Table Tennis Chapters from "Robot Adept"

By Piers Anthony

Note - The last two chapters from this book feature table tennis. Chapter 15 of "Robot Adept" appeared in the Sept/Oct 2002 issue of USA Table Tennis Magazine; Chapter 16 will appear in the Nov/Dec issue. For those of you who can't wait, both chapters are here!

Chapter 15: Table 

Mach stood at the console. He had the numbers, so he chose 1. PHYSICAL; he trusted that more than the others. Bane chose B. TOOL, evidently not trusting NAKED after his loss in the Chase. The truth was that had been a very near thing; had Mach’s desperate ruse not worked, Bane could easily have won, and finished the match.

He had the letters on the subgrid. He chose H. H2O, having found that general-surface category compatible the last time. Bane chose 6. INTERACTIVE.

The square opened out, and the list of games appeared; a number of ball games wherein more than a ball was used, such as tennis, Jai alai and bowling, so that they wound up in this catchall grouping; water games like pedal-boat bumping and underwater volleyball (wherein the ball had to be propelled under the net); and string-ball games such as tetherball.

They assembled the nine-box grid, and played it, and came up with what each was evidently well satisfied to play: table tennis. There were several variants; Trool consulted with the Oracle, with Mach and Bane relaying the messages, and decided on three variants, one for each game. The first game would be standard, with identical equipment on both sides. The second would be freestyle, which meant the individual paddles could be of any type. The third was to be doublet, generally considered to be the most formidable challenge of a player’s capacities.

Mach was familiar with them all, and good at them all. But Bane now had his expertise, as well as the sureness of the machine body. Could Mach, in this fallible living body, match that? He doubted it. Therefore his month’s training would be critical. He had to come up with strategy and skill that could defeat the person he had been in Proton.

Meanwhile, there was the separate challenge of enabling the games to be played. Trool and the Oracle had made the chess games work, and the chase games; but table tennis was a physically interactive game of another nature. How could they hit a ball across the barrier between the frames? He was sure it would somehow be arranged, though.

He turned to look at the Translucent Adept. “Who are the best players of this game?” he inquired.

Translucent scowled. “Stile, and certain vampires in manform. We be hoist again.”

“I have to find players better than I am, who can teach me things, and drill me in new techniques.”

“We have resources, but thou mayst like them not.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I like them! I can’t win unless I improve significantly, and even then the outcome will be in doubt, because Bane will improve too, and he won’t make errors.”

“Aye, thou must practice,” Fleta agreed. “There be naught distasteful in that.”

“One who can show thee much be Tania.”

Fleta’s ears flattened back, though she was in girlform. “That creature has shown thee already too much!”

Mach had to smile, though he too was startled. “No, that was Bane she showed,” he said.

“When he were emulating thee!” she returned, as if that made Mach culpable. “And in Proton-frame – “

“But it was Tan who was making you–”

“So Tannu be bad for me, and Tania for thee!”

Translucent nodded grimly. “I realize that neither of you be partial to those of the Tan Demesnes. But Tania alone has what thou dost require.”

“What has that harpy that I do not?” Fleta demanded, one hand bunching and moving as if to paw the ground.

“A magic paddle.”

Mach’s interest quickened. “A magic paddle? To play table tennis?”

“Aye. It be a rare device that she charmed from an elven craftsman of the carbon clan. Methinks thou must in turn charm it from her.”

“O’er my dead carcass!” Fleta snorted

But Mach was already dazzled by the notion. “A magic paddle, of elven craftsmanship! That would be something very special!”

“Aye. So do thou come to terms with thy filly, and I will make arrangements for thee to visit the Tan Demesnes.”

Fleta did not seem to be in any mood to come to terms. “This may take a while,” Mach muttered.

It did. Unicorns were known to be stubborn creatures, and Fleta showed her mettle in this respect. She did not want Mach going near Tania! But finally he persuaded her that if he did not take advantage of every opportunity to improve his game, he would lose, and then the two of them would be separated. “But the only reason I yield,” she said grudgingly, “be because she be also in Proton, and I would be not there to safeguard thee from her clutches.”

“Good reasoning,” he said, relieved.

