by Timothy Zahn
“In approximately twenty hours. The Transphere must be reset after the Olyt is returned to his world.”
Kelly had been about to step into his rest chamber. “Twenty hours?” he echoed, stopping. “Just a second.” He turned toward the alcove where his desk was sitting—but had barely taken two steps when a flash of red light burst in front of him. “Hey! he yelped, jumping backwards as heat from the blast washed over him. “What was that for?”
“You may not approach the Transphere apparatus.” Slaich’s voice had abruptly taken on a whiplash bite.
“Nuts! If I’m being left to twiddle my thumbs for a day I want the books that are in my desk.”
There was a momentary silence, and when Slaich spoke again his tone had moderated. “I see. I suppose that is all right. You may proceed.”
Kelly snorted and walked forward warily. No more bursts of light came. Squeezing around to the front of his desk, he opened the bottom drawer and extracted three paperbacks, normally kept there for idle moments. From another drawer came a half-dozen journals that he’d been meaning to read; and finally, as an afterthought, he scooped up a couple of pens and a yellow legal pad. Stepping back to the center of the room, he held out his booty. “See? Perfectly harmless. Not a single neutron bomb in the lot.”
“Return to your rest chamber.” Slaich did not sound amused.
With the concentration needed during the game, Kelly had temporarily forgotten he’d missed both lunch and dinner. Now, though, his growling stomach was demanding attention. Following Slaich’s instructions, he requested and obtained a meal from the automat-type slots in one wall of his cubicle. The food was bland but comfortably filling, and Kelly felt his spirits rising as he ate. Afterwards, he chose one of his paperbacks and stretched out on the bed. But instead of immediately beginning to read, he stared at the ceiling and thought.
Obviously, there could be no further question that what was happening to him was real. Similarly, there was no reasonable hope that he could escape his captors. There were no apparent exits from the small complex of rooms except via the Transphere, whose machinery was hidden behind metal walls and was probably incomprehensible anyway. He had only Slaich’s word that the Stryfkar intended to send him home, but since they apparently had made—and kept—similar promises to other humans, he had no real reason to doubt them. True, the game rules this time seemed to be different, but Tlaymasy had implied the Stryfkar had pulled this on several of his own race and had released them on schedule. So the big question, then, was whether or not Kelly could win the next game he would have to play.
He frowned. He’d never been any great shakes as a games player, winning frequently at chess but only occasionally at the other games in his limited repertoire. And yet, he’d come surprisingly close today to beating an alien in his own game. An alien, be it noted, whose race held an empire of eight worlds. The near-victory could be meaningless, of course—Tlaymasy might have been the equivalent of a fourth-grader playing chess, for instance. But the Olyt would have had to be a complete idiot to suggest a game he wasn’t good at. And there was also Slaich’s reaction after the game; it was pretty clear the Stryf hadn’t expected Kelly to do that well. Did that mean that Kelly, average strategist that he was, was still better than the run-of-the-mill alien?
If that was true, his problems were essentially over. Whoever his next opponent was, it should be relatively easy to beat him, especially if they picked a game neither player had had much experience with. Four-Ply might be a good choice if the new tester wasn’t another Olyt; the game was an interesting one and easy enough to learn, at least superficially. As a matter of fact, it might be worth his while to try marketing it when he got home. The game market was booming these days, and while Four-Ply wasn’t likely to make him rich, it could conceivably bring in a little pocket change.
On the other hand … what was his hurry?
Kelly squirmed slightly on the bed as a rather audacious idea struck him. If he really was better than most other aliens, then it followed that he could go home most any time he wanted, simply by winning whichever game he was on at the moment. And if that were true, why not stick around for another week or so and learn a few more alien games?
The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. True, there was an element of risk involved, but that was true of any money-making scheme. And it couldn’t be that risky—this was a psychology experiment, for crying out loud! “Slaich?” he called at the metallic ceiling.
“Yes?”
“If I lose my next game, what happens?”
“You will remain here until you have won or until the test is over.”
So it didn’t sound like he got punished or anything if he kept losing. The Stryfkar had set up a pretty simple-minded experiment here, to his way or thinking. Human psychologists would probably have put together something more complicated. Did that imply humans were better strategists than even the Stryfkar?
An interesting question, but for the moment Kelly didn’t care. He’d found a tiny bit of maneuvering space in the controlled environment they’d set up, and it felt very satisfying. Rules like these, in his book, were made to be bent.
And speaking of rules … Putting aside his paperback, Kelly rolled off the bed and went over to the cubicle’s folding table. Business before pleasure, he told himself firmly. Picking up a pen and his legal pad, he began to sketch the Four-Ply playing board and to list the game’s rules.
To: Office of Director Rodau 248700, A.R.B., Clars
From: Office of Director Eftis 379214, Game Studies, Var-4
Subject: Studies of Humans
Date: 3 Lysmo 3829
Dear Rodau,
The Human problem is taking on some frightening aspects, and we are increasingly convinced that we have stumbled upon another race of Chanis. Details will be transmitted when all analyses are complete, but I wanted to send you this note first to give you as much time as possible to recommend an assault force, should you deem this necessary.
