Mardock Scramble

–All we need now is a couple more good chances and you should be able to pin it down.

By “it,” Oeufcoque of course meant the thing that they had come to this casino for. The four million-dollar chips. The Doctor’s instructions came to mind again—they must steal the yolk without touching the white or the shell.

The payout came. Between them Balot and the Doctor were looking at over half a million dollars. The plump lady might have lost big to the house, but in one fell swoop Balot and the Doctor had won almost five times as much from the casino.

–See, it’s like I said. Stop being stingy with your chips, and they stop being stingy to you!

Balot grinned cheekily, as if to say that this was only natural.

–But it’s going to be a little tricky now, isn’t it, Uncle? With all these chips cluttering up the table, I mean.

“Fine, well, once we manage to win a bit more we can exchange our chips for larger denominations.”

–Okay, Uncle! We’ll just have to win some more then!

“Sure. I think that if we could double what we have now then that ought to do it.”

That bizarre conversation out of the way, Balot gave a convincing show of bracing herself for the next set of cards. Likewise the Doctor.

The dealer stared at the pair of them in shock, as if they had each just grown a pair of wings.

–Now we need to make sure this dealer stays put at this table.

Instructions from Oeufcoque flashed up.

–We need to convince the house that we’re a useful set of customers, ready to be milked for all we’re worth. Otherwise they might switch dealers on us or even ask us to leave the casino.

At this point Balot noticed that the dealer was listening to instructions being sent to him through his earpiece. It seemed that the dealer had asked an attendant for more chips, and that the attendant reported this back to the floor manager. The dealer was being subjected to a lecture from an authoritative-sounding voice.

The floor manager’s analysis was that the pair at the table were probably ordinary punters, high rollers who had somehow slipped through the net of the casino’s usually comprehensive VIP screening. But until their identities could be confirmed for sure, the dealer’s orders were to try and contain them. Keep the bets as low as possible, set a house maximum limit, and distract them with prizes and trinkets—free-stay coupons at the hotel, first-class plane tickets, and whatnot. Balot, though, had no intention of being contained by such things. She had to come up with a plan. She thought about what her opponent wanted. How she could act as if she were about to fulfil their needs.

–Hey, Uncle? Why don’t we play a different sort of game now? First to use up all their chips?

Balot gave her best impression of a spoiled brat who always got her way, however capricious.

“Come again?”

–A battle between me and you. First to get rid of all their chips wins.

The Doctor was visibly stunned. As was the dealer. “That’s not, er, what this game is really about, you know? Or rather, I should say that’s not how you play at a casino…” said the Doctor.

–What about lowball poker, then? When the weakest hand is the winner?

“Well, sure, but even then, the aim is still to win the chips…”

–But it’s so boring right now!

“Well, then, if you insist, why don’t we go for something like a high-low split? First to either reach the target or get rid of all their chips wins? If you manage to beat me I’ll buy you whatever you want on the way home.”

–You’re on, Uncle! I’m going to thrash you!

The conversation had taken such a strange turn that the dealer had to struggle to keep up. But at least one thing was clear.

“We’ve got a pair of easy marks here, sir. Sitting ducks,” the dealer whispered into his earpiece in a voice that was inaudible to Balot and the Doctor—or rather, would have been inaudible if not for Balot’s powers. Balot understood that she and the Doctor were angels, the answer to all the dealer’s prayers, for he would be able to get what he wanted from them—his marks. Balot felt the last twinges of pity for this man disappear. If he saw her as no more than a pigeon to be plucked, she’d deliver the same back to him, with interest.

–Well played.

Oeufcoque’s words floated up on her hand, and she squeezed back at them as she placed her chips for the next hand. The Doctor placed his chips too. The dealer never did get around to setting that house maximum; he was trapped in a quagmire of his own making.

–This dealer already has one foot in the grave as far as this casino is concerned.

Oeufcoque was providing a commentary now.

–Not only that, it’s the foot in the grave bearing his weight at the moment. This dealer is no longer acting like an employee should. He’s taking this personally. He’s forgotten all his responsibilities and duties as an employee.

Indeed, the man in front of Balot, Marlowe John Fever, now had eyes for one thing and one thing only: to bring down Balot and the Doctor, even if it took all the chips in the casino to do it.

–Right, we’re going to divide our strategy into three parts.

Oeufcoque had the measure of the dealer now and dictated a new course of play. The bankroll was divided into three piles. The tactical grid on Balot’s left hand split into three distinct tables, each showing their own sets of figures.

–We’ll make tactical adjustments on a hand-by-hand basis.

The idea was to divide Balot’s chips into three piles and to treat each pile as if it belonged to a different player. The first would be the sacrificial victim to pave the way for the other two. The second would perform a supporting task, gradually building up something of a bankroll. The third was there to deal the knockout blow when the time was just right.

Balot also had to signal the Doctor’s moves too, so there were four lines of tactics in play at any given time.

Balot had her hands full. It was true that her newly expanded bankroll gave her some breathing space, but the sort of tactics she was now attempting were far beyond the reach of a normal human being. It was only because Oeufcoque was with her that she’d be able to perform the sort of complex calculations that were needed to pull it off—all without the dealer being able to see through her plan.

The game progressed, Balot winning steadily all the while. Just as they entered the final stages Oeufcoque gave another instruction.

–Time to give the dealer a bit of a jolt, I think. We can’t have him get too coolheaded.

For this was indeed what had been happening as the game had started to calm down again.

–What should I do?

The answer to Balot’s question was a tough one to swallow.

–You really think I should say something like that?

–I do. The time is ripe.

Having received her orders, Balot gauged her timing, and when the moment was right she tapped the Doctor’s arm.

“What is it?”

Balot left the slightest of pauses before unleashing the words that cut like a knife: