Randomize

She smiled as she watched her husband eat.

Sumi sipped her lemonade in the keno lounge. The crowd was a little lighter than it would be at peak hours. Though midnight was still a very active time in a Vegas casino. The usual cacophony of dings, beeps, and buzzes filled the air.

She held the winning ticket—well, what would hopefully become the winning ticket—in her hand among a sheaf of other tickets that would surely lose. It would be suspicious if she bought only one.

Any number of things could go wrong. The long-term storage unit or the computer itself could have a software glitch that would require re-randomizing all the qbits. The settings for the coherence check could be wrong, and it might have already happened or not started yet. Then her numbers would be no more likely to win than any others.

To blend in as a tourist, she wore an even more traditional sari than usual. A little more Old World, with brass jewelry here and there. She took photos with her phone. What tourist wouldn’t?

A peal of MIDI music filled the lounge to announce the next draw was about to begin. She glanced at the big display above the keno betting desk. She gripped the sheaf of tickets tighter.

The cheesy animated display showed a grid of keno numbers drawn in a cuneiform style—like a clay tablet from the ancient world. The numbers wiggled around in their boxes while a Babylonian archer beside the grid nocked an arrow and took aim. It was cartoonish and silly. If all went well, the first number would be a nine.

The animated archer loosed his arrow, and it flew in an arc over the grid. It struck the nine. Sumi breathed a sigh of relief.

After that, things proceeded according to plan. The rest of the numbers fell into place as expected. Sumi played the shocked-and-overjoyed-winner role and excitedly ran to the betting desk to report her win.

The win was large enough to warrant calling over the floor manager, who verified the ticket. And then the security tape was reviewed to make sure she was the one who had purchased it. They asked her to wait while they set up a photo shoot. The manager of the casino even came down.

Rutledge, the manager, shook Sumi’s hand. “Congratulations,” he said.

The pair stood in front of a bright sign that read KENO 9-SPOT PROGRESSIVE JACKPOT: $741,299. A casino photographer took pictures.

“Thank you,” she said in a thick Indian accent.

“How did you pick the winning numbers?” asked Rutledge.

“I just pick random,” she said. “I only wanted a tickets to show the friends of mine in Mumbai. I never think I would win.”

“What do you plan to do with the money?”

She smiled. “I will give many of it to my family. They are poor. It will help them very a lot. And I will buy a big American car for driving with back in India.”

“That will be all for now,” Rutledge said to the photographer.

The photographer headed off, and Rutledge led Sumi to the elevator banks. “Ms. Singh, I’m sure this is all unfamiliar territory to you. I’ll help guide you through it.”

“You are important man,” Sumi said. “I do not need such an important man to help.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he said. “And it’s good publicity for the Babylon. A big win is the best advertising a casino can have.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rutledge,” she said. “What are we now to do?”

He pressed the elevator button. “First you’ll have to speak to a representative from the IRS. They’ll want their share right now. We’ll pay them their portion directly and issue you a cashier’s check for the rest. Or, if you prefer, we can give you cash.”

She laughed. “Oh no. Not cash. I cannot walk under so much cash.”

The doors opened and the pair entered. He swiped his key card on the reader. Various floor buttons that had been illuminated all shut off, and the highest button lit up. They rode to the top of the building without interruption.

He led her from the elevator bank through an empty mahogany office. “Sorry, my secretary is home right now,” he explained. “It’s almost one a.m., after all.”

“Of course,” she said.

He opened one of the ornate double doors to his office, and the lights turned on automatically. He beelined to the wet bar. “Can I offer you a drink?”

She followed him in. “I do not drink, thank you.”

“What a pity.”

“Where is IRS man?” she asked.

He gestured for her to sit on the plush leather couch. “Oh, he’s not here.” He poured himself two fingers of scotch.

“Why not? Does the government not want their money?”

“There won’t be any money.” He sipped his drink and picked up a folder from his desk. “I have very thorough security people. Did you know we do a full background check on anyone who wins more than one hundred thousand dollars?”

She pursed her lips. “I didn’t know that.”