Mardock Scramble

would have liked you to meet him.”

Balot gave a small nod. She didn’t press them for the details of how this person that they held in such high regard was killed by OctoberCorp. It would be an impudent intrusion into a sacred place in their hearts. But something did suddenly occur to her, and she asked it.

–Did your professor like to gamble?

“He was invincible!” the Doctor replied without hesitation.

That’s what I thought. Balot nodded.

?

After Balot returned to her room she took another, thorough, shower, then dressed up.

This time the choker was still a Made by Oeufcoque, but it was just an ordinary electronic voice box. Lastly, Balot took Oeufcoque in her hands and brought an image to mind. A soft pair of gloves to cover both my hands. Oeufcoque’s body distorted with a squish, and in a flash he was wrapped around her fingers. The gloves extended up her arms and met behind her shoulders.

A gap opened where the two gloves met, and Balot slowly pulled her hands apart. The gloves separated neatly, and at the same time an Oeufcoque-style design rose to the fore. He must have been paying attention to the eCatalogue, as Balot only needed to make two or three minor alterations to the design before she was satisfied with her look.

She waited in the lobby for the Doctor, and when he emerged he was the very embodiment of someone who has lived in the amusement world for far too long and forgotten what normalcy was.

He wore a long cowboy-style coat topped by a mafioso scarf. His hair was dyed a glossy silver, and it was slicked back. His heels clicked as he swaggered toward reception to deposit his key, and he really did look as if he were ready to head on out for a proper night on the town.

The two of them stepped out of the motel to wait out front. Before long the limousine arrived to pick them up, right on time.

It was hardly her first time in a limousine, but Balot suddenly felt tense nonetheless.

“Right, let’s go. Balot?” The Doctor tapped her shoulder lightly. It’s time to put on your act, he was saying.

–Okay.

Balot nodded as she touched the electronic voice box on her choker. The limousine driver had a pleasant smile underneath his short-brimmed hat as he opened the back door for her. Balot climbed in and called out to the Doctor.

–Aren’t you getting in, Uncle?

If Balot found it funny to refer to him in this way, she did a good job of keeping it secret.

The Doctor got in the car and the driver closed the door behind him. Then the driver sat down in his seat, and the car drove off.

The Doctor’s voice echoed around the car for the duration of the ride to the casino. As if to say I’m going to show you both just what sort of player I am. Balot added little to the conversation and mostly nodded. She played the part of the niece who had come to the big city to experience the bright lights and was being well looked after by her uncle. She exuded the easy confidence that came with having relatives living in the high-class Senorita District, at the foot of the rolling hills.

Before long the limousine stopped outside the casino entrance. Right next door was a large hotel. Beyond that were other large and impressive buildings: conference facilities, the headquarters of a number of prominent organizations. There were also TV and radio stations. The pleasure quarter spread all around.

The Doctor handed the driver a hundred-dollar bill and told him that he’d call the office to order their return limousine when they were ready.

The truth was different. The Doctor pointed toward the casino parking lot, a mischievous grin on his face. A familiar red convertible was waiting there. “I asked one of the Broilerhouse staff to have it ready for us there last night.”

Balot was genuinely impressed. The Doctor always planned these things down to the last detail.

“Now, let’s go and have some fun.” The Doctor accompanied Balot to the entrance.

The tension that Balot had felt while she was waiting for the limousine to arrive seemed to disappear.

Above the grand entranceway that faced the strip was a sign in the shape of a giant egg, inscribed with the casino’s name: EGGNOG BLUE.

The egg was split down the middle, with a 3-D digital display of chips pouring forth.

As they passed under the entrance, they felt an unusual sensation. They realized immediately what it was.

They’d had their possessions scanned in an instant. Infrared, surveillance cameras, X-ray imaging—had they been carrying anything undesirable, it would have been spotted immediately and they would have been intercepted.

The casino didn’t let anything slip through. Not that this seemed to bother the Doctor, who walked straight in with easy assurance.

It was a large casino. There was a long corridor that led to the hotel next door and a winding pathway that led to a children’s amusement park. There was also an indoor shopping court, its walls lined with giant television screens that showed the entertainment—boxing matches and magic shows.

Balot had been inside this casino a number of times before, but always on Shell’s arm, and with the Doctor by her side pointing out this and that, it was almost as if she were visiting it for the first time.

From the gaudy entrance to its decor, the casino was clearly designed to be welcoming to the masses, a family-friendly joint rather than one that catered to a minority of shadowy, elite big spenders. The theory, with legal casinos at least, was that those that catered toward ten thousand customers each spending a hundred dollars were more likely to thrive than those who went after the one high roller who spent a million. Eggnog Blue was a case in point: the joint was buzzing.

The Doctor walked briskly through the hall that was kitted out for the out-of-towners and their offspring, paying only the slightest attention. This was the Doctor, after all, and he knew exactly where he was going without having to refer to a map.

The clamor grew. Any illusions that the casino would be experiencing some sort of early-afternoon lull were dispelled by the roar of activity.

There was a dazzling array of slot machines as far as the eye could see.

The room they were now in was filled neatly with rows upon rows of machines that covered the whole gamut: from five-cent cheapies to machines for the high rollers that only accepted hundred-dollar coins.

–Amazing… Balot said—there was such an uproar that she almost forgot why she was here.

“You fancy a go, do you?” the Doctor asked.

Balot nodded, true feelings to the fore.

Balot followed the Doctor through the gaps between the slot machines, as varied in size, shape, and color as the ammonites that she was so fond of. Electronic noises buzzed all around, and here and there wailed the sound of a siren—a bit like a fire engine—accompanied by the shouts of joy of men and women of all ages as they hit pay dirt. Whenever there was a major payout, a light on top of the winning machine would flare up like a police siren light, and a throng of people would congregate around the winner to offer conspicuous congratulations. Balot thought that the wave of excitement caused by the electronic sounds and the jangling of coins as they poured out of the machines were enough to give anyone a headache.

The Doctor collected a number of different types of chips at the reception counter and passed some of them to Balot.

Then he took his twenty-dollar bills and bundled them up.

“The first thing to do is soak up the atmosphere. Get used to things, ride the wave. A bit like surfing.” So saying, the Doctor tripped off to check out the slot machines with a haste that would have been ill-advised had there been any real waves around.

At the back of the hall were a number of real AirCars and other luxury vehicles, with a sign above reading: