Mardock Scramble

by Ubukata, Tow

  Suddenly, the Doctor stooped down to look into Balot’s face. “So, what’s the culmination of all our strategy and tactics? What is our best move?” It was almost as if he were asking for a password from a soldier returning from battle.

  Balot looked straight back into the Doctor’s blue eyes.

  –Hit and run.

  The Doctor smiled when she answered without hesitation.

  –The player has the odds stacked against him. In and out quickly is the only way to win against a stronger opponent.

  She squeezed both her hands tightly. She felt like Oeufcoque was speaking the words with her.

  She felt Oeufcoque wrapped around her clenched fists, ever so soft. The Doctor and Oeufcoque: always on the lookout for her, sensitive to her feelings.

  “Now, let’s go and win. And as soon as we win, we run away,” the Doctor said. He smiled confidently and headed closer toward their objective. The table.

  “Here we are—our battleground!” He spoke in a different voice now, loud enough for all others in the surrounding area to hear. The first salvo had been fired.

  The table had just taken a pause in between games. The dealer looked up from the cards that he was shuffling and smiled at the Doctor. He had silvery blond hair and green eyes. His every movement was calm and composed, and he continued shuffling uninterrupted even though his eyes no longer looked at his hand.

  The Doctor placed his hand on the back of one of the seats—the middle one of seven—and called out to the other punters, “May I?”

  “Oh, rather! We were just itching for a soupçon of variety, dear,” answered a well-built lady. Her fat fingers sported a number of chunky rings, all digging into her flesh. Her face was just as chubby, as was her neck, which sported strands of gold and silver jewelry. Her generously proportioned rump spread out to about four times the size of Balot’s seat. Her round eyes blinked behind her silver-green spectacles. She beckoned to the Doctor to sit, as did the dealer.

  But the Doctor stood there for the moment, hand still on the back of the chair. “We wouldn’t want to interrupt the flow of the cards, you see.” He spoke like a complete beginner and sought approval from the other players.

  “Oh, it’s all the same to us, and we wouldn’t want to get in your way,” continued the lady with a laugh. Then she nudged the old man next to her. From her actions it was clear they were together. The old man nodded to the Doctor to welcome him too. He was a skinny little thing—a sprig of parsley next to the fat sausage of the woman.

  The next man along took his eyes off the cards for a moment and looked at Balot and the Doctor in order to welcome them. This man sported a mane of lush black hair and wore a fashionable monocle over one eye. He seemed to be considering how the addition of the Doctor and Balot would affect the cards.

  The three players already at the table all sat to the right of the chair that the Doctor had just chosen. The monocled man’s seat was the furthest to the right of the semicircular table, and this seat was known as “first base”—it was the first seat to be dealt the cards. By the way he sat on the edge of his seat, waiting for his cards to come, it was safe to say he was a complete addict living in a world of his own.

  In their training, the Doctor had explained that you could tell a lot about a blackjack player’s personality from which seat they chose. Now that Balot had seen it in the flesh, it seemed the most obvious thing in the world.

  The Doctor responded to their pleasantries in kind and took a seat, and Balot did the same.

  “What a delightful young woman,” said the lady. Her face was friendly but she couldn’t hide her curiosity.

  Balot dipped her head, and the Doctor answered for her. “Yes, my beautiful young niece has been entrusted to her uncle today for safekeeping.”

  “And you’re entertaining her with cards?”

  “Yes. Her father and I are in agreement that young people should be exposed to this sort of thing at an early age. Her mother was unsure, but I convinced her by explaining that a person who knows how to play cards knows the meaning of the word ‘perseverance.’ ”

  The Doctor gave a knowing smile.

  “Perseverance,” the woman repeated, and her smile grew even more friendly. It was as if she had wanted someone to say that word aloud. “I couldn’t agree more!”

  Her large frame wobbled, and she prodded the shoulder of the old man next to her. He shrugged his shoulders and joined in. “And composure,” he added, waggling his finger.

  The monocled man next to him joined in too. “And wisdom and bravery,” he said with a broad grin.

  Balot was growing a little weary of all this grandstanding. The Doctor was a born con man, surely, able to swindle his way into any place. He could manipulate the mood of a gathering just like that. Or perhaps this was what the Doctor was really like back in the day when he was a decorated researcher. He continued to ingratiate himself into the present gathering, preparing the way for Balot’s debut in society, taking on the role of entertainer while the shuffle was under way.

  The shuffle was done thoroughly, so it took a surprisingly long time. Plenty of people took advantage of this lull in the action to cool off, maybe take a step back from the action, and new players would take their places. Or they would take a drink, or engage in friendly banter with the other players, or engage the dealer in conversation about their legendary exploits or the hand that got away. Rumors, scurrilous stories, tales of bankruptcy and ruin were all the currency in such situations.

  With the demeanor of one who was used to utilizing the shuffle break effectively, the Doctor turned to the dealer. “Looks like we’re welcome here,” he said. “Deal us in, Marlowe.”

  The dealer’s eyes snapped up to the Doctor. His all-seeing eyes were now focused on one point, as if he were trying to work something out.

