Mardock Scramble

by Ubukata, Tow

  The better the croupier, the more constant the spin and therefore the easier it was for the numbers to start falling into a predictable pattern. That was why the croupiers were under strict orders from the house to ensure that there were deliberate variations in the number of rotations, the speed of the wheel, and the angle at which the ball hit the wheel.

  Hardly any croupiers were skilled enough to do this with 100 percent accuracy when customers were around and the chips were down. Still, Bell Wing was exceedingly precise. Balot found it somewhat ironic, therefore, that it was the croupier’s very accuracy and precision that allowed Oeufcoque to pick up on her movements and intentions. In other words, it was precisely because Bell Wing was so skilled that Oeufcoque was able to get the measure of her game so quickly.

  Normally it would have taken even the most experienced professional many hours and tens of thousands of dollars in bets before they had a chance of working out what Balot and Oeufcoque had already managed to learn.

  Balot succeeded because of the intense training she’d had from the Doctor and of course because she had Oeufcoque in hand. It took her less than an hour and less than ten grand in bets. With this minimal outlay of time and funds, Balot had learned all the biases of the wheel, the unconscious habits of the croupier, and even the nature of the house orders—the fiat from on high that compelled croupiers to mix things up a little.

  Balot felt all this through her skin.

  Step by step she raised the stakes and started betting on longer and longer odds.

  She bet on the line—placing her chips over one of the lines on the layout, signifying a bet on all six numbers down the line, with a payout of 5:1 when she won.

  She placed a five-number bet on 0, 00, and numbers 1-3, payout 6:1.

  She placed a corner bet; her chips down where four numbers intersected. Payout 8:1.

  She bet on the street: three numbers—payout 11:1.

  She went further, betting on longer and longer odds even if she didn’t win.

  Split: betting on two numbers, payout 17:1.

  Then back to the straight bet, the single number, payout 35:1.

  She didn’t win these bets—they were reliant more on luck than skill at this stage. They were feints, for the benefit of the croupier and the other punters.

  On top of that there were other ways of betting. Regional variations to the rules, as seen in some Continental casinos. Within Eggnog Blue, however, this particular table was the only place the variations were seen—Bell Wing had no doubt persuaded the house to permit them at her table.

  The permitted variations were threefold. One was finaal—a bet on the last digit. So, if the player called “finaal plein three,” informing one of the dealers of his intentions, he’d be betting a hundred dollars on numbers 3, 13, 23, and 33. This bet had a payout of between 8:1 and 11:1.

  There was also the jeu zero. Playing on and around the 0, as the name suggested, this bet involved the three numbers, totaling six, on either side: 35-14-2-0-28-9-26. Four hundred-dollar chips would pay out thirty of the same if the ball landed on the 26, or if it landed on any of the other numbers. This bet, though, was much more relevant on the Continental wheel layout and not much use here unless you were particularly paranoid about the dealer aiming for the 0.

  The third variation on standard rules was the en prison rule on evens bets, where a 0 would cause all evens bets to be frozen rather than simply lost. The player would then have the option of either having half their original bet back or letting it ride through to the next spin.

  Balot exploited this rule to the fullest, and whenever she aimed for the 0 she also placed an evens bet at the same time.

  She did so to keep her losses to a minimum even as she moved to a more aggressive style of play, but more importantly, to get some real clues as to the croupier’s mindset.

  –Really impressive.

  Suddenly, and for the first time since they had sat down at the table, Oeufcoque communicated in words other than simple instructions.

  –What is?

  –You are.

  –I am?

  –I do believe we really have a chance. We could even end up with the money we need to move on to the next level.

  –That’s what I was aiming for all along. Was that wrong of me?

  Balot felt rather insecure all of a sudden, but Oeufcoque assuaged her feelings.

  –No, just carry on the best you can. There’s not much I can do either way, at this stage.

  Balot felt somewhat happier and snarced him again.