As authorized, we initiated a Phase III study eight days ago. Our Human has played games against members of four races: an Olyt, a Fiwalic, a Spromsa, and a Thim-fra-chee. In each case the game agreed upon has been one from the non-Human player’s world, with slight modifications suggested by the Human. As would be expected, the Human has consistently lost—but in each case he has clearly been winning until the last few moves. Our contact specialist, Slaich 898661, suggested early on that the Human might be deliberately losing; but with both his honor and his freedom at stake Slaich could offer no motive for such behavior. However, in a conversation of 1 Lysmo (tape enclosed) the Human freely confirmed our suspicions and indicated the motive was material gain. He is using the testing sessions to study his opponents’ games, expecting to introduce them for profit on returning to his world.
I’m sure you will notice the similarities to Chani psychology: the desire for profit, even at the casual risk of his safety, and the implicit belief that his skills are adequate to bring release whenever he wishes. History shows us that, along with their basic tactical skills, it was just these characteristics that drove the Chanis in their most unlikely conquests. It must also be emphasized that the Human shows no signs of military or other tactical training and must therefore be considered representative of his race.
Unless further study uncovers flaws in their character which would preclude an eventual Chani-like expansion, I personally feel we must consider annihilation for this race as soon as possible. Since we obviously need to discover the race’s full strategic capabilities—and since our subject refuses to cooperate—we are being forced to provide a stronger incentive. The results should be enlightening, and will be sent as soon as they are available.
Regards,
Eftis
The door slid back and Kelly stepped into the test chamber, looking across the room eagerly to see what sort of creature he’d be compet
ing against this time. The dim red lights were back on in the room, indicating someone from a world with a red sun, and as Kelly’s eyes adjusted to the relative darkness he saw another of the alligator-like Olyts approaching the table. “I greet you,” Kelly said, making the crossed-wrist gesture he’d seen at his first game here. “I am Kelly McClain of the human race.”
The Olyt repeated the salute. “I am ulur Achranae of the Olyt race.”
“Pleased to meet you. What does ulur mean?”
“It is a title of respect for my position. I command a war-force of seven spacecraft.”
Kelly swallowed. A trained military man. Good thing he wasn’t in a hurry to win and go home. “Interesting. Well, shall we begin?”
Achranae sat down. “Let us make an end to this charade quickly.”
“What do you mean, ‘charade’?” Kelly asked cautiously as he took his seat. He was by no means an expert on Olyt expressions and emotions, but he could swear this one was angry.
“Do not deny your part,” the alien snapped. “I recognize your name from the reports, and know how you played this game for the Stryfkar against another of my people, studying him like a laboratory specimen before allowing him to win and depart. We do not appreciate the way you take our people like this—”
“Whoa! Wait a second; I’m not with them. They’ve been taking my people, too. It’s some sort of psychology experiment, I guess.”
The Olyt glared at him in silence for a long moment. “If you truly believe that, you are a fool,” he said at last, sounding calmer. “Very well; let us begin.”
“Before you do so we must inform you of an important change in the rules,” Slaich’s voice cut in. “You shall play three different games, instead of one, agreeing on the rules before beginning each. The one who wins two or more shall be returned home. The other will lose his life.”
It took a second for that to sink in. “What?” Kelly yelped. “You can’t do that!” Across the table Achranae gave a soft, untranslatable hiss. His claws, fully extended, scratched lightly on the game board.
“It is done,” Slaich said flatly. “You will proceed now.”
Kelly shot a frustrated glance at Achranae, looked up again. “We will not play for our lives. That sort of thing is barbarous, and we are both civilized beings.”
“Civilized.” Slaich’s voice was thick with sudden contempt. “You, who can barely send craft outside your own atmosphere; you consider yourself civilized? And your opponent is little better.”
We govern a sphere fifteen light-years across,” Achranae reminded Slaich calmly, his outburst of temper apparently over. For all their short fuses, Kelly decided, Olyts didn’t seem to stay mad long.
“Your eight worlds are nothing against our forty.”
“It is said the Chanis had only five when they challenged you.”
The silence from the speaker was impressively ominous. “What are the Chanis?” Kelly asked, fighting the urge to whisper.
“It is rumored they were a numerically small but brutally aggressive race who nearly conquered the Stryfkar many generations ago. We have heard these stories from traders, but do not know how true they are.”
“True or not, you sure hit a nerve,” Kelly commented. “How about it, Slaich? Is he right?”
“You will proceed now,” Slaich ordered, ignoring Kelly’s question.
Kelly glanced at Achranae, wishing he could read the other’s face. Did Olyts understand the art of bluffing? “I said we wouldn’t play for our lives.”
In answer a well-remembered flash of red light exploded inches from his face. Instinctively, he pushed hard on the table, toppling himself and his chair backwards. He hit hard enough to see stars, somersaulted out of the chair, and wound up lying on his stomach on the floor. Raising his head cautiously, he saw the red fireball wink out and, after a moment, got warily to his feet. Achranae, he noted, was also several feet back from the table, crouching in what Kelly decided was probably a fighting stance of some kind.
