Chapter 7

ROTOR

01

Balot was close to tears.

As a result, she didn’t even notice that Oeufcoque had woken up and that his capsule was open.

Such was the intensity of the Doctor’s training program. On gambling.

The basics she learned fromthe legal eCasinos, and she was introduced to all sorts of games.

The eCasinos had their own individual variations on the rules, and Balot learned about the various

discrepancies. Everything was reinforced further through a number of practice hands with the Doctor.

Blackjack, baccarat, poker, high-ball, low-ball, high-low split. On top of that, she also learned the ins and

outs of wheel of fortune, roulette, and the slot machines.

So far so good. But this was where the Doctor’s lecture really started.

“Right.” The Doctor started writing on a blank form, gleefully scribbling down some formulae and

drawing up a table. “Let’s talk game theory. As we have seen, with a finite game it’s possible to express

everything in normal-form. For a finite zero-sum game, we represent everything in normal-form and then

work out what sort of strategy the other players are likely to employ—this would seem the logical way to

approach things. So, let’s examine the logical criteria and try and work out where the game’s equilibrium

lies.”

Creases appeared above Balot’s eyebrows, and she nodded. The Doctor was trying to teach her

something. How to win at gambling. The problemwas that she had absolutely no idea what he was talking

about. Still, she listened as best she could.

“So, let’s express this normal-form game as a payoff matrix. We a.s.sign the numbers 1 to n to your

various strategies, and on the other side we do the same for my strategies. This way we can clearly

demonstrate through the matrix how your decision influences my payoff, and vice versa. Logically, each

player should take the action that maximizes his potential payoff. In other words, you can think about all

sorts of possible moves, but in the end the matrix will reveal your optimal strategy. This is what we call

equilibriuma.n.a.lysis.”

As the Doctor spoke he wrote down a list of letters of the alphabet. Letters with numbers beside them.

The plus and minus symbols were fine, easy enough to follow. But then all sorts of other symbols started

appearing, and Balot soon lost track of what they meant, or whether the letters meant anything or whether

they were code for something else…

“But what happens when the players have the opportunity to cooperate? Let’s take a look at so-called

cooperative games. The theory is simple. The player’s obvious strategy will be to choose one of a number

of finite moves, taking into consideration the logical move that the other player is likely to make so that

they can optimize their mutual payoff.”

Balot was starting to feel that the Doctor was becoming ever-so-slightly ostentatious in his display of

knowledge. But she kept at it, listening as intently as she could.

“So, if we take a subset from our payoff matrix and apply this procedure to it then we can see that the

outcome is going to be different when collusion is involved—that’s what a cooperative game means. It’s

a so-called special function: you pa.s.s the variable n to the collaborator, and that special function is then

fixed on a unique value.”

Balot watched the swarm of symbols as they emerged from the Doctor’s hand, and wondered how

much of this it would ever be possible for her to learn. She hoped that she would at least be able to

understand something of his final conclusion when he did arrive at it, but at the moment she didn’t even

know how to look out for that.

As this was going on, Oeufcoque was inside his capsule, waiting for the liquid to evaporate. Once it

had, he turned back into his customary shape of a golden mouse and struggled his way out of the capsule.

He landed on the bed and turned part of his fur inside out to make a pair of his usual pants. Then he

pottered off toward the sound of conversation.

Sheets of paper covered in numerical formulae were littered about the floor, and Oeufcoque stepped

over these, looking at the numbers as he pa.s.sed them. Before long he arrived at the scene of the crime and

the source of the paper.

Oeufcoque sniffed the air, as if something were burning, and sighed deeply. He pa.s.sed under the

Doctor, who was in the middle of another animated explanation, and hopped onto the table via the chair.

“What are you hoping to achieve by throwing a whole load of economic theory at a fifteen-year-old

girl, Doctor?” said Oeufcoque. The Doctor and Balot raised their heads simultaneously. “This might be

your field of expertise, Doc, but try not to lord it over the girl too much—you’ll give her an inferiority

complex. And Balot—you don’t have to put up with this, you know. Don’t be a martyr. What are you

trying to do—experience the prisoner’s dilemma with your own body?”

Having rebuked themboth, Oeufcoque sat down on top of the sheets of paper that covered the tabletop.

“Greetings, Oeufcoque. You’re awake earlier than I expected. The latest technology from Paradise

seems to have come on a bit since we were last there.”

Oeufcoque shrugged his shoulders. “So, what’s been going on?”

The Doctor brought him up to date, explaining what Balot had discovered while she was at Paradise

and the conclusions that they had come to. All through the Doctor’s exposition, Balot’s eyes were cast

down. She was terribly nervous. Oeufcoque was in easy reaching distance, but she couldn’t even turn to

face him.

“Well, putting aside the fact that Balot is now a suspect for crimes against the Commonwealth—a fact

that we’ll revisit later, Doctor, don’t think I’m letting that one pa.s.s—surely there’s a better way of

preparing Balot for certain victory at the gaming table than to throw a whole load of numbers at her? Isn’t

that right, Balot?”

Balot’s body jolted.

Oeufcoque and the Doctor looked at her in mild surprise. Balot tried to answer. Something casual. But

the words just wouldn’t come forth.

Balot just sat there staring at the table, trying to make herself seem as small as possible, retreating into

herself.

Oeufcoque and the Doctor let her be. There were no forceful reproaches, no What do you want? or If

you have something to say then say it.

“I hope you’ll find it in yourself to forgive me,” Oeufcoque said suddenly. “For sleeping through the

worst of it, while you were making difficult choices.”