  –I just have this feeling that I know where the ball is going to land.

  –You can predict it?

  –More of a gut feeling.

  Just then: “Is this your first time at roulette, young lady?” The voice came as one of the dealers was distributing the table’s winnings after a spin.

  Balot looked up at the speaker.

  This time Bell Wing stared at her intently.

  –Yes, ma’am, Balot answered truthfully. If Bell Wing glanced at Balot’s electronic voicebox around her neck, she said nothing about it.

  Instead, Bell Wing continued in a different vein. “Your eyes are sparkling. As if everything is new to you. I can see that you’re enjoying watching the ball as it spins around.”

  Balot nodded. This was how she actually felt, after all. She was genuinely getting into the game. But there was another factor.

  –I’m enjoying the game because you’re the croupier.

  Bell Wing gave a small nod of acknowledgement. Thank you, she seemed to say. A generous gesture.

  “Still, you’re planning something big, aren’t you?” said Bell Wing. “Have you got something against this casino? A grudge?”

  –Why do you say that?

  “It’s not me who’s saying it. It’s your chips.”

  Reflexively Balot shot a glance down at her chips. Then she peered back up at Bell Wing. Balot realized she had goose bumps. Just as she had been reading Bell Wing and the table, Bell Wing had been reading her.

  How much had Bell Wing noticed? Everything, no doubt. Balot’s betting patterns, habits, personality. Balot realized this and tried not to show it on her face.

  “It’s the croupier’s job to read her customers’ minds by the way they bet.”

  –It’s nothing personal against you, ma’am.

  Balot’s reply was instant, and Bell Wing’s lips rose in a smile for the first time. “So why did you choose my table?”

  –Because I thought you were cool. Another immediate reply.

  Bell Wing said nothing more and turned her hand back to the wheel.

  Her eyes flashed.

  Balot sensed that the croupier’s whole body wanted to move along with her eyes, to focus on a single point. That single point was a number on the layout—the number that she would be aiming for next spin.

  Two black. The first number that Balot had placed a chip on, and the win that she had been allowed.

  Bell Wing’s hand moved for the ball. Balot’s hand moved in response. Balot’s chips came down as the wheel was spun.

  The ball was released, and it sped into the bowl in a smooth movement. The numbers melted into one, and Balot realized that the angle of descent was going to be steeper than she had originally anticipated.

  Hastily Balot grabbed another chip to follow the ball, but the moment had passed.

  “No more bets.” A dignified voice stayed Balot’s hand.

  Before long the wheel swallowed the ball. The rotation slowed down and then stopped completely.

  “Three red,” Bell Wing called out calmly.

  The dolly was placed on the layout, and chips were collected and distributed against the rustling backdrop.

  Balot’s five-hundred-dollar stake was swallowed up by the ocean of chips.

  Again, Balot felt Bell Wing notice her, even if the croupier didn’t actually look at her this time.

  Balot pursed her lips to show her disappointment. She was acting, of course
. She did feel disappointed, but it was hard to tell what was really the cause of her scowl.

  Bell Wing’s movements had been a feint. She had noticed Balot’s observations and drawn her into betting on the wrong number—a sophisticated ploy.

  Bell Wing stood there calmly and asked Balot a question. She asked whether Balot still thought she was “cool,” even after pulling a stunt such as this one. Balot couldn’t help smiling back.

  Bell Wing responded to Balot’s smile with a cold gaze. “This is my job, you know.”

  –I understand.

  “There’s such a thing as a craftsman’s pride in doing your job properly. I have it. I also have a duty. So I’m going to obstruct you. Don’t think that you won the first game because I was being kind to you. I was just doing my job. Now that you know all this, don’t you think you’d be better off at another table?”

  It was more than Balot had expected. Bell Wing had her number, completely, and didn’t care who knew it. She had made her feelings clear: I have no intention of letting you win any more at this table and will do everything I can to stop you.

