sir,” Medium beckoned.

Boiled stood up and followed Medium deeper into the container, an attaché case in either hand.

“Ooh, that back—manly, but in a very different way than yours. And what smooth skin for a man!” Rare whispered to Mincemeat as they followed behind.

It was a giant container with a series of joints where it could be dismantled. Medium unlocked the electric lock on a door that divided two of these joints and headed in.

“Please do come in. This is the information HQ for our company. One of our members is a specialist in data management. In the war he was a distinguished Comms soldier—hey, Flesh! We have a guest!”

Inside were various computing and communication devices strewn all over the place. They walked through the gaps, tracing a route to a place surrounded by even more equipment, when some flabby mass wobbled round at them.

“Hey,” said a sweet voice. His eyes were black and wet.

He had no hair and gave the impression of a young boy’s head protruding from a mass of flesh.

“I’ve been watching you since you entered the port. Using the harbor cameras. Now that’s probably the man we’ve been waiting for, I thought to myself. He’s that sort of person, I thought,” the mass of flesh croaked. He sounded like a precocious schoolboy.

“Indeed, Flesh. This is the iron man himself, Mr. Boiled. Be sure to treat our valued client with all the respect he deserves,” said Medium.

“Welcome, sir. I’m Flesh the Pike. In charge of information ops.” He pointed at himself with his right hand as he spoke. His hand was like a pale baby’s hand that had been grotesquely overinflated. Boiled watched Flesh—and his hand—in silence.

Flesh was wearing something that at first glance looked like a gown, but on closer inspection turned out to be more like a giant sheet that covered his fleshy mass. There was an incredible amount of fat there—the word obese wasn’t enough to describe it accurately.

The sheet was swollen into a bizarre shape. From the outside it was impossible to tell even whether he was sitting on a chair or was just sprawled out on the floor. He could have been standing.

Boiled put his attaché cases down and took a step toward Flesh. He stood in a position so that he could see a number of monitors all at once, then spoke.