Mardock Scramble

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 card 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.