Hurriedly, Balot shook her head.

The Doctor asked Oeufcoque a question, as if to rea.s.sure Balot. “How are you doing now,

Oeufcoque?”

“I probably shouldn’t strain myself by turning too vigorously, but if it’s just a matter of helping Balot

learn to win at cards then I’mwell up for it.”

Then Oeufcoque walked over to Balot so that he stood right in front of her eyes. “Would you mind if I

hopped on your shoulder?”

Balot stared at Oeufcoque. Her vision started to blur. She nodded, and tears started to fall. She

covered her face with both hands, and Oeufcoque reached out to touch her with his paw.

“I’ll put the coffee on.” The Doctor rose fromhis seat.

Timidly, Balot opened her hands and extended one of themto Oeufcoque.

–Can I touch you?

“Sure.” Oeufcoque jumped onto Balot’s palm. Balot lifted Oeufcoque up, brushing him against her

face before placing himon her shoulder.

–Will you stay bymyside? Just for now?

“Of course.”

–I’m so sorry, Oeufcoque.

“I’mfine.”

There were no more words. Balot was doing everything she could to suppress the turbulent emotions

that were now bubbling up inside her, and she was desperately trying to stop herself from involuntarily

snarcing themto Oeufcoque.

The Doctor returned and laid the cups of coffee out neatly. There was even a tiny cup for Oeufcoque.

The Doctor and Oeufcoque waited patiently for Balot to regain her composure.

After that, they made their plans. They decided who was going to play what role, and how best to act.

They went through every possible scenario they could imagine, and the Doctor agreed to synthesize it

all into one master plan.

When that was over, Balot prepared dinner. They all sat around the table, making small talk. About

what they were going to do next. After this case was solved.

No one said anything decisive, of course. No details—just vague generalizations, half jesting. They

were all getting along with each other again, on the same wavelength. That was enough for now.

After dinner, the Doctor stood up with his plate in his hands. “Well, it seems our preparations are

complete.”

Oeufcoque smiled, but solemnly. “We’ll win our case yet.”

Balot wanted to add something but couldn’t think of anything, so she just nodded.

Balot had been a.s.signed a private room on the second floor, and as she settled into her bed there,

Oeufcoque spoke to her. “Shall I stay by your side until you fall asleep?” He was hanging upside down

fromthe pull-switch of the night lamp.

–I’ll be all right.

Balot leaned over to touch Oeufcoque.

–Thank you.

And that was all she had to say. Not only that, she realized that this was all she had wanted to say,

right fromthe beginning.

Oeufcoque pulled the light switch to turn the lamp off, left the room, and shut the door gently behind

him.

In the darkness Balot cried, but just a little.

As she cried, she thought. About progress. Oeufcoque and the Doctor both looked to the future. They

stood for progress—they defined themselves by fighting against vague and equivocal values and targets.

They aimed for tangible results.

But Sh.e.l.l and Boiled were different. They’ve turned their backs on progress, she thought. They had

spun themselves around, so that each stared at his own past even though it was supposed to have been

long since dead.

The past was just a skeleton, and you could do what you liked with it.

That is, provided that you had come to terms with it, given it a proper burial. So Balot thought.

But even if the past were firmly buried in its grave, it was still looking back up at you, and all it took

was a small crack to emerge in the sod and the past could thrust a half-rotten arm right up toward you.

And when the hand of the past grabbed hold of your leg and tried to drag you down, you could end up

losing sight of where you were even heading in the first place.

When the gaze of the past boring into their backs became too much for Sh.e.l.l and Boiled, they turned

around to face it and were swallowed up by the darkness.

The same darkness that Balot knew she could be swallowed by at any moment.

Balot considered what she could do.

When she left this silver egg, what exactly would she be able to do?

Eventually her tears subsided, and Balot fell asleep.

≡

“Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” Oeufcoque jumped onto the chair and then up onto the

kitchen table.

“What’s this, now?” The Doctor had been gleefully sorting their plans out on the table, and now he

turned to look at Oeufcoque, a little fed up.

“The gifts that we gave to the girl…they’ve put her in a real dilemma.”

“You mean the plan of action that she’s chosen? The plan derives from her own consciousness, you

know!”

“Yes, but you can’t say for sure that her latent desire for revenge hasn’t unduly influenced her

subconscious mind.”

“You may be right, but it’s not as if she’s burning with the need for revenge at the moment, is it?”

asked the Doctor.

“Hmm…no. I think she’s humbly putting her mind to the task at hand—solving this case.”

“Then I think she’ll be all right. Besides, if Balot hadn’t chosen the path of Scramble 09 and had just

been relying on the Ham & Eggers, by now she’d be in little strips, being sold off down at the

marketplace.”

“Marketplace?” said Oeufcoque.

“Intelligence from the police that’s just come in. About the a.s.sa.s.sins Boiled hired. They were well

known among the human-body-part-fetishist community, apparently. They sold off quality body parts.”

“Hmm.”

“They’re the ones who deserved to be torn limb from limb. I think so, anyway, and I’m sure Balot

thinks so too. But Balot doesn’t consider it to be our job to do so. She doesn’t have to tear them limb from

limb to be satisfied or achieve closure. That’s a good thing, surely? That’s not to say I’m pleased that our

old hideaway is now in ruins, of course. But even that can be fixed up one way or another with

reparations fromthe Broilerhouse when we manage to solve this case properly.”

“That’s true, I suppose.”

