Mardock Scramble

by Ubukata, Tow

  It wasn’t a feeling exactly like the one she had when firing a gun, nor was it like what she felt when she was in hot pursuit of the roulette ball. It was familiar and strange all at the same time, as if there were some sort of pattern, something she was intimately familiar with, except that the stages were all mixed up. She couldn’t quite work out what it was she was trying find; it seemed to ebb and flow, appear and disappear. How to nail it? She thought deep and hard.

  By the time they had entered the middle stages of the game, the point tally had increased substantially. From plus five to plus eight, then plus eight to plus eleven.

  Got it! It was the moment the point tally had moved from plus eleven to plus thirteen.

  For the first time since the game had started, Balot acted as if she were emulating the lady, piling up her chips in a huge, haphazard stack and shoving them onto the board all at once.

  The lady noticed and looked at her. So did the dealer. Balot was riding the crest of the wave. The small cards had drawn the wave out, and now the surfing conditions were ideal for the player.

  The cards were dealt. Balot received a 9—and another 9. Her attention immediately turned to the upcard: 7. It was a close call, but she had to go for it.

  The lady hit on fifteen and bust. The Doctor had thirteen and also hit, and also bust.

  Balot touched the cards with her hands for the first time since she sat had down at the table.

  –Split, please.

  She used her index fingers on either hand to draw the two cards apart, left and right. Then she placed another pile of chips, equal to her original pile, next to one of the cards. She wasn’t so much concerned about what individual cards would come next as what the pattern was.

  The dealer drew her new cards. A jack for the card on her right.

  –Stay.

  Then, in perfect timing with her breathing, an ace for her left hand. Now she had a total of nineteen for her right hand, twenty for her left. Everyone at the table now expected Balot to win.

  –Stay.

  Balot watched carefully as the dealer turned his hidden card over. She felt the wave ebbing and flowing. Her head grew hazy, her muscles rigid.

  The dealer revealed an 8. Total fifteen. This too was part of the overall pattern—and, as the dealer was now obliged to draw another card, the wave wasn’t over yet.

  Balot closed her eyes. What’s the most important thing now? she thought.

  She wondered whether she should ask Oeufcoque for advice, but that thought was abruptly checked. The answer had been revealed to her as she opened her eyes.

  The dealer had drawn a 6. Total twenty-one—Balot’s hands had both snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. Her chips disappeared, her cards disappeared. But Balot wasn’t even watching anymore. It wasn’t as if she had anything to learn from this hand. Yet all had become clear. That was all that mattered. She felt the pattern coming together in intricate detail. It was as if the individual hands were miniatures, microcosms for the game as a whole.

  And it wasn’t possible to ignore the miniatures, to skip over the hands as if they somehow obliterated the hands that came before them. They were all interconnected.

  The losses—and the winnings—would always remain, after all…

  The dealer said something to Balot. Consoling her, perhaps. Then he carried on dealing the cards. No more inducements necessary here, his manner said. My work on this one is well and truly done.

  The point tally moved from plus six to plus ten, up to plus fourteen, then back down to plus twelve.

  Then Balot felt it again. Like a shadow in the distance, she could just sense its contours taking shape.

  Balot checked what the maximum amount was she was allowed to bet, according to Oeufcoque’s bankroll management system. Then she bet the maximum amount. The basic unit was three hundred dollars, so the upper limit was ten times that, three thousand dollars. She piled a number of chips together so that she held this total in her hand, then laid it on the table.

  The lady flinched visibly. The dealer, by contrast, showed no outward sign of interest—as was only appropriate for a dealer of his rank and training.

  The Doctor whistled appreciatively, and Balot awaited her next hand from behind her three thousand dollar fortress.

  The lady and the Doctor were each dealt a 10. The point tally moved from plus twelve to plus ten.

  Balot was dealt a 5. This added two points to the tally, bringing it back up to plus twelve.

  The point tally continued to rise as she waited for her second card.

  Balot’s second card was finally dealt: another 5.

  The point tally stood at plus seventeen, and the dealer’s upcard was a 2.

  The lady hit, drew an 8, bust.

  The Doctor hit. He had a sixteen, drew a 2, and chose to stay.

  The point tally was now plus nineteen—the highest it had been since Balot had started counting the cards. Balot’s cards were 5 and 5, a total of ten.

  The dealer turned to Balot. Balot called.

  –Double down.

  The dealer’s eyes narrowed. The lady was stunned. Balot was in fact playing by the book—it was the only sensible move, given her hand and that of the dealer’s. Still, the amount at stake was far above her previous hands… Balot struggled for a moment and had to force herself to physically pile the chips up.

  The dealer stared at the pile now on the table in front of Balot—six thousand dollars’ worth of chips. Staked it out, like a hunter his quarry. Mouth watering at the prospect of the sweet, sweet flesh that was being served up to him on a plate. His hand slid over to the card shoe. No sign of foul play—he didn’t appear to be dishing out a pre-prepared dud card from the bottom of the deck.

