by Ubukata, Tow
“Such luck you have,” said Ashley. “Its power is affecting even me.”
Balot and the Doctor were progressively raising their bets. To the dealer, it should have been a pivotal moment. But Ashley’s management of the cards was undisturbed, leaving no openings for attack. He seemed to be taking their hands and instantly ripping them to shreds.
“I’ve never met a player who could rival my luck. That’s why the casinos treat me like the door to the vault. But maybe this time, someone has come holding the key.”
Ashley kept repeating that word, luck, luck, but Balot and the Doctor didn’t think—not even for an instant—that this had anything to do with luck or chance.
Maybe this man had the singular ability to arrange the deck in such a way that the outcome would be inevitable.
A shuffle that could manipulate the order of over three hundred cards—that would be a skill with a singular purpose.
There was no sign of marked cards hidden at the bottom of the card shoe.
It would also explain why he had opened new decks. Unsealed cards could be in any order, but if he knew the order the cards came in, he could potentially arrange the cards using his particular technique. Granted, it was hard to believe such a technique could exist.
But the real problem was what that technique would bring. Their fatigue would build and build, and eventually they would be sent away. But if the casino’s orders were to retake her chips, he wouldn’t have a way to do so.
Why didn’t he have a method to force the players to lose? Was he trying to tell them that they were free to leave now without consequence? Balot didn’t know—and she could sense Oeufcoque wanting to ask the same questions. If Ashley wasn’t setting some trap, then wasn’t he just trying not to do anything? Sure, he was like an iron wall, but he’d be nothing more.
But Balot couldn’t quit now. Just because she’d obtained one of the four chips, she couldn’t have said, Well, that’s enough for me.
The Doctor had said that memories were many-body information. They grew along with the passage of time, but at the same time, memories of one time were connected with memories of another. If Shell’s memories were divided between four chips, those memories couldn’t be reproduced without all four time lines. And if the memories couldn’t be reproduced, all they’d have is an album showing the growth process of neurons.
Their goal wasn’t that kind of analytical research—it was the details of Shell’s deeds, and without those, their entire battle—and Balot’s game—would be without meaning.
The Doctor sighed. “We may have to change our tactics.” For the first time since starting the game, he took his chips off the table. He placed half of them back down.
The cards came. Ashley’s upcard, a queen.
The Doctor had a 5 and a 7; twelve. Balot had a king and a 4; fourteen.
The Doctor hit and received an 8. His total, twenty.
“Hit.” His tone was defiant, like an underling in a gangster movie facing down the barrel of a gun, crying out, “Go ahead, shoot me!”
Ashley looked at the 8 and edged up his chin as if to say, “That’s the card you got.”
“I said hit.”
The Doctor hit his finger against the table, insisting on the card.
In the face of such reckless self-destruction, Ashley swiftly turned over the next card.
A 6.
“That’s a bust,” stated the dealer.
The Doctor shrugged. The situation was obvious. Anyone could see it. Even Ashley.
The problem was that the Doctor had exposed himself. He had called out the perfect deck. But how would their opponent move next? Everything depended on that.
Balot hit. Her card, a 6. Her total, twenty.
–Should I hit?
–Stick to the optimal tactics. Leave the attack to the Doc. Following Oeufcoque’s instructions, she stayed.
Ashley revealed his hole card: 4. With the queen, that made fourteen.
He drew another card: 2. He drew again: 4. Twenty.
“We have a push.”
This time, he spoke directly to Balot. He swept away the cards.
Calmly, the Doctor whispered, “I guess one card isn’t enough.”
It was as if hitting or staying made no difference. It was as if the order of the cards itself was undaunted.
The Doctor placed his chips, half again the amount of the previous hand.
Balot kept with her same bet. As Bell Wing quietly watched for any changes on the table, Ashley brought his hand to the card shoe and swiftly dealt the cards.
His upcard was 7. The Doctor had an 8-5, making thirteen. Balot had K-3, for thirteen.
The Doctor hit. He got a 4.
