by Anthology
Doc sealed a move too although he was two pawns down in his game against Grabo and looked tired to death.
“They don’t give up easily, do they?” Sandra observed to Dave. “They must really love the game. Or do they hate it?”
“When you get to psychology it’s all beyond me,” Dave replied. “Ask me something else.”
Sandra smiled. “Thank you, Dave,” she said. “I will.”
Come the morning session, Votbinnik played on for a dozen moves, then resigned.
A little later Doc managed to draw his game with Grabo by perpetual check. He caught sight of Sandra coming down from the stands and waved to her, then made the motions of drinking.
Note he looks almost like a boy, Sandra thought as she joined him.
“Say, Doc,” she asked when they had secured a table, “why is a rook worth more than a bishop?”
He darted a suspicious glance at her. “That is not your kind of question,” he said sternly. “Exactly what have you been up to?”
Sandra confessed that she had asked Dave to teach her how to play chess.
“I knew those children would corrupt you,” Doc said somberly. “Look, my dear, if you learn to play chess you won’t be able to write your clever little articles about it. Besides, as I warned you the first day, chess is a madness.
Women are ordinarily immune, but that doesn’t justify you taking chances with your sanity.”
“But I’ve land of gotten interested, watching the tournament,” Sandra objected. “At least I’d like to know how the pieces move.”
“Stop!” Doc commanded. “You’re already in danger. Direct your mind somewhere else. Ask me a sensible, down-to-earth journalist’s question—something completely irrational.”
“Okay, why didn’t Simon Great have the Machine set to play the openings fast in the first three games?”
“Hah! I think Great plays Lasker-chess in his programming. He hides his strength and tries to win no more easily than he has to, so he will have resources in reserve. The Machine loses to Lysmov and immediately starts playing more strongly—the psychological impression made on the other players by such tactics is formidable.”
“But the Machine isn’t ahead yet?”
“No, of course not. After four rounds Lysmov is leading the tournament with 3%meaning 3% in the win column and % in the loss column . . .”
“How do you half win a game of chess? Or half lose one?” Sandra interrupted.
“By drawing a game—playing to a tie. Lysmov’s 3%—% is notational shorthand for three wins and a draw. Understand? My dear, I don’t usually have to explain things to you in such detail.”
“I just didn’t want you to think I was learning too much about chess.”
“Ho! Well, to get on with the score after four rounds, Angler and Votbinnik both have 3—1, while the Machine is bracketed at 2&—IK with Jal. But the Machine has created an impression of strength, as if it were all set to come from behind with a rush.” He shook his head. “At the moment, my dear,” he said, “I feel very pessimistic about the chances of neurons against relays in this tournament. Relays don’t panic and fag. But the oddest thing . . .”
“Yes?” Sandra prompted.
“Well, the oddest thing is that the Machine doesn’t play Tike a machine’ at all. It uses dynamic strategy, the kind we sometimes call ‘Russian’, complicating each position as much as possible and creating maximum tension. But that too is a matter of the programming . . .”
Doc’s foreboding was fulfilled as round followed hard-fought round. In die next five days (there was a weekend recess) the Machine successively smashed Jandorf, Serek and Jal and after seven rounds was out in front by a full point.
Jandorf, evidently impressed by the Machine’s flawless opening play against Votbinnik, chose an inferior line in the Ruy Lopez to get the Machine “out of the books.” Perhaps he hoped that the Machine would go on blindly making book moves, but the Machine did not oblige. It immediately showed its play, “thought hard” and annihilated the Argentinian in 25 moves.
Doc commented, “The Wild Bull of the Pampas tried to use the living force of his human personality to pull a fast one and swindle the Machine. Only the Machine didn’t swindle.”
Against Jal, the Machine used a new wrinkle. It used a variable amount of time on moves, apparently according to how difficult it “judged” the position to be.
When Serek got a poor pawn-position the Machine simplified the game relentlessly, suddenly discarding its hitherto “Russian” strategy. “It plays like anything but a machine,” Doc commented. “We know the reason all too well—Simon Great—but doing something about it is something else again. Great is hitting at our individual weaknesses wonderfully well. Though I think I could play brilliant psychological chess myself if I had a machine to do the detail work.” Doc sounded a bit wistful.
The audiences grew in size and in expensiveness of wardrobe, though most of the cafe society types made their visits fleeting ones. Additional stands were erected. A hard-liquor bar was put in and then taken out. The problem of keeping reasonable order and quiet became an unending one for Vanderhoef, who had to ask for more “hushers.” The number of scientists and computer men, Navy, Army and Space Force uniforms were more in evidence. Dave and Bill turned up one morning with a three-dimensional chess set of transparent plastic and staggered Sandra by assuring her that most bright young space scientists were moderately adept at this 512-square game.
Sandra heard that WBM had snagged a big order from the War Department. She also heard that a Syndicate man had turned up with a book on the tournament, taking bets from the more heavily heeled types and that a detective was circulating about, trying to spot him.
The newspapers kept up their front-page reporting, most of the writers personalizing the Machine heavily and rather too cutely. Several of the papers started regular chess columns and “How to Play Chess” features. There was a flurry of pictures of movie starlets and such sitting at chess boards. Hollywood revealed plans for two chess movies: “They Made Her a Black Pawn” and “The Monster From King Rook Square.” Chess novelties and costume jewelry appeared. The United States Chess Federation proudly reported a phenomenal rise in membership.
