Short Fiction Fritz Leiber (free e books to read .txt) 📖

rooks though not with one. Judy had asked her, “Is he pleased that you’re learning chess?”

Sandra had replied, “No, he thinks it is a madness.” The kids had all whooped at that and Dave had said, “How right he is!”

Sandra was scraping the bottom of the barrel for topics for her articles, but then it occurred to her to write about the kids, which worked out nicely, and that led to a humorous article “Chess Is for Brains” about her own efforts to learn the game, and for the nth time in her career she thought of herself as practically a columnist and was accordingly elated.

After his two draws, Doc lost three games in a row and still had the Machine to face and then Sherevsky. His 1⁠—6 score gave him undisputed possession of last place. He grew very depressed. He still made a point of squiring her about before the playing sessions, but she had to make most of the conversation. His rare flashes of humor were rather macabre.

“They have Dirty Old Krakatower locked in the cellar,” he muttered just before the start of the next to the last round, “and now they send the robot down to destroy him.”

“Just the same, Doc,” Sandra told him, “good luck.”

Doc shook his head. “Against a man luck might help. But against a Machine?”

“It’s not the Machine you’re playing, but the programming. Remember?”

“Yes, but it’s the Machine that doesn’t make the mistake. And a mistake is what I need most of all today. Somebody else’s.”

Doc must have looked very dispirited and tired when he left Sandra in the stands, for Judy (Dave and Bill not having arrived yet) asked in a confidential, womanly sort of voice, “What do you do for him when he’s so unhappy?”

“Oh, I’m especially passionate,” Sandra heard herself answer.

“Is that good for him?” Judy demanded doubtfully.

“Sh!” Sandra said, somewhat aghast at her irresponsibility and wondering if she were getting tournament-nerves. “Sh, they’re starting the clocks.”

V

Krakatower had lost two pawns when the first time-control point arrived and was intending to resign on his 31st move when the Machine broke down. Three of its pieces moved on the electric board at once, then the board went dark and all the lights on the console went out except five which started winking like angry red eyes. The gray-smocked men around Simon Great sprang silently into action, filing around back of the console. It was the first work anyone had seen them do except move screens around and fetch each other coffee. Vanderhoef hovered anxiously. Some flash bulbs went off. Vanderhoef shook his fist at the photographers. Simon Great did nothing. The Machine’s clock ticked on. Doc watched for a while and then fell asleep.

When Vanderhoef jogged him awake, the Machine had just made its next move, but the repair-job had taken 50 minutes. As a result the Machine had to make 15 moves in 10 minutes. At 40 seconds a move it played like a dub whose general lack of skill was complicated by a touch of insanity. On his 43rd move Doc shrugged his shoulders apologetically and announced mate in four. There were more flashes. Vanderhoef shook his fist again. The machine flashed:

You played brilliantly. Congratulations!

Afterwards Doc said sourly to Sandra. “And that was one big lie⁠—a child could have beat the Machine with that time advantage. Oh, what an ironic glory the gods reserved for Krakatower’s dotage⁠—to vanquish a broken-down computer! Only one good thing about it⁠—that it didn’t happen while it was playing one of the Russians, or someone would surely have whispered sabotage. And that is something of which they do not accuse Dirty Old Krakatower, because they are sure he has not got the brains even to think to sprinkle a little magnetic oxide powder in the Machine’s memory box. Bah!”

Just the same he seemed considerably more cheerful.

Sandra said guilelessly, “Winning a game means nothing to you chess players, does it, unless you really do it by your own brilliancy?”

Doc looked solemn for a moment, then he started to chuckle. “You are getting altogether too smart, Miss Sandra Lea Grayling,” he said. “Yes, yes⁠—a chess player is happy to win in any barely legitimate way he can, by an earthquake if necessary, or his opponent sickening before he does from the bubonic plague. So⁠—I confess it to you⁠—I was very happy to chalk up my utterly undeserved win over the luckless Machine.”

“Which incidentally makes it anybody’s tournament again, doesn’t it, Doc?”

“Not exactly.” Doc gave a wry little headshake. “We can’t expect another fluke. After all, the Machine has functioned perfectly seven games out of eight, and you can bet the W.B.M. men will be checking it all night, especially since it has no adjourned games to work on. Tomorrow it plays Willie Angler, but judging from the way it beat Votbinnik and Jal, it should have a definite edge on Willie. If it beats him, then only Votbinnik has a chance for a tie and to do that he must defeat Lysmov. Which will be most difficult.”

“Well,” Sandra said, “don’t you think that Lysmov might just kind of let himself be beaten, to make sure a Russian gets first place or at least ties for it?”

Doc shook his head emphatically. “There are many things a man, even a chess master, will do to serve his state, but party loyalty doesn’t go that deep. Look, here is the standing of the players after eight rounds.” He handed Sandra a penciled list.

One Round To Go Player Wins Losses Machine 5½ 2½ Votbinnik 5½ 2½ Angler 5 3 Jal 4½ 3½ Lysmov 4½ 3½ Serek 4½ 3½ Sherevsky 4 4 Jandorf 2½ 5½ Grabo 2 6 Krakatower 2 6

Last Round Pairings

Machine vs. Angler
Votbinnik vs. Lysmov
Jal vs. Serek
Sherevsky vs. Krakatower
Jandorf vs. Grabo

After studying the list for a while, Sandra said, “Hey, even Angler could come out first, couldn’t he, if he beat the Machine and Votbinnik lost to Lysmov?”

“Could, could⁠—yes. But I’m afraid that’s hoping for too much, barring another breakdown. To tell the truth, dear, the Machine is simply too good for all of us. If it were only a little faster (and these technological