He hit again: 2. His total, nineteen.
As if it were the natural choice, he hit again. Ace. Total, twenty.
And again he hit. For a moment, Balot thought Ashley might get angry, but he didn’t. As he coolly drew the next card, he said, “Congratulations.”
It was an ace; 8-5-4-2-A-A: twenty-one.
The Doctor immediately looked over at Balot, asking without speaking, Did he do anything suspicious?
She answered with a slight shake of the head. Ashley hadn’t made the slightest indication of trickery.
“So you’ll be staying, then.”
You couldn’t draw from twenty-one. The Doctor nodded curtly.
–Hit.
Balot received an 8. Total, twenty-one.
The Doctor groaned. With his eyes, he asked Balot again, Are you sure he didn’t do anything suspicious? But Balot was just as astonished. What was going on?
“Now what?” asked Ashley. For the first time, he focused his dark brown eyes right at her. As he smiled, his eyes seemed to dissect her alive.
“That’s some technique.”
Bell Wing, who had been quietly watching the game, had spoken. “I don’t think there’s anyone who could imitate you.”
“It’s all practice.”
He turned over his hole card. A 9. Along with his 7, that made sixteen. He drew another card and slapped down the 5.
“We have a push.”
Balot felt dizzy.
Then Bell said, “This has turned into a dull forced match.”
Balot looked at the old woman, who was staring right at her.
“Rune-Balot. Are you the kind of kid who lives by listening to others?”
At first, Balot didn’t understand what the woman was talking about.
“Chips don’t mean anything to you, right? I don’t know why you’re holding back. You shot down every single last ball I threw, and now you’re subjecting me to this nonsense.”
As Bell’s words drew the girl in, Oeufcoque’s rebuttal came bubbling to the lining of her gloves.
–Focus on the game. Don’t forget, she’s with the casino too.
The cards came.
“You’re you.” Bell’s words struck right through Balot’s heart. “You don’t have to hold back for anyone. Especially in a big match like this. In a match, restraint is like shit. It stinks and it distracts you.”
Then Bell was again silent.
Once more, the Doctor carelessly hit, until finally he bust.
As if hiding behind him, Balot hit.
With a 2 and a queen, she got a 7, making nineteen. She stayed, and Ashley revealed his hole card.
With a 4 and a jack, he drew a 5, making nineteen.
Ashley’s voice, announcing the tie, seemed to come from somewhere far away.
Subconsciously, Balot bit her lip. The next hand, the Doctor once again bust himself before her turn.
Balot received a 2 and a 9. She doubled down and drew an 8. Nineteen.
Ashley’s upcard was a 9. The hole card, jack. To no one’s surprise, a push.
Again she bit her lip, hard. The next hand, the Doctor bust, Ashley revealed his hole card, and as he announced the tie, the pain of her teeth gnawing at her lip snapped her back to reality.
Slowly, she pulled her li
p from her teeth, and as she wet her lips, she felt a realization come over her. She had chosen this game. The game of whether she would live or die. And that was one answer to her question Why me?
It took a moment for Balot, distracted by those thoughts, to realize that there had been a change in the cards. The change occurred when the Doctor returned to the optimal tactics.
Balot’s eyes were focused on the reveal of the dealer’s hole card.
The upcard was a 5. The hole card, 9. He drew a 3. Seventeen.
“A loss…and a push.”
Confused, Balot checked the Doctor’s cards. Jack-3-3. Sixteen.
Balot’s cards were 5-7-5. Seventeen. Only the Doctor had lost.
Dr. Easter silently placed his next chips. Balot bit her lip again.
Ashley dealt the cards. Balot had no clear sense of his fingers. No sense of his fingers. Scathing doubt washed over her.
What am I fighting against? This man’s fingers?
If he had a gun in his hands and not cards, what would I do?
Simply stare and watch as he pulled the trigger?
For the first time since the beginning of the game, Balot sensed the cards. The stack of cards, how they were ordered. She thought again about whether the cards had been arranged into a certain order.
