Page 40 - Unlikely Stories 1
P. 40

Your Lucky Numbers



        people  running  it.  I  am referring  to  a  false  notion  of  patterns  and
        randomization. That is, as long as the six numbers drawn conform to
        the public’s idea of a random sequence, they are satisfied with that
        appearance as a reflection of reality. And the typical draw looks like 8,
        17, 23, 28, 30, 44. No pattern there, right? But the same probability,
        one out of fourteen million, exists for every sequence of six numbers
        within the range of one through forty-nine. That means it is just as
        likely for the sequence 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28 to come up as any other.
        Now, that obviously has a recognizable pattern, and would get people
        aroused and suspicious; they would be less unhappy if no one held
        that ticket, or if turned out that it had been generated randomly by a
        sales  machine  which  could  be  taken  apart  and  proven  honest.
        Nevertheless, a calculable number of these coincidental patterns can
        be  identified,  based  on  research  done  years  ago  on  human
        perception.  That  number  is  less  than  five  hundred,  representing
        about one chance in 300,000 that a disturbing pattern would result
        from a perfectly random draw. Over the years, our state lottery has
        made about twelve hundred draws, and every one of them has had
        the look of randomness—no easily perceived pattern. Every one, that
        is, until tonight.”
          “Oh,” said Ty. “And that is why we are running away like bank
        robbers after a heist?”
          “I’m afraid so. Most of my co-workers do not share my concern,
        calling it paranoid. They were complacent about the possibility of a
        pattern  occurring  in  their  lifetime,  or  thought  the  public  would
        simply be dumbfounded but ultimately mollified, or, failing that, that
        they  would  be  protected  from  the  howling  mobs.  I  am  not  so
        convinced. Vigilantes shoot first and ask questions later, and I had no
        reason  to  think  the  people  we  work  for  wouldn’t  throw  us  to  the
        wolves. I see it as the peasants, armed with pitchforks and shovels,
        storming Baron Frankenstein’s castle. So I made a contingency plan:
        this  is  it.  We  are  going  to  a  cabin  I  bought  years  ago  outside  the
        jurisdiction of our home state; I could not be extradited without a
        grand jury finding sufficient evidence to do so—and there is none, I
        assure you. And the outrage will indeed cool before anyone finds us.

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