  “Have we met before, sir?” the dealer asked him, friendly, apologetic that he seemed to have forgotten. But behind the mask there was a trace of wariness. There were plenty of professional gamblers who worked out the individual habits of dealers and tried to exploit them.

  The Doctor showed no sign of picking up on this, though. Instead, he said the dealer’s full name out loud, as if he was reminding himself, “Marlowe John Fever.”

  The dealer nodded. The other punters looked at him, almost as if it had only just occurred to them for the first time that the dealer might have a name.

  “No, I don’t believe we’ve met face-to-face before, Marlowe. But your reputation precedes you, sir! You come highly recommended by this girl’s father, who happens to be a poker buddy of mine.”

  The Doctor named an obscure gene therapy patent company, indicating that he was a director there, and continued. “Your table is supposed to be the safest place to play a peaceful and enjoyable game. I wanted to see for myself. The conversation flows easily around you, they say, and your sharp eyes don’t permit any sort of card counting.”

  At this point the monocled man ran his hands through his hair. Hmm—he seemed impressed. He had perked up at the mention of the phrase “card counting.”

  But the Doctor had no more to say on this front. Instead: “I’ve taken my beloved niece under my wing for the day. I want her to experience a nice, clean game. And look, as I thought, isn’t he nice and handsome? Quite a dish, eh?” He turned to Balot for the last bit, but he was obviously teasing the dealer just as much for the benefit of the other players.

  It would take more than that to ruffle the feathers of the dealer known as Marlowe, though. “Well, if there’s any part of the game that you’re unsure about then feel free to ask away, miss,” he told Balot coolly.

  –Thank you. I will.

  When Balot replied, the others at the table turned to look at her in surprise. Everyone except the dealer, who asked her, calmly as ever, “Your throat?”

  “Yes, a car accident. Don’t worry, though, she can speak loud and clear using that thing. You won’t have any trouble understanding her,” said the Doctor.

>   The dealer nodded, and then, for the first time, stopped shuffling the cards.

  “Do you know the hand signals for this game?”

  In lieu of an answer, Balot lifted her left hand.

  –Stay.

  Palm down, hand waved from side to side.

  –Hit.

  She tapped the table with her index finger.

  –Split.

  Both index fingers, pulled apart from each other.

  –Double down.

  She mimed placing a chip on the designated cross on the green cloth that covered the table.

  The dealer smiled kindly. It was a smile to reassure the other players. If it came down to it, she could play even if her voice didn’t work. She was glad that he didn’t make a big deal of her disability. It was only natural as far as the casino was concerned, of course; they wanted to make their customers feel as comfortable as possible. For a moment, though, Balot felt that maybe this man was as wonderful as the Doctor had made out.

  As the dealer calmly went back to shuffling the cards, Balot suddenly felt some words from Oeufcoque appear in her left hand.

  –Ask about card counting. Before the dealer finishes shuffling.

  Balot was brought back down to earth with a jolt, taking her eyes off the dealer. She couldn’t afford to develop feelings for the man that was, for all practical purposes, her opponent—she had let down her guard, and it wouldn’t do. Gathering her wits about her, she tugged on the Doctor’s sleeve in a manner that she hoped came across as endearing.

  –Um… Uncle?

  She had—finally—gotten used to calling him that.

  –What is “card counting”?

  She asked the question in the most casual tone she could muster. The Doctor looked surprised, or rather the Doctor looked surprised.

  “How on earth did a refined young lady such as you hear about such a thing?”

  –You just mentioned it, Uncle.

  The Doctor looked up to the ceiling as if he had just realized his grave error. “Hum…look, just don’t tell your father that you heard about such a thing from me, will you?”

  –Okay. So what sort of rule is it?

  “It’s not a rule, exactly.” The Doctor seemed to be searching for the right words. “Card counting is, well, it’s counting the cards. Remembering what’s come before. If you know what’s already gone, you have a better chance at guessing what comes next, right?”

  –Wow! Sounds exciting! Will you show me how it’s done?

  “Uh…erm…” the Doctor swallowed his tongue. The lady next to him burst into a giggling fit. The old man and the monocled man were both grinning at the scene unfolding in front of them. They knew all about card counting. How it wasn’t so much considered a tactic as it was a serious threat to the casino. “It’s only grubby little card sharps who try and use card counting to rip off the casino. Gambling is a game of luck and courage. It’s only cowards who don’t trust their luck who try such a thing. It’s not appropriate for a young lady like you.”

  The Doctor was passionate in his lecture.

  –Hmm.

  Balot looked disappointed—bored, even. The doctor raised a finger and waggled it from side to side. “Casinos exist to be battled fair and square. Gambling is enjoyable precisely because you don’t know whether you are going to win or lose.” He pressed his point home.

  Fair and square. Not remotely true, of course. The odds on most games were stacked firmly in the house’s favor. Still, Balot nodded, as if to say that she thought she understood.

  –I still don’t understand why were you talking about card counting as if it was such a bad thing, though.

  “Professional gamblers spoil all the fun for us proper players. The game is there to be enjoyed. In any case, how are you supposed to memorize all the cards in six decks of cards? It’s impossible for one person to do it—you’d need a whole gang of you on the case.

