Mardock Scramble

by Ubukata, Tow

  In particular, the most important new development was that they were now keeping track of every single card that was played in the course of a round.

  This was the one and only way to achieve their aim: absolute victory.

  They would memorize all the cards that had appeared so that they could work out with mathematical certainty their odds of winning. Hence the true count.

  There were six decks of cards in play in total, or 312 cards. Of those, thirty-odd would be excluded from a round because they would come below the red marker. The remaining 280 or so could be memorized, though, and if done properly the true count would be able to pinpoint the precise moment when the odds were most in Balot’s favor—the moment to strike.

  This was what Balot and the Doctor had been waiting for all along, and it was the reason they had been playing the waiting game.

  –Sooner or later the moment will definitely come. The right moment to bet everything on a single hand. Until then you need to preserve your bankroll at all costs.

  Balot squeezed her hand again—roger that.

  She turned to the Doctor.

  –Come on, Uncle! Your turn!

  “Sure, sure…”

  –No fair! Just because the other players have gone doesn’t mean you can dawdle around and hold up the game, you know!

  She knocked the Doctor’s arm as if to hurry him along. Really, though, she was thinking that they’d managed that well. In order to win through card counting they needed to get through the earlier hands as quickly as possible in order to get to the good stuff. The Doctor’s dallying was the perfect smokescreen—no one who was deliberately taking their time was likely to be a card counter.

  The Doctor raised his head and hit. He drew a 3 on fifteen, total eighteen.

  The Doctor called stay, and exhaled deeply, as if he’d struggled to make the decision.

  Balot hit on sixteen. The dealer flipped her card over: 8.

  The dealer’s upcard was a 9. It wasn’t the wrong decision for Balot to have hit—her move was tactically sound. It just didn’t help her very much; the result was that she bust, plain and simple. The cards and chips were collected, and Balot was about to take her eyes off them when Oeufcoque gave her an unusual instruction.

  –Keep your eyes glued to your losing hand.

  Balot did so, staring at the discard pile where her cards now rested.

  The dealer turned his hidden card over: 9 and 8, which made seventeen—the Doctor won the hand.

  –Try and make out that you’re somehow winning.

  –Even though I’m obviously not?

  –Yes. As if you can’t bear losing, so you’re changing the rules in your own mind so that you’re somehow winning.

  Not the easiest request in the world, and Balot had to give some thought as to how she was going to do this. But then the Doctor fed her a lifeline, almost as if he had read her mind.

  “There you are, you see? Less haste, more speed. Sometimes you do need to think about it in order to pull off a good win!”

  –Whatever. My score was higher than yours, anyway.

  “What are you talking about?”

  –I had twenty-four. You only had eighteen, Uncle.

  Balot had no idea how she’d come up with this or where she was going with it. Judging by their reactions, neither did the dealer, or indeed the Doctor.

  “Erm…you do understand the rules, don’t you, my dear? That’s not quite how the game is played.” The Doctor peered over at her, somewhat nonplussed.

  –It’s my money, I can play how I like!

  Balot tried to sound as plausibly petulant as she could. The Doctor looked over at her indulgently, turning to the dealer as he dealt the cards. I’ll humor the child, he seemed to say.

  The dealer continued to deal, his expression as serious as ever.

  Suddenly Balot felt somewhat embarrassed. Instinctively she turned to Oeufcoque to see if she had done something wrong.

  –Was there a point to that?

  –Of course.

  –What, then?

  –To manipulate the dealer.

  –How?

  –We show him just what a mysterious creature woman is.

  That didn’t really satisfy Balot—she still wanted to know how—but then it was her turn.

  Balot hit on thirteen and bust. The card that should have helped her as a player was now sticking its oar in, getting in her way. Don’t rely on the cards to help you out, even the good ones. The key to playing a steady game was never to hope for too much. Unless you expected fully to lose at any moment and could cultivate that sense of detachment, you were doomed to be led around by the nose. She had been taught this by the Doctor prematch, and she ruminated deeply on its meaning. Suddenly it came to her: was this what Oeufcoque wanted?

  –I’m supposed to try and confuse him? The dealer?

  –Exactly. I’ll tell you when and how. Be as innocent as you can. Oeufcoque spoke as if he were casually ordering her to shoot him with a gun that she held in her hand.

  Balot realized the enormity of what Oeufcoque was asking of her.

  The cards came. A queen and 6, making sixteen. The dealer’s upcard was a 10. The odds of winning at this point were severely stacked against her. The chips that she had placed—the chips she should have placed—were added to the tables on her hands, chalked up as additional losses. This was costing her dearly. But was she gaining something valuable in return?

  Certainly Oeufcoque seemed to think so—he seemed totally unconcerned by what was actually on the cards. Indeed, he actually asked Balot:

  –What sort of cards did you get?

  Oeufcoque should have known this for himself, of course, but Balot snarced the full images of the cards directly to Oeufcoque, giving him an accurate facsimile of what she saw.

  –I was actually asking for your impression of the cards, your gut reaction. Like what you wrote about the fossils in your personal dictionary.

