Mardock Scramble

by Ubukata, Tow

  In blackjack, where you chose to sit—and whom you chose to sit next to—could end up influencing your game considerably. Someone who drew cards needlessly could spoil things for everyone else and in particular the players right next to you—Balot remembered the Doctor telling her something like this. This factor worked in the dealer’s favor.

  And yet a moment ago she hadn’t been able to remember anything. Balot reproached herself.

  The dealer divided up the winners and the losers in much same way you would sort through the contents of your pockets—things you needed, things you didn’t. This time it was the Doctor and the old man who had won. Their money doubled.

  –Let’s move on to the first step of our plan, Oeufcoque said as if the preceding game had never happened.

  –What was I supposed to do back there? Did I make the right move?

  –The first thing you need to do is be able to work out the answer to that question for yourself.

  That hardly answered her question. Balot silently placed her next chips down. She felt bitterly disappointed.

  Balot’s next card was a 2. She ignored the suit this time. Then a 5—total seven.

  The dealer’s upcard was a jack. Ten points. And so the game began again, based on the cards in Balot’s hand versus the upcard.

  –I’m going to display your funds, Oeufcoque’s words floated up.

  First, Balot’s entire bankroll. Next to that, her working capital, divided into ten equal parts. Then, the maximum and the minimum that she could bet per game. Finally, the total amount she had spent so far. That was the money management system devised by Oeufcoque.

  The basis of a sound strategy in a casino was neither a head for figures nor an eye for human psychology. It was more fundamental than that; you needed an effective system to keep track of your money.

  According to the odds, it was not possible in the long run to turn the house edge around—statistically the numbers were against the player. But that was the long run. In the short run, it was perfectly possible for the player to enjoy a winning streak. The key factor was this: when riding the crest of the wave of a winning streak, keep track of the funds in play and manage the bank to stay in play through the drier patches.

  Balot had just put down three hundred dollars in chips. The same amount as in the previous hand. The amount wasn’t a true representation of Balot’s feelings. It was just a tactical sum, an expeditionary force.

  Balot’s total bankroll at that precise moment was just over $630,000.

  So one tenth of this would be her “mini-bank,” enough for one session.

  This worked out to be slightly over $63,000. They’d take a break once this was used up one way or another; that was the idea.

  The maximum bet on any particular hand would be one twentieth of the mini-bank, and the minimum bet—i.e. the basic unit—one tenth of that.

  In other words, at the moment Balot should start with bets of just over three hundred dollars.

  When the maximum bet per hand was one tenth of the mini-bank, there would be a one percent possibility of losing all their capital. If, though, they adjusted their bets according to the flow of play and the fluctuation in their funds, it would be possible to limit the chance of bankruptcy to less than 0.01 percent.

  –Well, let’s start off by seeing what we can do.

  After the numbers had been shown on Balot’s right hand, this message came up on her left before disappearing in an instant.

  That was the moment Balot realized why she was so nervous.

  It was because there was so little that she could do. The only thing the players had any influence over in these games was the chips. Partly to preempt the possibility of cheating, players weren’t even allowed to touch their own cards.

  Not for this game the psychological warfare of poker or the finely tuned sensory perception involved in roulette. All there was to do here was walk the tightrope of uncertainty over and over again.

  This was why she felt unusually impatient and susceptible to being swept away by the action.

  But the key to successfully traversing that tightrope wasn’t just luck. It was a meaningful activity precisely because it was possible to separate out the factors that you could influence from the factors that you couldn’t. This was the lesson—indeed, the first principle—that Oeufcoque and the Doctor had hammered into her from day one.

  This was all reverberating inside her now, in her mind, in her heart.

  Before long it was Balot’s turn. She looked at her cards again. A 2 and 5, a total of seven.

  –Hit.

  A no-brainer. There wasn’t a single card she could draw at this point that would make her go bust. In fact, for all intents and purposes her next card could be considered her real second card. The card came, and it was an 8—and now her total was fifteen.

  The upcard was a jack, ten points. The dealer had to keep on drawing until he reached seventeen or higher, those were the rules. The only way Balot could win with her fifteen was if the dealer bust. Wouldn’t it be better for her to draw another card, then? This, rather than any complicated statistical calculation, was Balot’s rationale for her next move.

  –Hit.

  Her heart missed a beat as she proclaimed her next move. In a different way from the previous hand, though; she felt that this was somehow her choice this time, rather than a move she made involuntarily while swept up in the flow of the game.

  The fourth card was revealed right in front of her eyes in a swift movement. The number was 7. Her total was twenty-two.

  “Bust.”

  Her chips dissipated into the ether, just like with the previous hand.

  It stands to reason, seemed the general feeling at the table. Why, after all, should it be easy for a little girl like her to master the deep mysteries of such a game? The dealer and the other players could have told her that.

  That was fine with Balot. It was no more than the truth, after all. Part of her did really feel this way, and it seemed for a moment that there was a different version of herself sitting in the chair.