  The card came. For the first time since the game began, Balot actually noticed the suit of the card. It was the queen of clubs. It took her total up to twenty. This was the razor blade hidden inside the sweet flesh of the fruit…

  –Stay .

  Without further ado the dealer flipped his own card over. Ace of clubs. With his existing 2, the dealer’s total was now thirteen.

  He hit again, as prescribed by the rules. It was a 10. The ace in his hand would now be counted as a soft card, its value falling from eleven to one in order to prevent the dealer from going bust. His total now changed to a soft thirteen.

  The dealer’s fourth card would prove decisive.

  The one-eyed jack. Balot sighed a deep sigh of relief, looking at the profile of the face on the card—the black jack, who pushed the dealer over the edge and caused him to bust.

  Balot had gone with the flow. It was the only choice she could have made, really. And yet all it would have taken was for the cards to have shifted slightly, one way or another, and she would have been beaten.

  As it was, she’d won.

  “Wow! What a hand! Is my little niece secretly a magician or something?” The Doctor made a great fuss over Balot’s victory—the perfect smokescreen.

  Balot lifted her head toward him.

  –I just thought that my luck was about to turn, Uncle. Just like the nice lady over there said. I was a little scared, though!

  Balot did everything she could to imitate the mannerisms of the lady, and indeed this served perfectly to throw the dealer off the scent. After all, hadn’t he just influenced the lady to play recklessly? The lady was even more impressed when the dealer pushed over the two piles of six thousand dollars toward Balot: the original stake and the winnings. The lady was caught up in the moment completely now and practically threw her next lot of chips at the table. She was betting in increments of a thousand dollars at a time. And if she truly thought that her moment had come, that victory was just around the corner—well, who knew how much she would start betting? One thing was for sure, though: the dealer was on his way to find out. He had her wrapped around his little finger and insinuated himself further and further into her mind, consoling her when she lost, praising her on the increasingly rare occasions that she wo
n, all the while dishing out his advice.

  The dealer said, “Lady Luck seems to be playing a fickle game tonight, madam. I have a feeling that the person who invests the most in their cards is likely to come out on top in the end.”

  The dealer said, “Everyone wants to be in a good position to take advantage of their lucky streak when it comes. Be sure not to let yours slip from your fingers.”

  The dealer said, “Victory is such a subjective concept. Everyone should set their own definition of ‘victory,’ and aim always for that.”

  The lady, in turn, would throw back questions at the dealer, only to have them answered in the dealer’s smooth, inimitable way.

  “Do you think I’m playing in a way that’s keeping my lucky streak at bay?”

  “It’s difficult to say, madam, as only you know for sure exactly how far away you are from being able to ride your own lucky streak. It’s like being with a lover—only you can know how close you really are to them.”

  “Ah, yes. Like when you only realize your true feelings for them after you’ve left them and the moment has passed.”

  “Exactly, madam. And, forgive me for saying so, but it seems that as a woman of the world, you’re experienced enough to know your own feelings.”

  Even as the dealer was replying, the lady had another fistful of chips in her chubby hands, ready to continue.

  –He’s not bad.

  Oeufcoque’s tone of voice was that of a professional athlete praising the winner at a junior sports day.

  –He’s got natural talent, I’ll give him that. He smells as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world that he’s able to manipulate people.

  –You mean through the double bind and preying on people’s breathing patterns?

  –Yes, that, but other techniques too. He knows what he’s doing, all right.

  –Other techniques?

  –His choice of words. “Tonight,” “in the end,” that sort of thing. It’s distracting her completely from her bankroll. Classic misdirection. What it comes down to, though, is that he’s using any means possible to get her to bet more and more of her chips. His metaphor of a lover was a good one. She swallowed it hook, line, and sinker—the idea that the only way she’ll get the chips back is if she puts out…

  –Yes, I can believe that about her…

  –It could even be that she’s experienced just the reverse of that in real life and is now subconsciously trying to put something right the second time around. The dealer is proving an affirmation of that, making her relax her grip on her chips. A simple type of manipulation, but effective nonetheless.

  –So you’re saying that the dealer is good with words, and that’s why he’s winning?

  –Words, yes, but that’s only one part of the picture. What he’s doing is selling a dream, a fantasy. He’s taking what’s in their minds and encouraging them to try and turn it into reality.

  Before too long the lady did manage to win big on a hand. For a moment, her fantasy had been fulfilled. She won $7,500, but more importantly she was now in a trance, almost an ecstatic state. As if the lover that she had reluctantly parted company with when he hadn’t two cents to rub together had now returned to her as a multi-millionaire and conquering hero.

  As the game entered its final stages, the old man who had been playing until recently returned to stand behind the lady and watch her play.

  It was almost as if the old man had placed the lady there so that she could lose. His pride was an immovable boulder on this point; when he wasn’t there to support her, she was helpless. This was how it was, and how it should be.

  Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean—and so betwixt the two of them they licked the platter clean.

  This was the sort of couple they were.

  The red marker appeared and the round came to a close. The woman staggered to her feet. Her face looked thoroughly satiated.

  She was spent.

  “A good evening to you all,” she bid them.