“I also feel that we definitely did the right thing in strengthening the girl. As per usual, someone had

been systematically tampering with the Ham & Egg circuits. An inside job, most probably—a mole taking

money to look the other way, not caring in the slightest whether the people bribing them were murderers

or fetishists,” said the Doctor.

“So what’s happening about the inside man?”

“The police are on the case there—it’s out of our hands. You’re looking at serious money to try and

bail out someone involved in hacking a public network. I’msure there are plenty of police looking to their

next bonus, eager to pin down the mole.”

Still, Oeufcoque didn’t seementirely satisfied, and he remained sitting on the table.

“Talk about wishy-washy, Oeufcoque. Anyway, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“The girl, of course.”

Oeufcoque scratched his head with his small paws. “I really hope that her reason and ambitions will

triumph over her negative impulses. That’s her real job, to make sure that this happens. Our job is to give

her room to develop by protecting her from harm and helping her to recover all her legal rights and

privileges. It may be that this sort of work is what I was looking for all along.”

“You see yourself as a social worker? If you can’t stand the heat you can always get out of the kitchen.

Just find another line of work,” said the Doctor.

“No—overdependency on social welfare can lead to lives being snuffed out in an instant. The

Broilerhouse always overcomplicates things, and they will always need PIs to solve their cases, one way

or another. I want to be useful as a deterrent against an everlasting cycle of violence, to protect lives.

That’s what Scramble 09 is for.”

“Then what exactly is your problem?”

“I’m not comfortable with the idea of forcing the girl to use me as a weapon, even with the threat of a

clear and present danger…”

“And that’s why we’re looking for a c.h.i.n.k in the enemy’s armor—to help us solve this case in the

quietest way possible. What’s wrong with that?”

“Doctor, I’ma living tool, and you’ll never really understand me.”

“Huh?”

“I’m constantly on the lookout for a user. I want someone like Balot to be using me. I had thought that

I’d never again be able to entrust myself to someone else’s hand completely…”

“So?”

“I’mdisturbed by the fact that the girl wants to become a PI after we’ve solved this case.”

“Well, I’mglad of that.” The Doctor took his eyes off Oeufcoque for a moment, sipping his coffee.

“What’s there to be glad about, Doctor?”

“Have you heard of the marriage blues, Oeufcoque?”

“No, what are they?”

“They’re when you wear yourself out worrying about something that you’ve already decided.

Obsessing about things like self-centered emotions, whether you’re feeling all right, whether something is

inevitable or whether it’s happenstance.”

“Are you saying that I’ve got the marriage blues?”

“I think that would be a pretty astute diagnosis, though I do say so myself.”

“What’s the cure?”

“Patience. You just wait to see how events unfold.”

Oeufcoque looked the other way and exhaled silently. “That’s a tough one.”

“Well, it’s a problem that’s been plaguing us since the beginning of history, so you’re in good

company. Just do your best.”

The Doctor poked Oeufcoque’s shoulder. He wasn’t particularly encouraging.

02

Dawn was just about to break when the giant silver egg landed on the rooftop of the Broilerhouse.

Bathed in the purple glow of sunrise, the Floating Residence known as the Humpty-Dumpty stopped in

midair at a point precisely one meter above the rooftop, and a crack opened up on one side. The crack

turned into a number of symmetric hexagonal openings, and part of the sh.e.l.l that had opened up now

transformed into a ramp that extended down to the roof.

The Doctor and Balot stepped out onto the ramp.

The wind was strong, and the three-ply metal fencing that surrounded the rooftop was rattling.

Balot headed into the building and called up an elevator. Not by snarcing it, but by pressing the call

b.u.t.ton.

The Doctor sent the Humpty back up into the sky, then followed after Balot in great strides. “Right,

let’s go.” He leapt into the elevator. “We have to be low-profile from here on out. Well, relatively

speaking.”

He was in a sprightly mood. The cheeriest Balot had ever seen. He was dragging a large trunk behind

him, and Balot had a bag hanging fromher shoulder.

“You’re in high spirits, Doc,” Oeufcoque observed, as a choker around Balot’s neck. His tone of

voice was, unusually for him, relaxed—lazy, even.

“Bring it on! Literally and metaphorically, I mean. I’m not about to pa.s.s up the opportunity to make

some noise—it’s taken long enough to talk you into gambling. Let’s head on in with the mindset that we’re

going to break the bank.”

“Sure, but our aim isn’t actually to bankrupt Sh.e.l.l, you know.” As Oeufcoque spoke, the fabric of the

choker warped around the edges. He seemed to be yawning. This tickled Balot’s neck, and she gave an

involuntary squirmof the shoulders.

“I’m not a morning person. It brings out my true nature,” Oeufcoque blurted out, and the elevator had

arrived.

They were in the first-floor lobby, where they could see various justice department officials heading

this way and that. Many of them stayed in the building overnight, and a large group of people had

congregated in the cafeteria for their morning dose of coffee. Balot and the Doctor left the building

through the lobby and hailed a taxi.

The taxi drove off and headed uptown. During the ride, the Doctor referred to his PDA incessantly,

humming a jaunty tune as he did so. A list of numbers was scrolling across the display, and these caused

the Doctor to smile, as if he were looking at the figures of a particularly healthy bank balance.

Before long the taxi pulled up at a motel. An airport motel.

They entered the lobby to find that their rooms were ready, rooms that the Doctor had reserved using

the Humpty’s NetService. The Doctor and Balot went into their adjoining rooms, as if they had just

arrived by air and were about to head into the big city later. Well, they had just been flying, of course, but

not in the manner that a casual observer would have a.s.sumed.

