Rogard gasped. It was like a blow in the belly. He had stood triumphant over the world, and now all in one swoop it was brought toppling about him. THEUTAS shook his lance, SORKAS his mace, DIOMES raised a bull’s bellow—somehow, incredibly somehow, the warriors of LEUKAS had entered Cinnabar and were thundering at the King’s own citadel.
«No, no—» Looking down the long empty row of squares, Rogard saw that Evyan was weeping. He wanted to run to her, hold her close and shield her against the falling world, but the Barriers were around him. He could not stir from his square, he could only watch.
Flambard cursed lividly and retreated into his Queen’s home. His men gave a shout and clashed their arms—there was still a chance!
No, not while the Law bound men, thought Rogard, not while the Barriers held. Victory was ashen, and victory and defeat alike were darkness.
Beyond her thinly smiling husband, Queen DOLORA swept forward. Evyan cried out as the tall white woman halted before Rogard’s terrified guardsman, turned to face Flambard where he crouched, and called to him: «Defend yourself, King!»
«No—no—you fool!» Rogard reached out, trying to break the Barrier, clawing at MIKILLATI. «Can’t you see, none of us can win, it’s death for us all if the war ends. Call her back!»
MIKILLATI ignored him. He seemed to be waiting.
And Ocher of Cinnabar raised a huge shout of laughter. It belled over the plain, dancing joyous mirth and men lifted weary heads and turned to the young Knight where he sat in his own stronghold, for there was youth and triumph and glory in his laughing. Swiftly, then, a blur of steel, he sprang, and his winged horse rushed out of the sky on DOLORA herself. She turned to meet him, lifting her sword, and he knocked it from her hand and stabbed with his own lance. Slowly, too haughty to scream, the white Queen sank under his horse’s hoofs.
And MIKILLATI smiled.
«I see,» nodded the visitor. «Individual computers, each controlling its own robot piece by a tight beam, and all the computers on a given side linked to form a sort of group-mind constrained to obey the rules of chess and make the best possible moves. Very nice. And it’s a pretty cute notion of yours, making the robots look like medieval armies.» His glance studied the tiny figures where they moved on the oversize board, under one glaring floodlight.
«Oh, that’s pure frippery,» said the scientist. «This is really a serious research project in multiple computer-linkages. By letting them play game after game, I’m getting some valuable data.»
«It’s a lovely setup,» said the visitor admiringly. «Do you realize that in this particular contest the two sides are reproducing one of the great classic games?»
«Why, no. Is that a fact?»
«Yes. It was a match between Anderssen and Kieseritsky back in—I forget the year, but it was quite some time ago. Chess books often refer to it as the Immortal Game… So your computers must share many of the properties of a human brain.»
«Well, they’re complex things, all right,» admitted the scientist. «Not all their characteristics are known yet. Sometimes my chessmen surprise even me.»
«Hm.» The visitor stooped over the board. «Notice how they’re limping around inside their squares, waving their arms, batting at each other with their weapons?» He paused, then murmured slowly: «I wonder—I wonder if your computers may not have consciousness. If they might not have—minds.»
«Don’t get fantastic,» snorted the scientist.
«But how do you know?» persisted the visitor. «Look, your feedback arrangement is closely analogous to a human nervous system. How do you know that your individual computers, even if they are constrained by the group linkage, don’t have individual personalities? How do you know that their electronic senses don’t interpret the game as, oh, as an interplay of free will and necessity; how do you know they don’t receive the data of the moves as their own equivalent of blood, sweat and tears?» He shuttered a little.
«Nonsense,» grunted the scientist. «They’re only robots.»
«Now—Hey! Look there! Look at that move!»
Bishop SORKAS took one step ahead, into the black square adjoining Flambard’s. He bowed and smiled. «The war is ended,» he said.
Slowly, very slowly, Flambard looked about him. SORKAS, MERKON, THEUTAS, they were crouched to leap on him wherever he turned; his own men raged helpless against the Barriers; there was no place for him to go.
He bowed his head. «I surrender,» he whispered.
Rogard looked across the red and black to Evyan. Their eyes met, and they stretched out their arms to each other.
«Checkmate,» said the scientist. «That game’s over.»
He crossed the room to the switchboard and turned off the computers.
UPON THE OCCASION OF BEING ASKED TO ARGUE THAT LOVE AND MARRIAGE ARE INCOMPATIBLE
BACKWARDNESS
As a small boy he wanted to be a rocket pilot—and what boy didn’t in those days?—but learned early that he lacked the aptitudes. Later he decided on psychology, and even took a bachelor’s degree cum laude. Then one thing led to another, and Joe Husting ended up as a confidence man. It wasn’t such a bad life; it had challenge and variety as he hunted in New York, and the spoils of a big killing were devoured in Florida, Greenland Resort, or Luna City.
The bar was empty of prospects just now, but he dawdled over his beer and felt no hurry. Spring had reached in and touched even the East Forties. The door stood open to a mild breeze, the long room was cool and dim, a few other men lazed over midafternoon drinks and the TV was tuned low. Idly, through cigarette smoke, Joe Husting watched the program.
The Galactics, of course. Their giant spaceship flashed in the screen against wet brown fields a hundred miles from here. Copter view… now we pan to a close-up, inside the ring of UN guards, and then back to the sightseers in their thousands. The announcer was talking about how the captain of the ship was at this moment in conference with the Secretary-General, and the crewmen were at liberty on Earth. «They are friendly, folks. I repeat, they are friendly. They will do no harm. They have already exchanged their cargo of U-235 for billions of our own dollars, and they plan to spend those dollars like any friendly tourist. But both the UN Secretariat and the President of the United States have asked us all to remember that these people come from the stars. They have been civilized for a million years. They have powers we haven’t dreamed of. Anyone who harms a Galactic can ruin the greatest—»