Sandra learned enough chess to be able to blunder through a game with Dave without attempting more than one illegal move in five, to avoid the Scholar’s Mate most of the time and to be able to checkmate with two 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.
“Shi” Sandra said, somewhat aghast at her irresponsibility, and wondered if she were getting tournament-nerves. “Sh, they’re starting the clocks.”
VII
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 WBM 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
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 heat 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 improvements always come) it would outclass us completely. We are at that fleeting moment of balance when genius is almost good enough to equal mechanism. It makes me feel sad, but proud too in a morbid fashion, to think that I am in at the death of grandmaster chess. Oh, I suppose the game will always be played, but it won’t ever be quite the same.” He blew out a breath and shrugged his shoulders.
“As for Willie, he’s a good one and he’ll give the Machine a long hard fight, you can depend on it. He might conceivably even draw.”
He touched Sandra’s arm. “Cheer up, my dear,” he said. “You should remind yourself that a victory for the Machine is still a victory for the USA.”
Doc’s prediction about a long hard fight was decidedly not fulfilled.
Having White, the Machine opened Pawn to King Four and Angler went into the Sicilian Defense. For the first twelve moves on each side both adversaries pushed their pieces and tapped their clocks at such lightning speed (Vanderhoef feeding in Angler’s moves swiftly) that up in the stands Bill and Judy were still flipping pages madly in their hunt for the right column in MCO.
The Machine made its thirteenth move, still at blitz tempo.
“Bishop takes Pawn, check, and mate in three!” Willie announced very loudly, made the move, banged his clock and sat back.
There was a collective gasp-and-gabble from the stands.
Dave squeezed Sandra’s arm hard. Then, for once forgetting that he was Dr. Caution, he demanded loudly of Bill and Judy, “Have you two idiots found that column yet? The Machine’s thirteenth move is a boner!”
Pinning down the reference with a fingernail, Judy cried, “Yes! Here it is on page 161 in footnote (e) (2) (B). Dave, that same thirteenth move for White is in the book! But Black replies Knight to Queen two, not Bishop takes Pawn, check. And three moves later the book gives White a plus value.”
“What the heck, it can’t be,” Bill asserted.
“But it is. Check for yourself. That boner is in the book.”
“Shut up, everybody!” Dave ordered, clapping his hands to his face. When he dropped them a moment later his eyes gleamed. “I got it now! Angler figured they were using the latest edition of MCO to program the Machine on openings, he found an editorial error and then he deliberately played the Machine into that variation!”
Dave practically shouted his last words, but that attracted no attention as at that moment the whole hall was the noisiest it had been throughout the tournament. It simmered down somewhat as the Machine flashed a move.
Angler replied instantly.
The Machine replied almost as soon as Angler’s move was fed into it.
Angler moved again, his move was fed into the Machine and the Machine flashed:
I AM CHECKMATED. CONGRATULATIONS!
VIII
Next morning Sandra heard Dave’s guess confirmed by both Angler and Great. Doc had spotted them having coffee and a malt together and he and Sandra joined them.
Doc was acting jubilant, having just drawn his adjourned game with Sherevsky, which meant, since Jandorf had beaten Grabo, that he was in undisputed possession of Ninth Place. They were all waiting for the finish of the Votbinnik-Lysmov game, which would decide the final standing of the leaders. Willie Angler was complacent and Simon Great was serene and at last a little more talkative.
“You know, Willie,” the psychologist said, “I was afraid that one of you boys would figure out something like that. That was the chief reason I didn’t have the Machine use the programmed openings until Lysmov’s win forced me to. I couldn’t check every opening line in MCO and the Archives and Shakhmaty. There wasn’t time. As it was, we had a dozen typists an
d proofreaders busy for weeks preparing that part of the programming and making sure it was accurate as far as following the books went. Tell the truth now, Willie, how many friends did you have hunting for flaws in the latest edition of MCO?”
Willie grinned. “Your unlucky 13th. Well, that’s my secret. Though I’ve always said that anyone joining the Willie Angler Fan Club ought to expect to have to pay some day for the privilege. They’re sharp, those little guys, and I work their tails off.”
Simon Great laughed and said to Sandra, “Your young friend Dave was pretty sharp himself to deduce what had happened so quickly. Willie, you ought to have him in the Bleeker Street Irregulars.”
Sandra said. “I get the impression he’s planning to start a club of his own.”
Angler snorted. “That’s the one trouble with my little guys. They’re all waiting to topple me.”
Simon Great said, “Well, so long as Willie is passing up Dave, I want to talk to him. It takes real courage in a youngster to question authority.”
“How should he get in touch with you?” Sandra asked. While Great told her, Willie studied them frowningly. “Sir, are you planning to stick in this chess-programming racket?” he demanded.
Simon Great did not answer the question. “You try telling me something, Willie,” he said. “Have you been approached the last couple of days by IBM?”
“You mean asking me to take over your job?”
“I said IBM, Willie.”
“Oh.” Willie’s grin became a tight one. “I’m not talking.” There was a flurry of sound and movement around the playing tables. Willie sprang up.
“Lysmov’s agreed to a drawl” he informed them a moment later. “The gangster!”
“Gangster because he puts you in equal first place with Votbinnik, both of you ahead of the Machine?” Great inquired gently.
“Ahh, he could have beat Binny, giving me sole first. A Russian gangster!”
Doc shook a finger. “Lysmov could also have lost to Votbinnik, Willie, putting you in second place.”