  The Doctor replied in kind, “Good evening, madam. I guess we two will have to be the last ones here, with only the cards to keep us company.”

  The lady smiled, still in high spirits. “I’m afraid I’m through for the night. Though I’m sure the cards will keep calling me back—I do love them so.”

  Cards probably weren’t the only things that she loved, of course.

  Balot politely bid the lady good night and turned her attention to the tables on her left hand.

  The lady had lost well in excess of a hundred thousand dollars. As she had been destined to do from the start.

  Balot wiped the lady’s data from her hand in order to make way for information that would be more useful at this stage.

  “Well, well. It looks like it’s just us now. But we’re still good to enjoy a game with you, right, Marlowe?” The Doctor spoke to the dealer as if he were an old friend, not someone he had just met for the first time a short while ago.

  “Of course, sir. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” The dealer was as friendly as ever with his banter, but as he shuffled in preparation for the next round, he glanced at his wristwatch. How long would he need to serve these two up on a plate? Then he turned back to look at Balot and the Doctor. Oeufcoque would have picked up instantly on the look of deep greed—desire, even—that twinkled at the back of the dealer’s eyes. Balot noticed it too.

  Balot focused on sensing what the dealer was trying to do with the shuffle. His fingers were moving smoothly, deliberately, creating intricate patterns. Patterns that represented the dealer’s will, as he manipulated the rules, stacking the odds in his favor. This must have been the intangible sense of unease that Balot had felt ever since sitting down at the table.

  –I can feel it, Oeufcoque.

  –Feel what?

  –This dealer isn’t just shuffling the cards.

  –You mean he’s manipulating their order?

  –He’s changing the way he shuffles them according to which customer he’s targeting.

  –I doubt that even he could memorize the entire contents of the card shoe, though.

  –Maybe not. But he is at least thinking about the patterns of play, I’m sure of it.

  –You think you know what the dealer’s plan is?

  –Pretty sure.

  –Really?

  Oeufcoque’s reply came from within the glove. He seemed impressed—amazed, even. Balot nodded in confirmation, then realized that she had done so in reality, not just in her heart. Hurriedly she made a shaking movement with her head to cover it up, and it seemed that she succeeded. She continued her conversation with Oeufcoque, more carefully this time.

  –Not in terms of exact facts and figures like you, of course. Just in a general sense.

  –Enough to put it to use to your advantage?

  –I just tried it out back then. I was right half the time. With a bit more practice, I think I’ll get even better.

  –Right, then. I’ll do what I can with the numbers and the dealer’s odor. You use your senses. We’ll use our combined skills to ramp things up and move on to the next stage. Are you ready?

  For a moment Balot thought she could hear Oeufcoque’s growly laughter.

  Laughter that suggested a hint of mischief—but laughter that she could rely on.

  Balot nodded. Firmly inside her heart, this time.

  The dealer had finished shuffling and had stacked the mountain of cards into a neat pile. He turned to Balot. For a second she had no idea what he wanted, and then it dawned on her: the red marker was held toward her, neatly, for her to take.

  For the second time since taking her seat at the table, Balot received the transparent red card for her to place in the deck as she pleased.

  She focused her attention on the pile of cards and felt a certain something that seemed to emanate from one point. She slipped the marker right in at that exact place.

  The dealer cut the cards one last time, smoothly as ever, then placed the cards in
the card shoe. Balot felt the movement ever so keenly; it was as if she had set off a little ripple that could now spread out across the whole pattern, and more importantly, the dealer responded to that ripple—to its influence—when he cut the cards.

  –We’re taking our system through to the end, it looks like. Best tell the Doctor that we’re moving into the final stage.

  Balot squeezed back at the words as they emerged in her hand. Affirmative.

  –Uncle, I have a feeling that I’m going to win big this time. My lucky streak is about to arrive, I’m sure of it.

  “Dear, dear, and the game’s hardly even begun…” The Doctor wrung his hands, skillful as ever in his portrayal of the part of the indulgent uncle who was now gently exasperated at his young charge’s impatience. He looked like he was surrendering.

  His eyes, though, told a different story as he caught Balot’s own eyes for an instant. Then they went back behind the smokescreen.

  “Well, then, we’ll have to get serious! Let’s see who can win the most—you or me!”

  That was the cue for them both to bring their chips to the table.

  The dealer smiled and checked their chips before dealing out the cards with the utmost care.

  The game had begun. The game that Balot was going to win.

  05

  –I’m now going to display the true count.

  The display on Balot’s left hand transfigured again. Another level of detail had been added. More numbers, the fluctuations in the count. In terms of the quantity of displays, there was now actually slightly less to take in—the other players’ data was no longer there—but the numbers that remained were now of another order of complexity, far beyond the computational power of the average person.

  The point tally was no longer a simplistic one or two points at a time, either.

  A 9 was now minus one, a 10 worth minus three and an ace minus four. The other numbers, too, were assigned values between plus and minus four. The resulting tally would then be used as a coefficient to other factors, namely the number of cards already played compared to the number left. The result of these calculations would in turn produce the ultimate optimized betting strategy.