  Balot touched her choker with her hand to release her voice.

  –I’d like to stay here and play a little longer, if that’s all right with you.

  “Do you think that I’m somehow going to help you?”

  –A game is a game. I’ll just learn from you as we go along.

  “Learn from me?”

  Balot nodded. She found her own articulateness a little unexpected, but she continued.

  –Yes. I don’t know what exactly. But I have a feeling that I’ll be able to pick up something useful.

  Bell Wing nodded. “Fine. If it means that much to you, I won’t try and stop you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. If your luck turns sinister, don’t expect any mercy.”

  –Sinister?

  But Bell Wing didn’t answer.

  She turned back to the wheel and touched the bowl.

  This woman, this wheel, this game—they were all so interesting. Balot was suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. It was unstoppable. She had no idea where it would lead her.

  –Take care, Balot, Oeufcoque warned her. For a moment she was concerned that Oeufcoque might try and stop her, and she snarced him back vigorously.

  –I’m going to play at this table and win. This is what I want.

  –Your opponent is well attuned to your feelings at the moment. To your aggression. She’s completely prepared for you.

  –Aggression?

  It was only when Oeufcoque spelled it out in so many words that Balot realized that aggression was, indeed, the emotion that she was feeling.

  She let go and saw her feelings dissipate into the ether. Bell Wing would have been able to use Balot’s aggression to her advantage—just like she had with the 3 red a minute ago—and Balot knew it.

  What Balot needed now was not aggression but certainty. Knowing where the ball would land with certainty.

  –I want to win this game. I won’t cause you any trouble, I promise. Please. Let me do this.

  –Our opponent’s feelings are difficult to read. She smells as if she’s sure about something. But I can’t tell what.

  –I think I know what she’s sure of.

  –What?

  –She’s sure of the ball spinning.

  Oeufcoque seemed bewildered.

  –But I know the ball is spinning too…

  The words rose up in Balot’s hands. Balot smiled.

  Bell Wing turned the wheel of fortune and sent the ball forth like an arrow.

  Balot felt like she had become some sort of a gun. Picking out the fateful numbers with her chips would be just like honing in on her target in shooting practice. If her aim was off, she could adjust, take stock, recalibrate, fire again, realigning from left to right until she finally found her target.

  Balot placed her bets on North West: 13-1-00-27-10. Five hundred dollars on each number.

  On top of that she placed another five hundred dollars on black.

  The bowl swallowed the ball: 29 black.

  Two places off.

  Balot received her winnings on the five hundred she had on black and plowed this straight back into the next hand.

  For the next hand she bet on the North Side: 25-29-12-8, another five hundred dollars each. She also placed five hundred each on two-way splits on 25-26, 29-30, and 11-12. And five hundred on red.

  “Thirty red,” called Bell Wing.

  A 17:1 payout on the split, and doubles on the red—Balot was looking at a total return of nine thousand dollars. She was now up by over $2,200. She’d guessed the ball would be sent the other way and had bet accordingly.

  Balot watched the wheel as it spun around. She felt the difference in speed and angle with her skin.

  Balot watched Bell Wing’s every move, chips gripped tightly in her hand.

  The wheel was spun in the opposite direction to the previous spin and likewise the ball.

  Balot’s hands moved.

  Five hundred dollars each, speedily, on the South Side: 26-30-11-7.

  Then another five hundred each on 28, 9, 20, and 32.

  At this point the ball was on its fifth lap of the wheel. There was still over a minute before the game would be over.

  The ball went around another ten times, then fell into the bowl when the wheel slowed down.

  Bell Wing’s eyes narrowed in an instant.

  “Seventeen black.”

  Four thousand dollars’ worth of Balot’s chips were swallowed whole by the table.

  The crowd around the table was now starting to heat up. Any table would have done the same in the face of such high stakes flying back and forth.

