by Sam Merwin
Craven nodded, heconcentrated and, to his amazement, watched a fuzzy likeness of hismaternal parent take form on the screen.
This was something new, he decided, and said so. Dr. Craven replied,"Yes--the psychopic is brand new. But concentrate on the picture,please. You're losing it."
It had faded to almost nothing. Lindsay concentrated again, this timebrought his maternal parent into clear focus. He felt a little like aman who has never wielded a brush in his life and has suddenlydiscovered he could paint a perfect portrait.
Dr. Craven said nothing for a moment. Then, "Will you try to visualizeyour mother without the blemish at her temple?"
Lindsay tried, and all but lost the picture entirely. He brought it backagain, blemish and all, felt a sudden tug of nostalgia for the firmkindly features of the woman who had brought him into the world. Aminute or so later Dr. Craven pressed another button and the screen wentblank. "That will do very nicely," he said. "You may wait for thepsycho-computer verdict outside if you wish."
He found Nina sprawled in an anteroom chair with her long legs stuck outbefore her, contemplating a flashing diamond-and-emerald necklace. Hesaid, before she looked up and saw him, "Business good, Miss Beckwith?"
To his amazement Nina began to snivel. And when he asked her what he haddone to cause it she snapped angrily, "You big pig, you haven't thesensitivity to understand. Don't ever speak of it as business again. NowI'll have to bathe my eyes when I get home or they will be all swollenand horrible."
She removed her glasses and they _were_ swollen. Lindsay had seen toomuch of allergic reactions since reaching Earth not to know he waslooking at another. He was relieved when she put her glasses back on.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
"I know it," she replied, "but you did."
"Perhaps, if you told me--" he began. Dr. Craven chose that moment toemerge from his office.
"If you'll come back inside," he said. "There are just a few morequestions I'd like to ask, Ambassador."
"Ask them here," said Lindsay. He had no desire to go back under thedrier.
Dr. Craven hesitated and rubbed his chin, which was bright red again. Hesaid finally, "Mr. Lindsay, you didn't kill your mother before you wereseventeen, did you?"
"My mother died last year," said Lindsay, unbelieving.
"Incredible!" muttered the psychiatrist, shaking his head. "According tothe computer you must have...." He paused again, then said, "I hope thiswon't embarrass you but you evidently are a man who prefers men towomen. The stigmata is definite and shows--"
"Night soil!" Nina exploded her favorite expression before Lindsay couldcollect his wits for an answer. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Dr.Craven, but this man's a veritable satyr. I caught him looking at mylegs yesterday. Ask Maria Bergozza if you want any further proof."
"But this is impossible!" the psychiatrist exploded. "According to thecomputer--"
"Your computer's out of whack," Nina said calmly, and led a stunnedLindsay out of the place. She added, "You didn't deserve that, boss. Notafter puffing my eyes up."
"Why not just keep your glasses on then?" he countered. They returned totheir office in unfriendly silence. Lindsay sent Nina home early andtook a copter across the Lake to his own place, there to nap until timefor the match at the Colosseum.
* * * * *
He felt more at home in the UW box at the vast arena than at any timesince reaching Earth. Since it was a sporting event, the eye-glasseswere serried, at least in the lower, higher-priced tiers, by goodlooking faces, male and female, unadorned.
Someone slid into the comfortable contour chair beside him and said,"Evening, Zalen. Enjoying yourself?"
Lindsay looked into Senator Fernando Anderson's diamond-shaped raspberryglasses. He said, "So far--how about you?"
Anderson made a face. "I had a date with a gorgeous item but she put meoff until later. So I thought I'd look in. Maria arranged a seat in theUW box. Otherwise I'd be watching it on vidar."
Lindsay looked up and around and discovered that the vast stadium waspacked to the rafters, judging by the glowing cigarette tips thatresembled an uncountable horde of frozen fireflies.