She heard the Doctor say, “I’ll stay.”
He had 7-6-6. Nineteen.
Ashley’s upcard, an 8.
Balot had J-3. She hit and got a 7.
The card in front of her, Balot was silent.
She felt one with the table. Her nerves spread through it, and she sensed the weight of each card upon her skin.
Speaking gently, as if inviting something, Ashley said, “Will you draw another card? Feel free to ask the man next to you, if you want him to tell you what will happen.”
Balot slowly raised her head and sensed the dealer’s presence. She wondered if drawing her senses into his fingers alone had been a part of his strategy.
Quietly, she said,
–Stay.
Ashley casually flipped over his hole card.
A 4. With 8, that made twelve. He drew an ace and then a 7.
“A loss—”
–And a push.
Balot completed his sentence. There wasn’t a meaning behind it—she just wanted to see how the dealer would react. She wanted to sense his movements, his mood, everything. Ashley shrugged.
“Precisely.”
Balot grinned at him. At first, he looked taken aback, then he returned the smile. At the same time, he swept up the Doctor’s chips.
The cards came. Ashley’s upcard, a jack.
The Doctor’s cards were 5-9. He drew an 8 and bust.
Balot kept her senses upon Ashley and transmitted everything to Oeufcoque.
On her left arm, along with the running tally of the true count, the tactical instructions, and other data, was a hastily compiled report of information on the dealer.
Balot’s cards were 8-J. Somewhere, she felt Ashley’s pulse.
–Hit.
Ashley responded without delay. His movements casual—truly, those were the iron wall.
Balot had drawn a 2.
–Stay.
Following Balot’s choice, Ashley revealed his hole card.
Two jacks—twenty.
Something was matching up, she sensed. In the following hand, the Doctor didn’t bust, but his J-8 was defeated before Ashley’s and Balot’s twenties.
“It seems like we’re starting to see whom luck favors,” Ashley said, sweeping up the cards. “Those who take even the slightest wrong turn will find themselves immediately parted from luck. She’s nearly impossible to latch on to. No one can ridicule those whom luck has deserted, for it is just that easy for her to leave you.”
He spoke as if the Doctor’s loss had been his plan all along. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for that man.
But the Doctor knew his role. He knew what he had to do.
He lowered his bets and determinedly went bust.
Balot bet the same amount again and again. The game wouldn’t end.
Ashley turned an upcard. It was a 6. The Doctor received a 3 and a 9.
“I’ll double down,” stated the Doctor, stacking his chips.
Ashley, as if faced with no other choice but to pull the trigger, handed him his card. A queen. A bust. A cruel defeat, but the Doctor didn’t seem to be concerned with what he had lost.
Balot, with a 4-7, drew a 6. Seventeen. Ashley revealed his hole card: 5-6. He drew an ace, then a 5. Push.
03
The Doctor slowly rose. He patted Balot on the shoulder and said, “I’ll leave my luck to her.”
He offered her his chips, then turned to Ashley and said, laughing, “And I’ll leave my bad luck with you.”
His actions were the turning point in the game. The order of the cards attested to it.
He retired from the game as soon as he had seen the balance in the cards—if he hadn’t hit, Balot would have won. And if he hadn’t even been there, Ashley would have had twenty-one.
“From this point forward,” stated the Doctor, “I’m just an innocent bystander. Well, a bystander who has an effect on the game. A far-off phenomenon causing a massive local effect—a butterfly effect. And my defeat is the butterfly.”
“The butterfly?”
“It’s a metaphor for a theory of causality. A small occurrence, a butterfly flying on the eastern coast, can trigger far bigger events—a typhoon on the western shores. And I think we are about to prove the many-body problem far more clearly than it has ever been shown before.”
Ashley shrugged his shoulders with apparent disinterest.
“You’re always welcome to join back in.”
The Doctor nodded and patted Balot’s shoulder once more. His message clear: You don’t have a shield anymore. Balot looked him in the eyes and asked her most pressing question.