  Bell Wing remained cool amid the excitement. She looked at the number Balot had bet on, and then back at the roulette wheel.

  Seventeen black was right next to 32 red—the last number that Balot had bet on.

  Balot felt that she had just experienced Bell Wing’s skill at yet another level. Bell Wing had taken into account the bias on the wheel and caused the ball to land right outside Balot’s chosen numbers.

  Balot had no proof of this, of course, but she felt it—with certainty.

  The ball was released. It was poetry in motion, sheer beauty, all of it: the form of the wheel, its build, the angles, the elegant curvature of Bell Wing’s fingers, the rotating ball, the numbers spinning on the wheel.

  Balot lined her chips up with her fingers.

  She placed five hundred dollars each on 14-2-0.

  She didn’t feel the need to place any more.

  The ball spun round, smooth, violent.

  Bell Wing’s gaze followed Balot’s every movement, daggers in her eyes.

  The ball bounced off against a pin and fell.

  The wheel spun around, and by and by it showed the fateful number.

  “Zero.”

  The table erupted. Balot was the only person to have bet on 0. Everyone else either lost their stakes or found them en prison.

  Balot’s winnings, at 35:1, were stacked in front of her. Over fifteen thousand dollars’ worth.

  “Your chips look like a giant pile of wood shavings, don’t they?” Bell Wing asked quietly.

  Balot was worried that Bell Wing might be angry, but when she realized that Bell Wing was no such thing she smiled at her.

  “So, think you’ve got the measure of the wheel?”

  Balot nodded.

  –It’s very level.

  “Yes. Yes, it is. Too level, in fact. Its only bias is luck.”

  –Luck?

  “To put it in terms of probability, it’s unlikely in the extreme that the ball will continue to fall in any sort of predictable way, over time. Rather, you’ll be looking at an average distribution. It’s a struggle. Fighting against Fortuna herself.” Bell Wing seemed to exercise her jaw, moving her chin from left to right. “To a greater or lesser extent, all croupiers enjoy watching their customers crash and burn. Whether they’re old or young, ma
le or female, all people have this desire to dominate others. With croupiers, it’s a particularly cunning sort of desire.” Bell Wing continued in a disinterested tone, yet her words seemed to affect Balot deeply.

  But your voice is so clear, Balot thought. How can you speak such depressing thoughts with such a clear tone?

  –Why does someone like you work in a casino like this?

  Balot hadn’t meant to vocalize this, but the words had come out anyway.

  “What do you know about this casino?”

  Balot was silent. She wasn’t ready to pour her heart out and explain what she and Oeufcoque and the Doctor were all doing at the casino, and she certainly didn’t want to talk about Shell and OctoberCorp.

  “I see… You have a grudge against the boss.” Bell Wing’s eyes creased at the corners as she spoke. Balot’s eyes, on the other hand, flew open.

  “The manager of this casino doesn’t concern me. I needed money, so I took a job. My husband was ill, you see. He wasn’t of our world—he was an honest man. Not that he wasn’t like me in many respects; he had a cunning and greedy streak. Even so, all his children were left with when he died were his teachings—and each other. He did well on that point, at least, taught them well. But it was left to me to bring the money in.”

  Bell Wing seemed as if she were about to bring the conversation to an end. But then, whether she changed her mind or whether she was simply waiting for the two dealers to finish distributing the chips, she continued. “After my husband died, I felt that everything was taking a turn for the sinister. So I did what I had to in order to find a way of turning right. That’s why I ended up staying here, rolling the ball.”

  –Sinister?

  Balot asked the same question she had before.

  Bell Wing averted her eyes from Balot. Balot thought that she was going to refuse to answer again, but Bell Wing did speak, with her eyes fixed to the roulette wheel. “The wheel of fortune can spin two ways. When it spins counterclockwise, to the left, it’s sinister. It brings bad luck. Clockwise, to the right, brings joy. My life now is about trying to find what happiness I can by calling up the right.”