Their bags contained mostly clothes. Once she was in her room, Balot took a dress from her bag.

She’d had Oeufcoque make it for her based on pictures from an online catalog. She brushed it down and

hung it up neatly on a hanger before taking some shoes and accessories out of the bag and lining them up

on the motel desk.

As she was making her preparations, the choker undid itself. It turned inside out in midair, then settled

on the shape of a golden mouse, who landed on the desk on two feet before yawning properly.

“We’ve still got plenty of time yet. I’d like to take a nap.” Not waiting for an answer from Balot,

Oeufcoque jumped off the desk. He headed straight for the bed, jumped onto the pillow, and rolled over.

Balot followed himto the bed and poked himin his tummy.

–I’ve never seen you act so slovenly before.

She snarced himand laughed.

Oeufcoque shrugged his shoulders. Whatever, he seemed to say. He rolled over, face-up like a human,

crossed his arms over his stomach, and stretched his legs out leisurely. Before long he was snoring gently.

Balot gazed at him and thought that he probably did need the sleep—he hadn’t yet recovered

completely from his injuries. She decided to leave him alone and took a shower. Then she lay down to

study the game rules the Doctor had given her, and before long she found herself feeling sleepy too. The

time was just then six thirty. Balot snuggled under the covers next to Oeufcoque, whom she could sense

beside her, scratching his belly. She was asleep in no time.

It was almost noon when she was awoken by a call from the Doctor. Oeufcoque was already awake

and watching television. On mute—picture only. When she asked him if he could follow what was going

on, he replied, “I’mpracticing my lip reading.”

What a strange hobby, she thought for a moment, but of course he wasn’t doing it for fun. “It’s a good

warm-up exercise for the job we’re about to go on,” Oeufcoque said, and he stepped down on the remote

with a tiny foot to turn the picture off.

The two of them headed down to the motel restaurant, where the Doctor was waiting for them. There

they had a meal and made their final arrangements. They reconfirmed their next course of action. Then

there was a little test. Did Balot understand all the rules for all the main games? The rules themselves

were fairly simple. They hadn’t targeted any of the more complicated games in the first place. The

problemwas that rules always ended up producing winners and losers.

–How much do we need to win? Balot asked, snarcing her Oeufcoque-choker.

The Doctor pursed his lips and pushed his gla.s.ses up. “We need to turn two thousand dollars into four

million.”

It sounded like a wild dream. But the Doctor just shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I think you’ll

understand once you actually start playing. The question is, how to find a way of winning for sure. If we

can’t work one out then we’ll have to abandon the plan.”

–Do you reallythink we have a chance?

“So, uh, it’s not impossible, at least. It’s not as if we’re actually trying to make the money. All you

have to do is make contact with the chips while sticking to the rules of the casino—do that and we’ve

won. The regular punters are there to try and win themselves some money and experience the thrills of the

casino, that’s why they handle the chips. What we want to handle is the golden yoke that’s hidden inside

the chips. Without necessarily having to get the sh.e.l.l or egg white in the process…”

–How much moneyis a million dollars?

The Doctor paused to think. “Let’s see…”

“Don’t think of it as money.” Oeufcoque interrupted them in a small voice that only Balot and the

Doctor could hear.

–What do you mean?

“He means that the chips we’re going after just happen to be worth four million dollars, and that’s

what we’re calling them, but they’re really just chips to us. It’s not as if we’re actually going in there to

try and win their cash from them. That’s why we might be able to breach their defenses, and it’s also why

I feel that I can help with this plan. Also, even if our plan fails, as long as you’ve worked out the location

of the chips, we could always try stealing them at a later date—although if Sh.e.l.l figures out what we’re

up to we’ll struggle to find them before the trial is over. So we’re taking a big gamble before we even set

foot in the casino. In other words, the time is now. This is our last real chance, and also our best,” said

the Doctor.

Balot looked at the Doctor’s face as she answered,

–I understand. If the two of you think that we can do it, then I do too.

She was speaking the truth.

The Doctor smiled affectionately and opened up his PDA. “Right, time to get this plan on the road.”

Much to Balot’s surprise he erased the memory on his PDA as he spoke. It was supposed to have

contained all sorts of vital data. Who worked where, what they did, how the money came in, everything.

Balot was shocked to see that all this had now been reduced to a blank screen.

“If we have all the info on us at the point that the casino starts taking an interest in us, we’d be thrown

out the moment they discovered it. Not only that, they’d contact all the other casinos in the city on the spot.

With our photographs. We’d never be able to set foot inside a casino again.” The Doctor’s face revealed

that he considered this to be a fate worse than death.

–Will we be all right without it?

“If it comes to the crunch, all the data is still inside Oeufcoque. There’s no cause for concern.”

Suddenly the Doctor’s brow creased. “By the way, have you decided what you’ll call me?” he asked.

Balot looked a little troubled and shook her head.

“Well, why not try something out.”

–Brother?

She burst out laughing even before she finished the word.

“No good, I suppose,” the Doctor said, his face most serious. “How about Daddy?”

This time it was Balot who furrowed her brow.

–That doesn’t feel natural. No good.

“Hmm.”

–Uncle.

“You mean…?”

–It’ll be fine. I don’t thing there will be anymisunderstandings.

“Fine. Henceforth I shall be known as your Uncle Easter.”