–Do you think I can win?
“Maybe not right away. But there’s one on his side and two on ours. With our combined luck, you’ll win for sure.”
Balot nodded. By two, he had meant Balot and Oeufcoque.
The Doctor pushed in his chair and stood behind Balot, next to Bell Wing, ready to watch over the game.
Ashley and Balot were now sitting face to face.
The crowd around the table continued to grow in size, one by one, drawn in by the spectacle.
Bell Wing had nothing left to say.
The cards were dealt. Ashley’s upcard, 6. Balot had Q-4.
So this is how the game has changed, she thought. Up until then, the cards had presented easy choices, but now that the Doctor had left his seat, she found herself faced with a tough decision.
But Oeufcoque’s tactical analysis was steadfast. All she had to do was continue onward.
She hit. A card came—2. Sixteen. Not enough.
She hit again. Ashley’s hand flashed, revealing the next card: 4.
–Stay.
Ashley kept on moving.
His hole card was a 3. He drew another and scored an ace. Twenty.
“We have a push.”
Balot steadied her breath, quietly awaiting the next hand.
Ashley’s upcard came, an ace.
Balot had an 8-3. She almost pressed on with a double down, but at the last moment, she hesitated.
Oeufcoque’s tactical analysis displayed double down, but the girl worried about not being able to draw any more cards. If only she didn’t have to draw any more. If she didn’t have to make that choice, maybe she could have found some peace of mind.
Balot focused on her cards as if she were judging the entire world in a courthouse.
Then, with the sense that she had overcome her paralyzing fear, she declared the hit. A 5 card came. She felt she had made the right decision.
She hit again. The card that came was a 5. Twenty-one.
Holding in a sudden wave of relief, she announced her stay.
Ashley t
urned over his hole card. A jack. Blackjack.
Balot groaned. The noise was soft, yet her vocal chords were taut, as if she had screamed.
Ashley announced the tie and within moments had begun the next round.
His upcard, a jack. Balot had a queen and a king.
The tactics displayed on her right arm instantly calculated her winning percentage along with her losing percentage and the amount her chips would change. Ashley’s pulse was there too, with not even the slightest fluctuation.
The dealer had squelched her brief moment of self-victory.
Or so Balot thought, as she was once again unable to move.
Balot stayed. Ashley revealed his cards. The sharp tip of the ace pointed straight at her. Blackjack.
It was her first loss. Her chips were taken away. But it was still all right. The amount she was to bet plunged lower. But it was forgivable.
Ashley’s next upcard, however, wasn’t.
An ace. Something inside Balot’s chest clenched tight, grating against her.
Balot had K-4. If she hadn’t hit earlier, she’d have a twenty-one now.
Where did I go wrong? She couldn’t hold back her thoughts. I never made the wrong decision. But what else could it be called but that?
What’s wrong is this table with this man, Ashley, standing at it. The difference of just one card was chasing her to a certain defeat.
Balot composed her feelings and hit. Her card, a 2. Sixteen.
That number weighed frightfully heavy. Her tactics called for a stay. It was displayed right next to the true count.
If she didn’t follow the tactics, what else would she follow? But the choice was heavy. Her throat quivered.
Balot stayed, and Ashley casually flipped his hole card.
A 2. With the ace, thirteen. He drew another card. Again unforgivable. It was a 5. If Balot had drawn, she would have had twenty-one.
“So sorry,” said Ashley. It was sixteen against eighteen, and Balot’s second straight loss. With a slightly trembling hand, Balot placed her next bet.
“No one can predict the future,” the Doctor spoke up. “But it can be approximated. That separates us from animals. We can think with two minds. The stale, old-fashioned, and the ever-changing new—namely, the left brain, and the right.”
He orated with the clear, resonant tone of a bystander at ease.
“Humans have cerebral hemispheres—first, because the brain’s development was too rapid for the two sides to unite. The neurons projected out from the brain stem and the spinal cord and formed the cerebral cortex, enabling a great increase in the size of the human brain.”