  –But I thought you were good with numbers, Uncle?

  “Sure, as long as I have a calculator at hand.”

  The others around the table all laughed at this. This was better than a sitcom. Fun for all the family—and, indeed, it was starting to feel like a family gathering.

  Thus it was that Balot and the Doctor accomplished their first task: to draw the others into their world, make them laugh, make them relax, lower their guards. Not to win big, not to steal all the money from the other players. But to win steadily. This was what casinos feared the most. Players who won and won, bit by bit, undermining their whole operation. Earthquakes had caused less damage to casinos.

  This was the table, and the dealer, that the Doctor and Balot had been aiming for all along. None of their conversation had been wasted.

  Before long the dealer finished the shuffle, and the comedy show drew to a natural close.

  “Please place this marker wherever you like in the pack of cards,” said the dealer, handing a transparent red card to Balot. It was the last step in the shuffle. He had chosen Balot for the task as he knew this would meet with the approval of the whole table. Balot did as she was asked and placed the marker somewhere in the middle of the pile.

  The dealer cut the cards again, so that the red marker was now in the final thirty or so of the 312 cards. When during the course of play the cards reached the red marker it would be game over and time to reshuffle. This was a measure taken by the casino to give the appearance of fairness—after all, it was one of the players who got to decide where the marker was placed. More importantly, though, it protected the casino from card counting—even if a player had somehow managed to memorize all the cards, they wouldn’t have the opportunity to use this to their advantage at the tail end of the deck.

  There were 312 cards in all. They were all placed in the card shoe, and the lid placed on top.

  The dealer placed his hand on the first card and looked around at the players.

  All conversation had stopped. The only sound to break the silence was the clatter of chips as they were placed on the table. The atmosphere was at once both calm and fevered. Balot gripped her chips tightly in her hands and then, when she was ready, placed them down on the table in front of her. They made a satisfying click as they landed.

  The game was about to begin.

  Book III:

  THE THIRD EXHAUST

  Chapter 9

  CRANK SHAFT

  01

  To survive—that was what Balot thought in response to the cards that were dealt to her.

  She had no intention of being killed a second time without putting up some resistance. Instead she was here so that she could grasp her enemy’s heart in her hand, and in order to do that she had to stay in the game at all costs. She had to survive the game that the man called Shell had drawn her into. She had to make the game her own and solve her case.

  Blackjack—that was the name of this, the last game in the casino.

  The dealer dealt the cards, starting from the right. The first card Balot was dealt was the queen of clubs. Worth ten points, a good card, a useful card. The suit was irrelevant in this game.

  –Wow, clubs really are your suit. They helped you win at poker too, didn’t they? Oeufcoque’s words floated up inside the glove covering her left hand.

  –Is this a good omen, do you think?

  –Well, it’s not a bad one.

  Oeufcoque said this to calm Balot down, to make her feel better. Balot clung to these words, clasping her hands together as if in prayer, and watched as the dealer’s upcard was revealed. Unfortunately, it was the ace of clubs.

  –How’s that not bad?

  She couldn’t stop herself. Inside her gloves, though, Oeufcoque just shrugged, she thought.

  Then Balot’s second card was dealt to her. Another club. But a 6 this time. Her total was now sixteen.

  Her eyes flew involuntarily to the dealer’s second card. The card that faced down, next to the ace.

  She heard the voice of the monocled man who sat at the far right of the table, bold
and resolute, calling for another card—hit.

  Balot was about to look toward him, but Oeufcoque quickly stopped her.

  –You don’t need to worry about other people’s cards just yet.

  Balot looked down at her cards. The problem wasn’t the cards but Balot herself. Suddenly her heart started racing. What if she got it wrong? For the first time since she had entered the casino, Balot felt nervous. She tried to remember what sort of number sixteen was, but found that she couldn’t. What had the Doctor said to her again? Was it a good number or a bad number?

  She heard the monocled man calling stay. The old man stayed too.

  The woman hit—then paused a moment before staying.

  “Hit.” The Doctor’s voice, right next to her. Her heart skipped a beat. It took every ounce of her self-control not to look at the Doctor’s cards. Her heart pounded hard, and she was in turmoil. A veritable earthquake.

  “Stay,” said the Doctor. He was going to weather this one out.

  Balot raised her head. Her eyes met the dealer’s. She was sucked in completely.

  –Hit.

  The dealer dealt her third card in a well-rehearsed move, turning the card over in front of her with machinelike precision. Jack of spades. She felt like she had been stabbed by the spade itself.

  “Bust.” The dealer reported the outcome as everything was swept away. Her cards and her chips, all gone in an instant. And with it, the game, at least for this round. The dealer collected them all and deposited them in their designated places, then turned his hidden card over.

  It was a 7. According to the rules, this made a soft eighteen—the ace and the 7. This meant that Balot would have lost regardless of whether she stayed or hit. So hitting might have been the right decision after all.

  Or was it?

  She heard a humming sound. It was the monocled man. Had Balot not called just then, the one-eyed jack—jack of spades—would have come to him. Tough luck.