  The dealer drew his card and it was a 6—his total was now sixteen. As per his obligation under the rules he drew another. A 5. Total twenty-one. There were sighs all around.

  Had Balot not drawn her last card, the dealer would have gone bust, and everyone at the table would have won.

  Instead, as a result of Balot’s actions, everyone lost. Having said that, Balot was no longer bothered. If you wanted to win, you should have predicted what cards I was going to draw, she thought, unapologetic.

  Everyone’s chips were collected, and a new game began. After that Balot lost two more hands, won one, and then seemed to settle into a pattern of winning and losing alternate hands.

  When you were destined to lose a hand you lost it, no matter how you bet or what you tried—that was blackjack.

  You could lose because you had drawn a card, and you could lose because you hadn’t.

  You could draw on a twelve and bust, or you could stay on a sixteen and lose because of it. Then there were those hands where you were always going to lose whether you drew another card or not, because the dealer simply had a better hand. This happened not once or twice, but repeatedly.

  On the other hand, it could go the other way—you didn’t have to do anything and could simply win over and over again. Whatever you did, whatever the other players did. Call it luck if you like, but such luck didn’t just come out of nowhere; many battles were fought, and people had struggled with tactics and strategy to work out the optimal course of play through blood, sweat, and tears before finally reaching the depths of the game.

  The battle raged on, a microcosm of Balot’s inner turmoil.

  Win or lose, it was all in vain if she didn’t manage to keep a cool head and a steady hand.

  –Concentrate on your breathing.

  Oeufcoque had to remind her constantly of this.

  Balot knew for herself that this was the best way for her to stay in contro
l.

  Even when she had learned to use a gun, the first thing she mastered was her breathing. The Doctor had drummed it into her that it was what she needed to focus on at all times; when she was first taken to the hideaway, after the trial, whenever she had a headache.

  Balot concentrated on the feeling of what it was like when she was at her most relaxed and tried to remember what her breathing felt like then, inhaling, then exhaling. She had always thought that breathing was one of those things that happened of its own accord, varying from hard to gentle depending on the circumstances, but when she actually put her mind to it and focused she was surprised at how much she could control her breath and how much in turn that improved her composure and her mood.

  When she breathed deeply into her stomach, she felt relief. When she breathed into her chest, she felt hope. When she breathed into her shoulders she felt her whole pulse quickening, and when she breathed focusing on her pulse she felt a strong sense of identity, of knowing the ins and outs of her body.

  Her aim now was to ensure that she would be able to breathe consistently and calmly, regardless of whether she won or lost at the table.

  Turning her mind to this made her realize just how stiff she had become since sitting down.

  Curiously, it wasn’t even the high stakes that were making her feel tense and uncomfortable.

  Six hundred thousand dollars—an unthinkable sum of money in her previous life.

  As the Doctor said, it wouldn’t be at all strange if she’d wanted to just take the money and run, forgetting all about the case.

  But the hatred that she felt burning away inside her was not about to accept the consolation prize of mere money.

  The hatred that she felt was in fact for the money itself, and also for those people who were its slave. Virtually everyone she knew who was motivated by money ended up coming to grief one way or another. Not only that, the more grief they came to the further they got sucked in and the more they started believing that money would solve all their problems. The more money you had the more you could do with it, true, but also the more it ended up doing to you.

  This was why it was no longer simply a question of money for Balot. She had been hurt by other peoples’ pursuit of money, but now it was time to turn the tables and to use that very money that had hurt her as her tool to do it. Balot was fired up, but she wouldn’t let this fire disrupt her game. She breathed in deeply, determined to stay in control so that she was ready to make the right decisions no matter what the game threw at her.

  She was a long way away from certain victory—indeed, her first mini-bank was slowly but surely being eaten away. At the moment it was a case of one step forward, two steps back. But neither were there any unpleasant surprises—it was all going according to their calculations. It was all there for the taking. All there was to do was hope for the best and plow on, best foot forward.

  As they were approaching the thirtieth hand, Balot suddenly realized something.

  Something was up with the dealer. She tried to pinpoint exactly what.

  When her turn came, she thought she would try something to test her observation.

  –Hit.

  For a moment, the dealer was thrown off-kilter. One of the reasons for this was Balot’s cards.

  A queen and 9. Nineteen in total. It was hardly the usual thing to draw on this sort of hand.

  The dealer flipped the card over. It was a 2. Balot’s rather irrational move had worked in her favor, and she felt a disturbance in the breathing patterns of everyone at the table.

  Her total was twenty-one—her first since sitting down at the table.

  The dealer turned over his hidden card, which was a 10.

  Total: twenty. Balot was the only one to win. All eyes were on Balot as the dealer calmly paid out her winnings.

  It didn’t take long, though, before everyone dismissed it as a fluke and went back about their business.

  Balot hadn’t expected to win. That fact probably registered on her face.

  She was onto something, though—she was sure of it. As she received her winnings, she thought about it.

  Mainly about whether it was something significant, not what the significance was. Not yet, anyway.