Balot couldn’t stop herself from bursting out laughing again, her shoulders shaking. She saw the

Doctor looking discouraged and nodded her a.s.sent through her wordless laughter.

–Uncle Easter.

She repeated. The Doctor nodded too.

“It’s decided, then.”

Balot laughed again. But actually the term didn’t feel all that out of place. She looked at the Doctor

and mimed combing her hair down. As if to say Sort yourself out.

–Could you at least dye all your hair the same color?

The Doctor shrugged, but he seemed to acquiesce.

–I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time, actually. Why do you dye your hair like that, anyway?

“One of the Three Magi—the professor whose brainchild Mardock Scramble was—seemed to favor

that sort of hairstyle,” Oeufcoque b.u.t.ted in to explain.

“A complex layer of different hues. A hairstyle based authentically on chaos theory,” the Doctor

explained, brushing his hair back.

–You must have reallyrespected him.

“He was the one and only master I ever recognized, and he was also responsible for designing

Oeufcoque. I 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 roomshe 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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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

themup, 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 himin 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-cla.s.s 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.surance.

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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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 Sh.e.l.l’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 décor, the casino was clearly designed to be welcoming to the ma.s.ses,

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 pa.s.sed some of

themto Balot.

Then he took his twenty-dollar bills and bundled themup.

“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 illadvised

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: HIT THE JACKPOT AND DRIVE AWAY IN ONE OF THESE BEAUTIES!

The Doctor sat down at a slot machine near the cars. Even as he explained its workings to Balot, he

was pouring coins down its hatch. The cylinders started revolving, and the moment of truth approached.

One of the symbols clicked into place, then another, and the Doctor’s fortune was decided. Of the four

lines he had bet on, one just about resulted in a payout, and five twenty-cent coins clattered into the tray

below. “Not a bad way to test your luck, eh?”

Carefully, he slid some more coins into the slot and pressed the b.u.t.ton.

For a moment, Balot thought she might try snarcing the machine to produce the result she wanted.

But her Oeufcoque-gloves pulled Balot’s left hand away. Then the palm of her hand was by her ear,

and she heard Oeufcoque’s voice. “Don’t underestimate the security here.”

Her heart thumped.

The machine was swallowing up all of the Doctor’s coins. But the Doctor seemed unconcerned and

continued throwing in more coins with abandon, as if he were testing out its rhythm.

Balot stopped and sensed the inner workings of the machine. It was set up so that the slightest bit of

external interference would cause it to lock down completely. Not the most subtle systemin the world, but

all the more secure for it.

Suddenly, Balot felt that she was being watched. She looked up at the tall ceiling. All sorts of colored

illuminations were scattered around, and in between them Balot noticed an incredible number of security

cameras, all firmly set in place. She gulped involuntarily.

–The Eye in the Sky, Oeufcoque said, sensing Balot’s thoughts. Originally developed for military

use. Every single one of those cameras is powerful enough to accurately distinguish between dif erent

sets of footsteps in a field from a distance of twenty thousand meters. There’s a whole team of

surveillance staf watching behind the scenes, probably, watching every move down here. The second

you try anything with the slot machine, the warning goes up and cameras will be trained on you from

all angles.

Balot squeezed her hand, indicating to Oeufcoque that she understood himloud and clear.

“Would you like a go yourself, Balot?” the Doctor asked suddenly. It seemed that his coin count was

fluctuating up and down, winning some then losing themagain.

Balot nodded, then asked a question through the crystal on her choker.

–Am I allowed to choose my own machine?

“Why not? Let’s split up for the next half hour or so, see how we do on our own. We’ll establish our

supply train here, ready to move on later. May fortune smile upon you!”

Balot left the Doctor and started wandering around the machines.

She stared at themone by one, trying to feel the wave that the Doctor had been talking about.

She may not have been able to snarc the machines to manipulate them directly, but she could at least

sound themout for variations and anomalies.

Each machine moved to its own complicated rhythm. It wasn’t as if they were all standardized to some

sort of median average. Before long she started to get a feel for the overall patterns.

She remembered something she had once read. A wave may be made up of individual droplets of

water, but the wave doesn’t actually move the surface of the water; all it does is cause the surface of the

water to bob up and down as it pa.s.ses.

Balot was now starting to experience this for herself.

Balot sat down in front of a machine. It was a one-dollar slot machine in the shape of a whiskey bottle.

She’d selected this one because she felt that its rhythmwas settling down.

Balot had been sensing all these loud—exaggerated—sounds from her surroundings. She felt that

these were due to the complicated rhythms of the machines ebbing and flowing, never quite calm enough

to properly read, but this machine was different. Calmer, she sensed.

Balot placed some coins in the slot, pressed the b.u.t.ton, and watched the symbols spin around.

She sensed their movements as she stopped the wheels. Each one landed on a different symbol, almost

impressively so.

Balot put another coin in the slot. Just the one, this time. She spun the wheel.

No luck. She put another coin in and again had no luck. She repeated the process a number of times,

and suddenly she had won.

Balot grasped her feelings at that moment. She thought that Oeufcoque might have tried to say

something, but she couldn’t hear him. She couldn’t even hear the tumultuous roar of the machines around

her anymore.

Balot continued with the machine, losing the next round. She felt just like the machines all around her

—ebbing and flowing. Then she felt a sensation—her whole body being lifted. Her hand moved up to the

slot naturally, automatically. She threw coins down the slot in quick succession, leaving just the slightest

of gaps, until the wave was at its crest before pressing the b.u.t.ton with perfect timing.

