Mardock Scramble

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