“If you do not play, both of you will lose your lives.” Slaich’s voice was mild, almost emotionless, but it sent a shiver down Kelly’s spine. Achranae had been right: this was no simple psychology experiment. The Stryfkar were searching for potential enemies—and somehow both humans and Olyts had made it onto their list. And there was still no way to escape. Looking across at Achranae, Kelly shrugged helplessly. “Doesn’t look like we have much choice, does it?”
The Olyt straightened up slowly. “For the moment, no.”
“Since this contest is so important to both of us,” Kelly said when they were seated again, “I suggest that you choose the first game, allowing me to offer changes that will take away some of your advantage—changes we both have to agree on, of course. I’ll choose the second game; you’ll suggest changes on that one.”
“That seems honorable. And the third?”
“I don’t know. Let’s discuss that one when we get there, okay?”
It took nearly an hour for the first game, plus amendments, to be agreed upon. Achranae used three of the extra transparencies and their supports to create a three-dimensional playing area; the game itself was a sort of 3-D “Battleship,” but with elements of chess, Monopoly, and even poker mixed in. Surprisingly enough, the mixture worked, and if the stakes hadn’t been so high Kelly thought he would have enjoyed playing it. His own contributions to the rules were a slight adjustment to the shape of the playing region—which Kelly guessed would change the usual positional strategies—and the introduction of a “wild card” concept to the play. “I also suggest a practice game before we play for keeps,” he told Achranae.
The Olyt’s dark eyes bored into his. “Why?”
“Why not? I’ve never played this before, and you’ve never played with these rules. It would make the actual game fairer. More honorable. We’ll do the same with the second and third games.”
“Ah—it is a point of honor?” The alien cocked his head to the right. A nod? “Very well. Let us begin.”
Even with the changes, the game—Skymarch, Achranae called it—was still very much an Olyt one, and Achranae won the practice game handily. Kelly strongly suspected Skymarch was a required course of the aliens’ space academy; it looked too much like space warfare to be anything else.
“Did the Stryf speak the truth when he said you were not starfarers?” Achranae asked as they set up the board again.
“Hm? Oh, yes.” Kelly replied distractedly, his mind on strategy for the coming game. “We’ve hardly even got simple spacecraft yet.”
“Surprising, since you learn space warfare tactics so quickly.” He waved his sheathed claws over the board. “A pity, too, since you will not be able to resist if the Stryfkar decide to destroy you.”
“I suppose not, but why would they want to? We can’t be any threat to them.”
Again Achranae indicated the playing board. “If you are representative, your race is unusually gifted with both tactical skill and aggressiveness. Such abilities would make you valuable allies or dangerous adversaries to my starfaring race.”
Kelly shrugged. “You’d think they’d try to recruit us, then.”
“Unlikely. The Stryfkar are reputed to be a proud race who have little use for allies. This harassment of both our peoples should indicate their attitude toward other races.”
The Olyt seemed to be on the verge of getting angry again, Kelly noted uneasily. A change in subject seemed in order. “Uh, yes. Shall we begin our game?”
Achranae let out a long hiss. “Very well.”
From the very beginning it was no contest. Kelly did his best, but it was clear that the Olyt was able to think three-dimensionally better than he could. Several times he lost a piece simply because he missed some perfectly obvious move it could have made. Sweating, he tried to make himself slow down, to spend more time on each move. But it did no good. Inex
orably, Achranae tightened the noose; and, too quickly, it was all over.
Kelly leaned back in his chair, expelling a long breath. It was all right, he told himself—he had to expect to lose a game where the alien had all the advantages. The next game would be different, though; Kelly would be on his own turf, with his choice of weapons—
“Have you chosen the game we shall play next?” Achranae asked, interrupting Kelly’s thoughts.
“Idle down, will you?” Kelly snapped, glaring at the alien. “Give me a minute to think.”
It wasn’t an easy question. Chess was far and away Kelly’s best game, but Achranae had already showed himself a skilled strategist, at least with warfare-type games. That probably made chess a somewhat risky bet. Card games involved too much in the way of chance, for this second game Kelly needed as much advantage as he could get. Word games like Scrabble were obviously out. Checkers or Dots were too simple. Backgammon? That was a pretty nonmilitary game, but Kelly was a virtual novice at it himself. How about—
How about a physical game?
“Slaich? Could I get some extra equipment in here? I’d like a longer table, a couple of paddles, a sort of light, bouncy ball—”
“Games requiring specific physical talents are by their nature unfair for such a competition as this,” Slaich said. “They are not permitted.”
“I do not object,” Achranae spoke up unexpectedly, and Kelly looked at him in surprise. “You stated we could choose the games and the rules, and it is Kelly McClain’s choice this time.”
“We are concerned with psychological studies,” Slaich said. “We are not interested in the relative abilities of your joints and muscles. You will choose a game that can be played with the equipment provided.”
“It is dishonorable—”
“No, it’s okay, Achranae,” Kelly interrupted, ashamed at himself for even suggesting such a thing. “Slaich is right; it would’ve been completely unfair. It was dishonorable for me to suggest it. Please accept my apology.”