“Flawless…”

She heard Oeufcoque’s voice. Balot came to her senses. The roar of the machines returned.

She squirmed when she heard the piercing sound of the siren. She wondered if she had done something

wrong. Voices pressed in on her from all around. She realized that she was now surrounded by a huddle

of people.

Amazed, Balot looked around at the throng. Everyone was voicing their astonishment.

For a moment Balot thought that she was about to be hauled away by the police, but she was wrong.

The very next moment, an incredible clanging of metal a.s.saulted her, and she looked down at her

hands.

She’d never seen so many coins before in her life. At first she wondered how she was possibly going

to fit such a large quant.i.ty in her pockets, but as the coins kept coming, it wasn’t long before she

abandoned that idea as impossible. That was how many coins there were.

Envious voices were heard all about. A casino attendant pushed his way through the crowds.

Balot’s face was still startled when she looked at him, and he smiled at her, flourishing a basket.

“Shall I store your coins for you, madamoiselle?”

Balot nodded, wondering if he was about to cart all her coins away.

But she had a strong feeling that the coins weren’t really hers to begin with.

As he was scooping her coins into the basket, Balot’s left hand flew up to her ear again.

“Give him a tip. One dollar ought to be enough.” Hearing Oeufcoque’s words, Balot scrabbled around

for a one-dollar bill and took it fromher pocket.

The attendant turned to her with the basket full of coins in his hands. He saw the proffered note and

received it graciously. Then he took Balot over to the counter, where he exchanged the full basket—so

heavy that it was like carrying around a set of bowling b.a.l.l.s—with a considerably lighter roll of hundreddollar

coins.

Balot took the hundred-dollar coins along with the basket. She counted them to discover that there

were precisely sixty of them. For a moment she couldn’t even work out how much money that was.

Basket in hand, Balot walked back toward the slot machines. Feeling the wave, as she did before.

Then she sat down at another machine where she sensed that the wave was settling down. This time it was

a five-dollar coin machine. She had only three of these in her pocket. She sat there waiting carefully

before placing the first one of these in the machine.

She slotted it in gently. The wheel spun and settled, and she was nowhere near winning. She stuck the

next coin in.

She let it go at precisely the moment she felt the wave rising. She lost again. But as a result, she sensed

clearly that the wave still had farther to go. Balot breathed in, then out.

She waited for the wave to rise, coin held firmly in her hand.

Then her hand moved. Before she knew it, the coin had been released, the b.u.t.ton pressed.

–What…?

Balot snarced Oeufcoque, surprised.

“It’s not a good idea to win too much at this stage. You’ll be marked out.” Such was Oeufcoque’s

answer. He had caused her to let go of the coin early.

The wheels in the machine spun around and stopped.

There was no siren. Instead, about twenty five-dollar pieces clattered out of the bottomof the machine.

Balot was confident that if she’d been allowed to get the timing absolutely right, she would have won at

least ten times that.

“Remember that out of all the chips in the casino, we just need the four that we’ve come for. We could

win hundreds of other chips along the way, or not, it really doesn’t matter in the end—either we get the

four we’re after, or we fail. For now, best play it safe and make sure we don’t draw the casino’s attention

unnecessarily.”

–I thought you said you’d let me have some fun…

Balot seemed a little disappointed.

“It might seem like fun to you, but somehow I don’t think the people around you will see it the same

way. Casinos like winners—but not people who win too much.”

Oeufcoque’s words reminded her again of the cameras overhead.

Balot meekly collected her winnings in her basket and went to rendezvous with the Doctor.

03

“So, you think you’ve started to get the hang of it?” said the Doctor.

The Doctor had nothing in his hands, so at first glance it looked like he had lost all his chips, but,

“Looks like we’re just around the ten thousand mark combined,” he went on to say, surprising Balot by

pulling out a handful of thousand-dollar chips fromhis pockets.

–Aren’t we going to use these machines to try and get Sh.e.l.l’s chips?

“Even if we were to bleed all the slot machines dry, we’d still be shy of two million. There’s no way

we could reach our target. In any case, we don’t want to seemlike we’re taking the casino head-on.”

–So what are we going to do?

“Make some money off the other punters.”

Balot’s ears p.r.i.c.ked up. They’d been over the plan a number of times, but only the main points and in

broad strokes: what to do, when, and how to do it. The overall master plan was firmly the Doctor’s

territory.

“Well, looks like our supply train has come in. All that’s left for us to do now is mosey on down to the

front lines.” The Doctor finished speaking and walked over to the other side of the slot machines.

Once they had escaped the maze of the slot machines they arrived in a large, expansive room, big

enough to fit a number of tennis courts side by side.

A number of gaming tables were lined up in the middle of the roomin an orderly fashion, and on either

side were green plants decorating a c.o.c.ktail bar. The bustle and clamor of the previous room had

completely disappeared.

This s.p.a.ce was far more chic, and the atmosphere could have been described as sophisticated.

A number of immaculately turned out dealers stood behind their tables, like actors holding the stage.

Waitresses carrying trays of complementary drinks circulated briskly. Some of them wore traditional

bunny outfits, and others sported outfits bearing card-inspired designs or the brand names of certain

alcoholic drinks.

“You know what a mechanic is, don’t you?” the Doctor asked under his breath, and Balot nodded in

response.

