The Doctor had said that memories were many-body information. They grew along with the passage of time, but at the same time, memories of one time were connected with memories of another. If Shell’s memories were divided between four chips, those memories couldn’t be reproduced without all four time lines. And if the memories couldn’t be reproduced, all they’d have is an album showing the growth process of neurons.
Their goal wasn’t that kind of analytical research—it was the details of Shell’s deeds, and without those, their entire battle—and Balot’s game—would be without meaning.
The Doctor sighed. “We may have to change our tactics.” For the first time since starting the game, he took his chips off the table. He placed half of them back down.
The cards came. Ashley’s upcard, a queen.
The Doctor had a 5 and a 7; twelve. Balot had a king and a 4; fourteen.
The Doctor hit and received an 8. His total, twenty.
“Hit.” His tone was defiant, like an underling in a gangster movie facing down the barrel of a gun, crying out, “Go ahead, shoot me!”
Ashley looked at the 8 and edged up his chin as if to say, “That’s the card you got.”
“I said hit.”
The Doctor hit his finger against the table, insisting on the card.
In the face of such reckless self-destruction, Ashley swiftly turned over the next card.
A 6.
“That’s a bust,” stated the dealer.
The Doctor shrugged. The situation was obvious. Anyone could see it. Even Ashley.
The problem was that the Doctor had exposed himself. He had called out the perfect deck. But how would their opponent move next? Everything depended on that.
Balot hit. Her card, a 6. Her total, twenty.
–Should I hit?
–Stick to the optimal tactics. Leave the attack to the Doc. Following Oeufcoque’s instructions, she stayed.
Ashley revealed his hole card: 4. With the queen, that made fourteen.
He drew another card: 2. He drew again: 4. Twenty.
“We have a push.”
This time, he spoke directly to Balot. He swept away the cards.
Calmly, the Doctor whispered, “I guess one card isn’t enough.”
It was as if hitting or staying made no difference. It was as if the order of the cards itself was undaunted.
The Doctor placed his chips, half again the amount of the previous hand.
Balot kept with her same bet. As Bell Wing quietly watched for any changes on the table, Ashley brought his hand to the card shoe and swiftly dealt the cards.
His upcard was 7. The Doctor had an 8-5, making thirteen. Balot had K-3, for thirteen.
The Doctor hit. He got a 4.
He hit again: 2. His total, nineteen.
As if it were the natural choice, he hit again. Ace. Total, twenty.
And again he hit. For a moment, Balot thought Ashley might get angry, but he didn’t. As he coolly drew the next card, he said, “Congratulations.”
It was an ace; 8-5-4-2-A-A: twenty-one.
The Doctor immediately looked over at Balot, asking without speaking, Did he do anything suspicious?
She answered with a slight shake of the head. Ashley hadn’t made the slightest indication of trickery.
“So you’ll be staying, then.”
You couldn’t draw from twenty-one. The Doctor nodded curtly.
–Hit.
Balot received an 8. Total, twenty-one.
The Doctor groaned. With his eyes, he asked Balot again, Are you sure he didn’t do anything suspicious? But Balot was just as astonished. What was going on?
“Now what?” asked Ashley. For the first time, he focused his dark brown eyes right at her. As he smiled, his eyes seemed to dissect her alive.
“That’s some technique.”
Bell Wing, who had been quietly watching the game, had spoken. “I don’t think there’s anyone who could imitate you.”
“It’s all practice.”
He turned over his hole card. A 9. Along with his 7, that made sixteen. He drew another card and slapped down the 5.
“We have a push.”
Balot felt dizzy.
Then Bell said, “This has turned into a dull forced match.”
Balot looked at the old woman, who was staring right at her.
“Rune-Balot. Are you the kind of kid who lives by listening to others?”
At first, Balot didn’t understand what the woman was talking about.
“Chips don’t mean anything to you, right? I don’t know why you’re holding back. You shot down every single last ball I threw, and now you’re subjecting me to this nonsense.”
As Bell’s words drew the girl in, Oeufcoque’s rebuttal came bubbling to the lining of her gloves.
–Focus on the game. Don’t forget, she’s with the casino too.
The cards came.
“You’re you.” Bell’s words struck right through Balot’s heart. “You don’t have to hold back for anyone. Especially in a big match like this. In a match, restraint is like shit. It stinks and it distracts you.”
Then Bell was again silent.
Once more, the Doctor carelessly hit, until finally he bust.
As if hiding behind him, Balot hit.
With a 2 and a queen, she got a 7, making nineteen. She stayed, and Ashley revealed his hole card.
With a 4 and a jack, he drew a 5, making nineteen.
Ashley’s voice, announcing the tie, seemed to come from somewhere far away.
Subconsciously, Balot bit her lip. The next hand, the Doctor once again bust himself before her turn.
Balot received a 2 and a 9. She doubled down and drew an 8. Nineteen.
Ashley’s upcard was a 9. The hole card, jack. To no one’s surprise, a push.
Again she bit her lip, hard. The next hand, the Doctor bust, Ashley revealed his hole card, and as he announced the tie, the pain of her teeth gnawing at her lip snapped her back to reality.
Slowly, she pulled her lip from her teeth, and as she wet her lips, she felt a realization come over her. She had chosen this game. The game of whether she would live or die. And that was one answer to her question Why me?
It took a moment for Balot, distracted by those thoughts, to realize that there had been a change in the cards. The change occurred when the Doctor returned to the optimal tactics.
Balot’s eyes were focused on the reveal of the dealer’s hole card.
The upcard was a 5. The hole card, 9. He drew a 3. Seventeen.
“A loss…and a push.”
Confused, Balot checked the Doctor’s cards. Jack-3-3. Sixteen.
Balot’s cards were 5-7-5. Seventeen. Only the Doctor had lost.
Dr. Easter silently placed his next chips. Balot bit her lip again.
Ashley dealt the cards. Balot had no clear sense of his fingers. No sense of his fingers. Scathing doubt washed over her.
What am I fighting against? This man’s fingers?
If he had a gun in his hands and not cards, what would I do?
Simply stare and watch as he pulled the trigger?
For the first time since the beginning of the game, Balot sensed the cards. The stack of cards, how they were ordered. She thought again about whether the cards had been arranged into a certain order.
She heard the Doctor say, “I’ll stay.”
He had 7-6-6. Nineteen.
Ashley’s upcard, an 8.
Balot had J-3. She hit and got a 7.
The card in front of her, Balot was silent.
She felt one with the table. Her nerves spread through it, and she sensed the weight of each card upon her skin.
Speaking gently, as if inviting something, Ashley said, “Will you draw another card? Feel free to ask the man next to you, if you want him to tell you what will happen.”