Mardock Scramble

assigned values between plus and minus four. The resulting tally would then be used as a coefficient to other factors, namely the number of cards already played compared to the number left. The result of these calculations would in turn produce the ultimate optimized betting strategy.

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 cafe 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