The Doctor had told her all about mechanics—card sharps. Everything from their modi operandi to

their motivations—why they risked everything to cheat at cards. Some did it for the sheer thrill, others

saw it as a shortcut to fame and riches. In other cases—particularly for those who grew up as dealers in

the territories where casinos were illegal—cheating was just par for the course, an act as natural and

obvious as eating and drinking.

“Let’s see if we can hook ourselves a couple,” said the Doctor. “If we targeted the casino right at the

outset then we’d be out on our heels before we knew it. So our next maneuver should be one that benefits

us the most while benefiting the casino at the same time, and certainly not causing them any loss. That’s

how we’ll dig our trench, so as to provide us with a solid foundation fromwhich we can launch an all-out

offensive later…”

–But would we be thrown out even if we didn’t actuallycheat?

“Well, look at it this way. If we tried to turn ten dollars into a million in the s.p.a.ce of an hour, we’d be

asked to leave long before we got there. Even if our ambitions were more modest—a thousand into a

hundred thousand, say—we’d get away with it to a point, but you can be sure the casino would sniff us out

before too long and stop us from going much further. What we need to do is turn a hundred into a

thousand, then a thousand into ten thousand, gradually, without attracting any untoward attention. The real

battle starts only once we’ve built up a proper war chest.”

Balot understood exactly what the Doctor was saying. But she had a question.

–How do we know which ones are the mechanics?

“I found us our marks while you were playing on the slot machines back there.”

–How do you know, though?

“It’s like I told you. Our next maneuver should be one that benefits us the most while benefiting the

casino at the same time.” The Doctor looked up at the ceiling with a triumphant air, flashing her the

thumbs-up. Amid the hustle and bustle of the casino, Balot gleaned his meaning all too well. “Mechanics

are seen by the casino as the ultimate pest. Anyone who looks in the least bit suspicious is noted, and the

best dealers are immediately put on the case to sniff them out and catch them in the act. Alternatively, the

dealers themselves might be in on the act, and the casinos are well aware of this possibility, so they have

measures in place to detect this too. The dealers have to share reports of any suspicious activities every

half hour, and there are pit bosses and floor managers taking records in the background, floating behind

any and every dealer that has the potential to come in direct contact with the customers. Mama sees

everything, is the idea.”

Balot realized why the Doctor had been grinning in the general direction of his PDA. He’d been

eavesdropping on the conversations of the most suspicious people and what games they were playing.

“Now then, my pretty little niece, let Uncle show you just what a dab hand he is at the gaming table.”

The Doctor was suddenly speaking in a loud voice, humming away, conspicuously checking out the

different games in progress. He looked every bit the c.o.c.ky country squire, here in the big city determined

to prove to the world that he was no b.u.mpkin, and probably ready to lose the shirt off his back to feed his

gambling habit. Truth be told, he played the act so convincingly that Balot was a little embarra.s.sed to be

seen with him.

All the while Balot was playing the part of a girl who had no interest in the actual games but rather

was overwhelmed by the glamour and the sophistication of her surroundings. This was her a.s.signed role

—and again she felt more or less this way in reality too.

“Right, let’s try this spot here. Looks like there might be some nice pokers rolling around,” the Doctor

boomed, arriving at a table that was in between games.

–Pokers?

The Doctor indicated to Balot to sit down, and she did.

The Doctor had an extremely self-satisfied look on his face. “Yeah, pokers for prodding each other

with. That’s the sort of game poker is.” So saying, he laid his chips on the table.

The dealer looked at Balot. “Is the young lady with you, sir?” he asked. He was a young man, whose

blond hair went well with his clear blue eyes.

“Indeed. Though once she’s at the table beside me, she’s as good as a rival,” the Doctor said, and then

nodded without delay. “You have a go too, young lady. You’ve played in your game room at home, right?

If you don’t spend your pocket money here you’ll only squander it on clothes anyway—why not use it for

something a bit more thrilling for a change?”

–How manychips will I need, Uncle?

As she spoke, Balot grabbed a handful of hundred-dollar coins from her basket. The dealer and the

other punters at the table were momentarily taken aback. Those must be quite some clothes for her to

squander that much money on them…

In reality, all the clothes she had ever bought in her life up to this point—with the money that she had

struggled so hard to earn—could have easily been bought twice over with less than the amount she was

now holding in one hand.

–Is this enough? Balot asked. The dealer seemed troubled for half a second as he watched Balot

speak through the device on her neck, without moving her lips, but then he nodded.

The dealer exchanged the coins for chips and gratefully accepted the tip that the Doctor thrust out.

Then the dealer made a broad gesture for the floor manager—to show that he had received this tip

legitimately—and placed it in the middle of the table on the designated spot for tips, for all to see. Balot

had thought he might put the chip away in his pocket, but then she realized that all his pockets were neatly

sewn up. This joint ran a tight ship. Indeed, it seemed a point of pride for the dealer to conspicuously

show off how upright and cleanhanded he was. Back straight, he looked at the customers around the table.

There were four other punters at the table besides Balot and the Doctor. One wore a cowboy hat and

was chomping on a cigar, and to his right was a quiet-looking man dressed in an un.o.btrusive business

suit.

These two sat to the right of Balot and the Doctor. To Balot’s left was an elderly gentleman with neat,

close-cropped hair, and to his left a middle-aged man with a potbelly.

According to the Doctor, one of these four was a mechanic.

“Oh, by the way, do you mind if we use sign language?” the Doctor asked the dealer. The dealer

looked a little worried and shook his head. Negative.