The court itself was pitch-dark, save for the lines and the net. He hadtrouble recognizing O'Ryan as his would-be assassin and opponent walkedout. Neither player was clearly visible of feature, though shoes, shortsand racquets were luminous, as were the balls they began to hit back andforth across the net.
The only other luminous objects, save for the dim exit lights, were thebetting boards. Lindsay, who had never seen one save on a vidar-screenbefore, asked Anderson how they worked. The senator from New Mexico wasglad to explain.
"Naturally," he said, "since the results of all athletic contests arepredicted on the computers, there is no betting on who will win."
"No upsets?" Lindsay asked.
Anderson laughed, said, "The last time there was an upset--in theBritish Australian test cricket matches three years ago--a computerinvestigation proved bribery and there was a hell of a stink."
"Then how do you manage to bet?" Lindsay asked.
"Simple," said the Senator. "Naturally, in case of accidental injury,all bets are void. But otherwise the betting is on the percentage ofvariation between the computer prediction and the actual play of thecontest. There--you can see the computer line on the big board overthere. The line of actual play will be red when it comes on. That waythere is plenty of chance for betting on points, games, sets or match."
The man from Mars studied the predictor line for the match. It revealedthat Pat O'Ryan, after a fast start, was due to slump in the second set,recover in the third and polish off his opponent, Yamato-Rau fromIndonesia, in the fourth set with the loss of but one game.
"Looks like a shoo-in for O'Ryan," he said. "Right?"
"It ought to be," the Senator replied. "He's taken Yamato-Rau in six oftheir seven previous matches. The second time they played he had asprained wrist that affected his volleying."
"Care to make a bet?" Lindsay asked his companion.
"Sure--why not?" Anderson countered. "Percentage of variation for game,set or match?"
"I'd like to bet on the Indonesian to win," said Lindsay quietly.
* * * * *
Senator Anderson looked at Lindsay sharply. He said, "You knowsomething."
"Against the computer-prophecy?" Lindsay countered.
Anderson backed down and gave him a hundred to one on a fifty-creditbet. "You can't win, of course," he murmured, "but if you do it will beworth it."
The match began and the hum of the great crowd's conversation slowlyquieted. At first it went according to the computer prophecy. Servingbrilliantly, hitting crisply from either hand and smashing and volleyingwith deadly accuracy from all parts of the court, Pat O'Ryan heldcomplete command of the match.
There was something hypnotic about the play--the clean _ping_ of racquetstrings on luminous ball, the swift flight of the ball, a streak oflight in the darkness, the flash of another racquet, the long andintricate tactics of each exchange, broken only occasionally by theflash of a light that betokened an error or an ace and the resultingalteration of the scoreboard.
The red line crept in zigzag fashion along the computer board as thematch progressed, veering above or below the white line of the prophecybut always returning to cross or even to cover it briefly. Big O'Ryantook the first set six games to three on a single service break againstthe Indonesian champion.
"Money in the bank," said Anderson in Lindsay's ear as the playerschanged courts following the first game of the second set, whichYamato-Rau had taken at fifteen. "Candy from a baby."
"It's barely begun," said Lindsay with a confidence he was far fromfeeling. He glanced at the clock above the scoreboard, saw that it wasscarcely ten o'clock. Sickly he recalled that O'Ryan had told him ittook twenty-four hours for his grain allergy to take effect. Lindsay hadgiven him the drink barely seventeen hours before. He b
egan to wish hehad not bet so thoughtlessly.
The second set went to deuce twice before Yamato-Rau broke O'Ryan'sservice to run it out at eight-six. This was two games more than thecomputer had calculated and caused considerable uproar in the crowd.
"I hear you had some trouble last night," Anderson told him.
"Nothing serious," said Lindsay, wondering how much the senator knew.Dammit, he thought, he wished he didn't like the power-hungrypolitician.
He wondered if Anderson were behind the attempt of the morning--and ifhe were behind it,