Split Infinity

Or he could go for VEHICLE, and they would be in a canoe race or bike race or skating race. Stile was fast on skates, but his legs were tired; this was not his day.  WEAPONS was no better. He wasn’t ready to bend a powerful bow to shoot at a target 300 meters distant.  His aim would surely suffer. His separated cartilage in the rib cage gave a twinge; no, he could not draw a bowl But throwing the javelin or hammer was no better. Nor was pole-vaulting—God, no!—in the next box, or skiing, or even sledding. He pictured himself whomping belly first on a small sled and shooting the ice rap-ids, and his rib cage gave a worse twinge. Only in GENERAL did he have a fair chance, with things like hopscotch, horseshoes, or jacks. Or tiddlywinks— major Games had been won and lost in that game, with the audience as avidly breathless as it would have been for a saber match. Stile was expert in tiddlywinks—but knew he would not get to play them this time.

So it had to be INTERACTIVE. That had its pitfalls too, but in general skill was more important than power.

It came up IB. Interactive ball games. Good—Stile was skilled in most of these, and should be able to take Hair—so long as Hair did not catch on to his special liabilities, like the ribs or the bruised left hand. Oh, that wooden head of the golem, that he had so blithely punched!

They set up the nine-box subgrid, filling in with marbles, jeu de boules, croquet, billiards, tennis, table-soccer, Ping-Pong, soccer and Earthball. The last would be a disaster; Stile played to avoid it, and the result was Ping-Pong.

Well, not good, but not bad. Stile was excellent at this sport, and his right hand remained good, but he would be off his game today. Hair was good enough to take advantage of Stile’s present weaknesses—if he caught on to them in time.

They adjourned to the table-games gym. A number of games were in progress—pool, table-soccer, and of course Ping-Pong—but these were quickly wrapped up when the players saw who was coming. Stile’s move up the ladder was already big news. They took a table, picked up the paddles, and volleyed. Several minutes were permitted for limbering prior to the game.

“Time,” the machine scorekeeper announced. “Select service.”

They did it in the archaic, time-honored fashion, similar to that for the game of Go. Hair took the ball, put it under the table in one hand, and spread his arms apart. Stile chose the right—and got it. He had the first serve.

It was a good break for him, for Stile was an offensive player whose serve was integral to his strategy. He needed to take and keep the initiative, to make up for his lack of reach. He would not be able to win points directly from his serve, against a player of Hair’s caliber, but he could certainly put the man safely on the defensive. That was the way Stile liked it. It gave him necessary options. Of course the serve would change every five points—but once he had the lead, he could ride through to victory without pushing himself. Considering his present liabilities, that was important.

Stile served, a cross-court top-spin ball, fast and low over the net, striking neatly two centimeters from the back edge of the table. Hair returned it cautiously with an undercut to the center of Stile’s court. The game was on.

Stile backhanded the ball with a flick of the wrist, to Hair’s forehand court. Move it about, keep the other player reaching! Never let the opponent get set for his own strategy. Hair returned it to Stile’s forehand, some-what high and shaky, with almost no spin. Good—he was nervous! That diminished Stile’s own tension. This was going his way. Stile made a forehand slam and took the point.

Stile served again the moment he had the ball, back-hand crosscourt with an undercut. Hair flubbed it again. The score was 2-0. Hair was more visibly nervous now. Excellent. The psychology of nervousness was important in any competition.

But Hair’s next return, played too low, nevertheless dribbled over the net, unreturnable. 2-1. These lucky shots occurred; it was usually of no significance. Only when the luck played obvious favorites, as sometimes happened despite the assurances of the experts on probability, was it a critical factor. Stile fired in a side-spin, and Hair sent it wide of the table. 3-1.

The next volley went longer, but Stile finally put it away with a good cross-court slam. 4-1. This game was not going to be a problem.

Now it was Hair’s serve. He uncorked a weak drop-shot that barely cleared the end of the table; Stile, expecting a harder shot, almost muffed it. But his return was a setup, and Hair put it away for the point. 2-^4. In Ping-Pong the server’s score was always listed first.

There was something funny about Hair’s style, and in moments he took two more points. Stile bore down, overreached himself, and lost another. Now he was behind. Carelessness!