  Balot’s mind went back to the time they were in the café together, way back before the trial.

  –The pictures are pretty. I like the black queen. The six of diamonds seems like an accessory for her to wear.

  –I want you to tell the Doctor what you’ve just told me.

  –Is that all? Anything else?

  –If you can think of anything else good to say then go for it, sure.

  The Doctor hit, and though it was a close call he was still in the game. It was Balot’s turn.

  Balot nudged the Doctor.

  –Hey, Uncle? Don’t you think the picture on this card here is really cute?

  The Doctor leaned over to inspect the queen in detail, almost as if Balot had drawn the picture on it herself. “I see what you’re talking about. Just your sort of thing, isn’t it?”

  –It goes really well with the other card. I’m not sure I want to change it.

  “I see. I think you’re right.”

  –I thought so.

  Then Oeufcoque cued her at exactly the right moment.

  –Still—

  –Still—I’d like to hit.

  The dealer was completely unprepared for this. He hadn’t spent years training for nothing, though, and he was ready with the next card, smooth as ever.

  It was a 5. Her total was twenty-one. Was this the something valuable she was getting in return for her patience? The small card that was normally so advantageous to the house had now saved the player.

  This was the pattern she had read—it was all coming together. But before she had time to react, Oeufcoque gave Balot her next instructions.

  –Look at the pictures and show that you’re unsatisfied with the card you’ve just been given. As if the drawings on the cards are all that matter.

  Balot scowled conspicuously and pointed toward the new card as if it were an unwelcome interloper.

  –What a shame! I didn’t think this would happen, Uncle. The pictures are all out of whack—they don’t match at all!

  “Do you know what? I
think you’re right about what you said earlier about not changing the pattern. You really do show talent as a budding artist.”

  –I like to think so, Uncle.

  The two of them prattled on, a truly inane conversation. Pointless. But the dealer tried to find what meaning he could in it. He looked from one face to another, trying to break down the illusion.

  Balot popped her head up.

  –Stay.

  Obviously. She hardly needed to say it, yet the dealer reacted as if he was momentarily surprised by Balot’s decision. He nodded and flipped over his own card. A face card, value ten. His total was twenty. Balot had won.

  The dealer paid out Balot’s winnings, but she left them to one side, apparently uninterested—disappointed, even—in her victory. In fact she had won twice over: once because of the hand and again because she had successfully thrown the dealer off balance. But she kept this all to herself.

  From this point onward Balot said whatever came to her mind as the cards were dealt, anything to put the dealer off the scent—and draw him further in at the same time.

  Balot said,

  –The cards are like a flock of birds in flight. I want to help them fly away to freedom.

  Balot said,

  –The cards seem a little jagged at the corners. I hope I’ll be able to smooth out their rough edges a bit.

  Balot said,

  –They seem a little soft—but maybe they’re exactly right just as they are.

  And then, –Still, I’m going to hit. And then, –Because of that, I should stay, I think. And then, –Even so, I’d like to hit, please.

  Balot could hardly work out whether she was coming or going herself. Let alone the dealer.

  The Doctor supported her act as best he could, occasionally turning to the dealer with a face that said I’ve no idea what she’s going on about either, but let’s humor her.

  –The dealer’s doing a pretty good job of keeping his cool so far, but even he won’t be able to keep it up much longer.

  Oeufcoque seemed mildly amused by his own mischief. He brought up the true count on Balot’s hand, thoroughly and accurately.

  –He thinks he has you worked out—what sort of personality you are. He has you down as a proper little spoiled princess, someone who doesn’t even have to ask before she gets. So he’s working out how to give it to you—his head’s full of just how he’s going to do that.

  Balot shrugged her shoulders. She started to appreciate just how powerful a force misdirection was.

  Basically, this dealer was exceedingly proud of the fact that he could read any customer like a book—or so he thought.

  In other words, the dealer knew that however irrationally the customer seemed to be acting, there was always a reason behind their behavior, whether it was conscious or subconscious.

  Despite his brave face, though, all the dealer had to go on at this point was the fact that Balot had suddenly gone from being more or less mute to a real chatterbox. Balot could feel his breathing rhythms start to sway, and even if Oeufcoque hadn’t been there to guide her she would have been able to work out exactly when to interject, to prod him, for maximum effect, throwing him further and further off his guard without his even realizing it.

  –Looks like clubs are my lucky suit. They’re always there for me when I need them the most.

  The Doctor nodded in agreement, showing he was in full sympathy with his “niece’s” line of thinking. “Oh, yes, it’s most important to discover your special suit. It’s a well-known fact that a particular suit can act as a mirror for your soul.”

  At this point Balot had no clubs in her hand. Only the dealer’s upcard was a club.

  Balot was presumably going to sit tight and wait, hoping for the dealer to bust. But no. The second after the Doctor said he would stay,

  –Hit.

  Balot didn’t even leave a hair’s breadth before calling out her move. The dealer’s reaction was delayed again. As if he were doing everything he could to force himself not to ask her to repeat herself because he hadn’t caught it the first time.

