Robot Adept

Bane responded immediately with the standard return, and they both followed through with the next set of moves. Then the real play began. Mach knew that others were reporting the progress of the game to all who were interested; the moves were being magically relayed to the White Mountains, the Purple Mountains, and the various Demesnes, including the Blue. Some were present in person: Translucent and Brown, the latter to see that Mach received no advice now from his trainer. The game between Stile and Icebeard was not yet done, but it was evident that it was a superlative one, and no one could yet judge the advantage. Certainly Icebeard’s advice would be an unfair advantage for him. Bane was similarly limited, in Proton; a Contrary Citizen was standing over him. But Bane would have had the training of Blue, and that made Mach nervous. His father had always beaten him.

The game proceeded quickly to the end-stage. The two seemed evenly matched, which was perhaps no surprise. Bane checked Mach’s king, and Mach used his pole to block it. He consolidated his position, and attacked Bane’s king, but could not penetrate the defense. Finally they ground down to a draw. One of the liabilities of Pole Chess was that it facilitated draws, because the pole made it difficult to keep a king in check. That was one reason the duffers liked it, but in matches where clear-cut decisions were needed, it could be a problem.

The score was even: half a game apiece. The next game would be on the next day. Mach conjured himself and Fleta to the White Mountains to consult Icebeard.

“You were lucky, rovot!” the demon growled. “Had the boy been alert, he could have mated thee by the twentieth move.”

“What? I saw no such opportunity!”

“He be right,” Fleta murmured.

Icebeard set up the board. “You saw it, filly? Damn, I wish thou wast playing that match! Show him the move.”

The board was at the fifteenth move. Fleta moved a black pawn up one space.

“There!” the demon said. “Dost see it now, rovot?”

Mach studied the position. “I see nothing so great about that.”

“Nor did Bane, the dolt! How wouldst thou counter?”

“I wouldn’t. I would attack. He has wasted a move, and given me the initiative.”

“Make thine attack.”

Mach made his move.

“Filly—”

Fleta moved a Black knight.

Mach considered the new position. “Oh, no!” he groaned.

“Next time, be on guard against all potential attacks, rovot,” the demon said gruffly. “Luck strikes naught twice the same. Bane’s mentor be even now chewing his rump to shreds for missing that, e’en as I chew thine for setting it up. He could have been one up on thee!”

He could have, indeed. Mach was mortified. He thought they had played an excellent game. They had not.

“Well, there be two games, yet,” the demon said. “Filly, take him elsewhere and teach ‘him aught. I have a move of mine own to study.” He turned to the game he was playing with Stile, which was of a wholly different level.

Mach and Fleta went to the ice cave they were using for this period, and she made savage love to him. “On the morrow, play thou chess like that,” she admonished him.

“I’ll try,” he agreed contritely.

Next day Mach had Black. He was set to play conservatively, but Bane opened with the Queen’s Gambit, forcing it into more adventurous territory at the outset.

However, Mach kept his eyes open for opportunities, and managed to forge an advantage in the midgame—only to be foiled in the endgame by the pole. It was another draw. Now each player had one point, and the final game would decide it.

He expected Icebeard to bawl him out again, for missing an opportunity, but the demon was grudgingly satisfied. “Thou didst play at thy level, consistency. In a conventional game, the victory would have been thine.”

Mach breathed a silent sigh of relief. He had been almost more concerned about the demon’s critique than about the game itself.

“But on the morrow, it be huffdraw,” Icebeard reminded him sternly. “That be a new game, rovot.”

Mach’s nervousness clamped down again. That was indeed a new game! There would be no draw this time.

The demon turned to Fleta. “Filly, whate’er thou didst do yester, do it twice tonight, to put him in readiness for the morrow.”

Now Fleta quailed. She had done her ultimate yesterday! She could not hope to match it, let alone exceed it.

But she tried.

Mach had White again. This time he started conservatively, with pawn to king four, and played conservatively, trying first to avoid any error that his nonrobot flesh might be heir to, and second to pick up any slight advantage he could. He understood, in retrospect, why Bane had overlooked the winning play in the first game; he was in the robot body, and imagination was hard for that to come by. But he would not overlook it again; he would have been reprogrammed to be alert for anything similar.