Mardock Scramble

minute,” she murmured.

To whom? To the old man, of course. “Well, why don’t you give your luck a run for its money, then,” he replied, a broad, generous smile covering his face.

He had given his permission.

The woman grabbed a pile of chips with her chubby fingers. Where from? The old man’s basket of chips, of course.

–I see…

Balot snarced Oeufcoque, almost unthinkingly.

–So that’s how she does it. I did wonder how she was able to bet so much without worrying.

–Ah, so you’ve realized what was bankrolling her bankroll?

–Is that why you chose the old man to leave the table first?

–Naturally.

–No fair!

She felt Oeufcoque chuckling somewhere at the back of her hand.

Balot had got it all wrong. At first she thought that the old man was being paraded about by the younger lady, the helpless gent reliant on the woman’s kindness. But that was all an act that he put on for her sake; in reality, she was the one who was utterly dependent on him.

–Don’t be too hard on yourself, Balot. You worked it out for yourself and pretty quickly too. That’s impressive—you’re allowed to give yourself a little pat on the back once in a while, you know, particularly when you deserve it.

In other words, the plump lady didn’t have any chips of her own. Only those that she was allowed to play with. The dealer knew this all too well—it would have been one of the first things he worked out. And that’s where he was targeting his manipulative inducements.

“It’s funny—I can feel that I’m about to start winning, but I never quite seem to get there…” the woman grumbled.

The dealer consoled her with platitudes. “Perhaps we haven’t quite served enough time at the game for the cards to start taking a liking to us yet, madam?”

“What do you think I need to do in order to start winning more?”

“My best advice is to try out a number of different things for yourself, all the while taking advice from a player who knows the game well,” replied the dealer.

On the surface the scene seemed straightforward—a case of the dealer gently flattering his two customers. This was only the tip of the iceberg, though; much more was going on under the surface.

–The dealer is appealing to the old man’s sense of chivalry. He’s being set up as the white knight in shining armor, with the woman being set up as the damsel in distress.

This was Oeufcoque’s analysis of the scene as it played out.

–The dealer didn’t really have to do much to make things go his way. The old man already felt chivalrous, and the woman has long suffered from damsel-in-distress syndrome. There were plenty of opportunities for the dealer to hand them the poisoned apple.

–But the old man’s been contradicting the dealer!

–That’s all part of the dealer’s plan…

–What do you mean?

–The dealer’s deliberately been feeding him half-mistakes, getting the old man to correct him. In doing so, the words are coming out of the old man’s mouth. It’s much easier to get him to act accordingly. After all, if the old man is the one saying the words, he’s hardly going to expect that they’ve been planted in his mouth. He thinks he’s acting of his own free will, but really he’s at the dealer’s beck and call.

Balot’s head started to spin. She couldn’t help but be impressed at how meticulously the dealer had planned the whole situation.

Not only that, to look at him you wouldn’t have the slightest inkling that he was being so manipulative. Ingenious.

–Now then, back to our little game. Let’s see how it’s progressing.

Oeufcoque was talking about the game where they guessed who would leave the table first, of course, not the card game.

–I still think it’ll be the woman.

Balot stuck to her guns. The old man might have been passing on some of his chips to the woman, but he showed no sign of running out anytime soon. And if the old man’s pride was indeed the key to the dealer’s success in manipulating him, well, wouldn’t that very same pride ensure that he wouldn’t run out of chips in the near future?

Before long the game was over—the red marker card appeared again, just at a point when the dealer had bust. There was a pause. Just as Balot thought, the old man still had his large pile of chips intact.

“Hmm, couldn’t quite increase my pile as quickly as I would have liked,” said the old man, apparently out of nowhere. As he did so he called over one of the attendants to have him fetch his hat and coat. It was all Balot could do not to show her disbelief on her face.

The old man rose. He did have plenty of chips left, of course. But—incredibly, to Balot—he passed them all over to the lady. Grinning, the lady took hold of them all. The old man was telling the whole table, in deed and in word, that he’d had his fill of fun for the day. Then he sauntered over to the bar.

–The inevitable conclusion for a proud player. He knows himself well enough, including his own limits. Rather than tire himself out, carry on past the point of his concentration, and start losing, he’d rather quit while he’s ahead. He presents his lady with her bounty, the spoils of his conquest, then withdraws while the going is still good, his head held high.

Balot was stunned. She hadn’t even considered the old man’s psychology, his inner workings. It was only now that Oeufcoque pointed all this out that she started to wonder how the old man had come to be with the lady in the first place—what he offered her and what he sought from her in return.

–So, how did you enjoy our little game?

–Not much. I didn’t win either time.

–Still, it’s fulfilled its objective.

–Objective?

–You were talking to me, focusing on our little side bet, which meant that your mind was taken off the dealer’s wiles. I was concerned that he might have left a powerful impression on you otherwise—one that might have distracted you from our ultimate goal.

Balot had had an inkling all along that this was what Oeufcoque had been doing, but now that he had confirmed it to her so bluntly she wasn’t really sure what to say to him. As she searched for the words, Oeufcoque continued in a somewhat mischievous tone.

–You see, when it comes to influencing you, I’ve got a massive advantage over the dealer. He doesn’t have any way of speaking to you directly, after all.

Balot’s brow wrinkled ever so slightly at Oeufcoque’s tactlessness.

–There’s no need to tease me about it.

–The thing is, now that you know how this sort of manipulation works, you’re going to be on the lookout for it. It’s going to be much easier for you to resist. Not only that, if you play your cards right— metaphorically as well as literally—then you’ll be able to turn the tables, work out exactly what the dealer is trying to do, and use it to manipulate him.

Oeufcoque casually added a throwaway remark:

–Because neither the Doctor nor I would be able to manipulate the dealer in the way that we’ll need to in order to win big.

This wasn’t a question of impressions or influence or manipulation anymore. Neither was it a matter of whether what they were doing was right or wrong—it wasn’t a big deal, in the grander scheme of things. The only really important question now was this: was Balot up to the task?

–I want to believe you, Oeufcoque. Both you and the Doctor. Is that a bad thing? Am I