  –Oeufcoque, there’s something I want to ask you.

  –What is it?

  –I think the dealer is timing his deals. Aiming for the right moment.

  –Aiming?

  –Yeah, waiting until the instant we finish fully exhaling before he deals.

  So far, it was a fragile hypothesis—had Oeufcoque dismissed it out of hand as ludicrous, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to defend it.

  But Oeufcoque’s answer struck an unexpected chord.

  –How did you work that out?

  As if to say that he was just about to tell her that fact himself. Balot’s suspicions were confirmed, and her vague hunch became a firm conviction that she was onto something important.

  –I deliberately took a long breath. He waited for me to finish before dealing.

  –Well, seeing as you’ve managed to work that out for yourself, the first stage of our work here is complete. You’re on course to secure victory with your own two hands.

  Half of her was delighted by the unexpected words of encouragement and praise, but at the same time she was more discouraged than ever—she seemed so near and yet so far.

  –That’s not true at all. I’m losing steadily and I have no idea how I’m going to turn it around.

  –Don’t worry. You don’t need to start winning yet. All that’s important at this stage is that you lose in a meaningful way. You’re playing a role in the Doctor’s plan. And you will win yet. With me here to back you up.

  Now Balot was fired up again. She felt supported—as if there were a strong pillar inside her, supple and flexible, there to prop her up, unbreakable.

  –Now that this hand is over, there’ll be a break.

  Hearing Oeufcoque’s words, Balot looked at the card shoe. Sure enough, the clear red marker that she had shoved into the pile of cards was now showing, signifying an imminent reshuffle.

  –We’ll move on to the next stage of our plan after the shuffle.

  Balot squeezed both her hands tightly by way of reply.

  The game halted. The dealer collected all the cards and started the shuffle in a series of smooth movements.

  According to the tally that showed in her right palm, a total of twenty-eight hands had been played so far. Balot had only won seven of these. Three were draws, and she had lost the remaining eighteen hands. She was currently down $3,300.

  Conversation between the players broke out again.

  Balot watched the shuffle. She felt that she might be able to pick something up—the reason he dealt in tempo with the players’ breathing. Whatever the reason, she had a gut feeling that she’d be able to start using her abilities shortly. She wasn’t about to surrender her fate to luck.

  As she was thinking the Doctor said, “I told you you’d enjoy yourself!” The fat lady next to him was grinning in her direction too.

  Balot nodded. A calm, composed gesture. The Doctor smiled broadly and engaged the lady in conversation again. He was saying that even an innocent young thing like Balot couldn’t resist the allure of a game like this. In other words, he was covering for Balot’s somewhat unnatural manner.

  Before long the shuffle was over, and the dealer handed the red marker to the monocled man, who placed it in the pile of cards. The cards were cut, and round two was about to begin.

  –Time to move on to stage two of our plan. I’ll give you the basic tactics.

  Oeufcoque’s words appeared in her palm, and at the same time a table containing symbols and numbers started to appear on the other side. Information on how to compare her hand with that of the dealer.

  –I’m going to gradually start feeding you more information.

  Balot quickly referenced her card against the chart on her hand.

  The rows were her c
ard totals, and the columns the dealer’s upcard. Cross-referencing the two showed what move would be tactically optimal under what circumstances.

  At the moment, her cards were 9 and 5, a total of fourteen. The dealer’s upcard, 5.

  The table showed that the appropriate tactic in these circumstances was S—the symbol for stay.

  Balot would have played it differently, but she would have been wrong. Under these circumstances, the best option was not to battle it out but to sweat it out, however odd that seemed to her.

  She did as the chart indicated and gave the signal to stay.

  The dealer glanced at Balot as he turned over his hidden card. A queen—bringing his total up to fifteen.

  The dealer now had to draw another card—those were the rules, as his total was below seventeen. He drew a jack. Total twenty-five—bust. Balot was genuinely impressed.

  –And I could have sworn that I should have hit.

  –That would have been a mistake under those circumstances. The most common value of a card in this game is ten. There are four different types—the king, queen, jack, and ten. The cards in our hand have little effect on the dealer’s chances of going bust. According to a simple calculation the chance of drawing a ten is 31 percent—four times as likely as any other card.

  –The ten factor , Balot answered Oeufcoque unconsciously. She’d had all this explained to her already, but it was different in real life, and she had had to experience it to believe it. Balot straightened herself up and tried to digest the implications of what had just happened.

  –So, when the dealer’s upcard is a five, he has a 43 percent chance of going bust. That’s more than two times out of every five. When that happens and you don’t have a strong hand, your best chance of winning is to hold tight and wait for the dealer to self-destruct.

  After the payouts were completed, the cards for the next hand were dealt. Jack and 6, total sixteen.

  The dealer’s upcard was a 7.

  The relevant corner of the tactics grid was highlighted. The symbol was H—hit.

  Another unexpected move. Balot would have felt more comfortable staying. But she knew that this was just because she had yet to fully absorb all the information that she had been taught, to assimilate it and make it her own.