“But she’s disabled; her larynx doesn’t work. Surely you can see that just by looking at her? I’m not

asking you to overlook it if she misp.r.o.nounces something, I’m just asking if it’s okay for me to interpret

and speak on her behalf if anything goes wrong with her machine.”

The dealer touched the earphone close to his ear to clear the request with his manager.

“That should be fine, sir,” he said. By all rights we should say no, but we’ll make an exception just

this once as you’re here to enjoy yourselves, his face seemed to say. If ever the Doctor’s demeanor were

going to be useful, it would be here. From the dealer’s point of view, the two punters in front of him were

sitting ducks, ready to be plucked, and he was prepared to bend the rules to accommodate them however

inappropriate the request.

The same went for the other players around the table. “What about you gentlemen—any objections?”

asked the Doctor.

The cowboy hat shrugged his shoulders, while the suit next to him answered courteously that he had

none.

Neither did the potbelly or the old gentleman have too many worries, it seemed. Indeed, they were

only too happy to have a young lady join them at the table, they said. The cowboy hat suddenly chimed in

to suggest that someone should make special chips for the disabled. Everyone else pretended not to hear

him. Balot immediately hoped that he was the mechanic.

Without warning her left hand rose to touch her earring. “Pay him no attention,” she heard Oeufcoque

say, as her fingers twiddled with her earring.

Within her heart, Balot nodded. That was all it took to communicate her feelings to Oeufcoque.

“From now on, we do everything by the book, okay? Listen to your left hand. Don’t deviate from the

script,” said Oeufcoque.

Balot’s face tightened.

–Don’t worry. I won’t make anymistakes.

And then the betting commenced.

≡

The game was Hold’em.

Each player was dealt two cards facedown, and the idea was to try and combine these with the five

community cards—that were dealt face up on the table—in order to make the best hand, with four rounds

of betting to each hand.

The minimumbet at this table was thirty dollars at a time, the maximumsixty dollars.

It was a spread-limit game with up to three raises, meaning that the stakes could quickly rise to a large

sumof money.

The dealer signaled that the game had begun, stopping any new entrant fromattempting to join in.

With slick hand movements the dealer placed the cards into a machine and pressed a number of

b.u.t.tons.

After confirming to all at the table that the deck of cards had been officially cut, he gathered up the

cards and slipped theminto the card shoe and began the first hand.

First to be dealt a card was the suit, then counterclockwise to the cowboy, the Doctor, Balot, the old

gentleman, and the potbelly, then repeating, so that they all ended up with two cards each.

The dealer’s b.u.t.ton was in front of the suit, indicating that he would have been in the dealing position

if there hadn’t already been a house dealer.

The cowboy to the left of him was the blind better for this hand. The blind was like the ante in normal

poker and was more like a partic.i.p.ation fee than an actual bet at this stage, as no one had anything to go

on other than their hole, the first two cards.

The first blind bet was called the small blind, where the player could bet anything up to half the

minimumbet. The cowboy threw in ten dollars.

Then it was the Doctor’s turn to respond with the big blind.

The purpose of the big blind was not just to call the small blind, but also to force a raise.

The Doctor raised the cowboy by twenty dollars.

Fromthen on, the other players had to start off by throwing in the sumof the two bets—thirty dollars—

in order to call and thereby stay in the hand. Or they could raise the stakes further, in thirty-dollar

increments, or fold and drop out of the hand completely, losing any stake they had placed up to that point.

Balot’s two cards that she had been dealt—in the hole—were the ten of clubs, 10 , and the seven of

spades, 7 . At this point in the game, twelve cards had been dealt to the players out of a total of fifty-two

in the deck. She was third along fromthe dealer’s b.u.t.ton.

It was a nothing hand, the sort of hand you should fold on immediately. Even Balot knew this. Hold’em

was one of the games that Balot had beaten into her last night in the Humpty.

But Oeufcoque signaled differently.

–You should call.

Balot felt the instructions float up on her left hand. She picked up a thirty-dollar chip.

–Thirty dollars—I’d like to call.

She placed the chip on the table.

The old gentleman called too, and the potbelly quickly folded.

Last to go was the suit who held the dealer’s b.u.t.ton. He called, then raised by another thirty.

The cowboy and the Doctor called.

Balot followed Oeufcoque’s instructions and called.

The old gentleman called.

There were no more raises. There was now $280 in the pot on the table.

The first round of betting was over, and the dealer discarded the first card in the card shoe. The burn

card, an anti-cheating measure. A standard step taken to eliminate the possibility of any player gaining an

unfair advantage by marking the cards.

Then the dealer placed three cards facedown in the center of the table. Community cards, called the

flop. It was now time for the second round of betting.

The dealer turned each of the flop cards over.

K , 8 , and 2 .

At this point, Balot had no pairs and no chance of a flush.

A straight was still possible, using the ten, eight, and seven, but Balot didn’t know what the odds were

of that happening.

The second round of betting started with the blinds: the cowboy put in thirty dollars, which the Doctor

called, as did Balot on Oeufcoque’s instructions.

At this point the old gentleman folded, placing his cards facedown on the table.

The suit, on the other hand, called, and then raised by another thirty. No one folded, and by the time

they were back at the suit, the pot had swollen from its original $280 to $520. Balot suddenly thought of

what she would have had to do in her previous line of work in order to make that much money. The

thought made her sick.

She knew that she would struggle to walk away from the hand now. She didn’t want to know what

Oeufcoque had planned.

It seemed that Oeufcoque was ruminating deeply. As to the ident.i.ty of the mechanic. She realized that

he might not even be bothered by the actu