“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 pass 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 passed 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 passed 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 them both, 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 pass—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 reassure 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’m well 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 from his seat.
Timidly, Balot opened her hands and extended one of them to Oeufcoque.
–Can I touch you?
“Sure.” Oeufcoque jumped onto Balot’s palm. Balot lifted Oeufcoque up, brushing him against her face before placing him on her shoulder.
–Will you stay by my side? Just for now?
“Of course.”
–I’m so sorry, Oeufcoque.
“I’m fine.”
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 them to 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 assigned 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 from the 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 from the 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 Shell 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.