  The card came. A 6 on top of her thirteen. The suit was diamonds.

  The dealer was staring intently at Balot, trying to work out what was going through her mind.

  –Just as I thought, Uncle!

  That was all she had to say.

  The Doctor didn’t even seem to be paying attention to Balot’s cards at this point; he was, by all appearances, focused intently on his own game. As a result of this further misdirection, the dealer had even less to go on.

  Now Balot would take plenty of time to mull over her next hand before choosing to stay, and the dealer would flip over his hidden card with relief, as if he had finally been permitted his turn. Both his hidden card and his upcard were face cards, and the dealer won that hand. Furthermore, both his cards were clubs.

  “So close, madamoiselle, my commiserations.”

  –Oh, not to worry. My suit just took a little wander over your way, that’s all. They’ll be back in my hand before long, and in greater numbers too.

  Sure enough, that was exactly what happened in the next hand. Not that Balot had any way of planning it exactly like that, of course, but when the 2 of clubs appeared in her hand along with the ace of spades, Balot smiled as if to show her theory had been proven right. The dealer nodded in surprise but then seemed to accept her theory that clubs were just “her” suit, and appeared to relax a little. Balot decided to throw him off the scent further. She didn’t even have to wait for an instruction from Oeufcoque.

  –Then again, looking at this hand it seems that it’s spades that are coming to my rescue.

  Balot said this out loud, deliberately, as the Doctor hesitated over his choice. Then, when it was her turn,

  –Sorry to mess you around, clubs, but I think I’m going to have to hit after all.

  She drew a face card—clubs.

  –As I thought—you did come to my rescue, after all.

  She hit again, still speaking apparently to herself. This time she received a 5. Hearts.

  –Ah, finally! Thanks for dropping by.

  Still prattling inanely to herself, she chose to stay.

  –I’ve always bet on hearts, all along, but I think that this heart is particularly worth betting on.

  “Well, there’s a stroke of luck for you,” said the Doctor, ever the Doctor, as he stared intently at the dealer’s upcard.

  The dealer had a 5 and 7. He drew a picture card and bust.

  “You know, you’re exceptionally gifted at predicting the cards. Your uncle never would have guessed that one, you know,” continued the Doctor.

  –Yeah. The spade seemed to want to stick his oar in, but the heart went well with the club, so I thought it was worth betting on them to see if it would work out.

  “Hmm, I see. You’re having a conversation with the cards, you could say? Talking to them?”

  The dealer handed over her winnings with an expression that seemed to suggest that he’d rather Balot kept her conversation for people and let the cards sort themselves out.

  The game progressed along similar lines for another few hands, and then Balot had a jack and 10 appear in front of her.

  Balot now put on a triumphant air, pointing at her cards.

  –I was waiting for these! See! I knew my clubs would come crawling back to me before too long. A little too late, though, don’t you think, Uncle? I don’t really need them anymore.

  The Doctor just nodded, somewhat carelessly.

  Balot was the only one to win that hand.

  She received her winnings but pushed them over to one side, apparently uninterested by the chips—bored by them, almost.

  She could almost hear the dealer’s state of confusion cranking up a notch.

  At this point the dealer should really have given up on trying to read Balot, taken stock, and just continued with a level head; he still had the house edge on his side, after all, and it wasn’t as if the house had started losin
g heavily yet. It wasn’t even his own money that he was losing. But the dealer was determined to crack Balot, to work out what she was thinking. His smile remained, but it was growing more and more strained.

  –Does this person still want to bankrupt me, Oeufcoque?

  –It seems so. Of course, all that’s really happening is that he’s losing the plot.

  –Why is he even that bothered? It’s just a job for him, isn’t it?

  –That’s the sort of person he is, no doubt. He needs to be in control. Trouble is, the dealer doesn’t really have any direct influence over his own game. Take away the natural advantage that he has by playing to the rules and the dealer’s not much more than a bystander, after all.

  –I see that.

  –The trouble is, there are some dealers who try and use that natural advantage as a shield, stepping out of line and going over and above the call of duty to try and get more. This dealer is a perfect example of that: he’s cold, calculating, and very, very good at parting punters from their money. The corollary of this is that he needs to be in control at all times—he’s the dominating type. And that’s something that we can use to our own advantage in so many ways.

  It wasn’t long before the Doctor picked up on the turn of events and pitched in wholeheartedly to their strategy of befuddling the dealer. He nodded along at Balot’s impenetrable statements and threw back a few of his own for good measure.

  “I must say, I’m most impressed, O niece of mine. It seems like I’ve created a monster!” The Doctor praised her conspicuously and lavishly, virtually forcing the dealer to follow suit. The dealer wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be praising, of course. Before long he found himself talking in the most abstract of terms: most impressive, wonderful, how perceptive of madamoiselle.

  The game reached its middle stages, and another instruction came from Oeufcoque.

  –Try changing your posture now. When the next hand comes, cross your legs.

  Balot did as she was told, crossing her legs as soon as her second card was on the table.

  The dealer shouldn’t really have been able to see under the table, of course, but nevertheless he seemed intently focused on her actions.