But it was not easy, when they went to the Tan Demesnes. Fleta insisted on carrying him there herself, in her natural form, theoretically to save his magic for more important things. But he suspected she was motivated more by the extra time it took this way.

Tania was resplendent in a fluffy tan cotton dress that fitted closely about her torso. Her hair was tied back with a tan ribbon and bow, and her feet looked tiny in tan slippers.

The grass here was excellent, but Fleta was not about to change back to unicorn form and graze.

Tania smiled brilliantly, flouncing her hem so that a petticoat flashed. “How nice to see thee, Mach! Hast come to play a game with a real woman?” Mach heard something like a squeal in the back of Fleta’s throat.

“A game of table tennis,” he said carefully. “The Translucent Adept said you have a magic paddle.”

“Aye, and that be not all, rovot.” She delivered a brief but intense glance, and he felt the power of her evil eye. Fleta’s head moved slightly, as if orienting a horn for action.

“I brought a good paddle carved by the Red Adept,” he said. “It has perfect heft and balance, and I can play well with it.”

“We shall see,” she said. “Let me change into something more comfortable.” She spun around, her skirt flaring, showing her legs up to the thickening region of the thighs, and walked to the tanion tree. Mach, accustomed all his prior life to naked serfs, was amazed at how much a little clothing could do for a woman. Tania had not looked nearly as enticing naked in Proton.

Fleta’s foot came down, just missing his toe. “What be thou looking at, machine?”

“Uh – “

“She knew we were coming,” she hissed. “Why did she change not before?”

“Remember, I’m supposed to get her to lend me the paddle,” Mach said. “I have to seem interested, though of course I am not.”

“Thou couldst have fooled me,” she muttered.

Soon Tania reappeared, garbed in tight tan shorts that made her nether portion seem almost bare, and a translucently loose blouse. “This be better, methinks,” she murmured.

“Shethinks!” Fleta sniffed.

After a moment Mach noticed that Tania carried a paddle. She was evidently ready to play.

There was a chamber in an alcove of the tree, and the table was there. Tania took a stance at one end. “Do it to me,” she invited.

“Nay, an I could . . .” Fleta breathed wrathfully.

There was a ball on the table, wedged by the net. Mach fetched it, and served it. He had not played this game in this body, but his motions were good; either his experience or Bane’s reflexes made the play easy.

Tania jammed her paddle at the ball somewhat jerkily; it was obvious that she was not an apt player. But the ball came back; she had made the return.

He struck the ball again, getting the feel of it and the paddle and his body. Again she was somewhat awkward, but returned it. Obviously she would soon miss, though.

He struck it the third time, angling it across the table. She stretched, almost losing her balance, and he thought she was going to hit the ball well wide—but it returned neatly enough.

Curious, he slammed it off the right corner. She blocked it in a pure reflex of self-defense—and the ball looped back to the center of his side of the table, another fair return. How had she done it?

In the course of the next several volleys, he discovered that no matter how awkwardly she moved her paddle, the ball always made a good return. He finally missed his own shot, trying too hard to make her miss. The skill was not in her, but in the paddle: that was its magic. It would not miss a point.

He lost the game, winning no points at all. He could not prevail against the magic paddle.

Tania smiled as she won. “What wouldst thou give for this paddle, rovot?” she inquired, her bosom heaving. “To use ‘gainst Bane in thy tourney?”

She had a double score to settle with Bane, he realized: he was on the other side, and he had resisted her attempt to fascinate him. She would lend Mach the paddle; she was just trying to see what else she might profit from the transaction. Meanwhile, he had Fleta to contend with.

“Nothing, Tania,” he said gruffly. “There will be three games; it could only win one of them for me. If I depend on magic, I will lose. I need to hone my playing skill, and you are unlikely to do that for me.”

Tania’s face transformed in the course of his speech from self-satisfied to furious. “Take it then, golem-brain; I care not!” And she hurled it at him.

He caught it. “If you insist, Tania.”

She glared; evidently ready to use her magic on him. He snapped his fingers, and a full-length mirror appeared before her, reflecting her outraged visage back to her. Then he turned his back and walked with Fleta away from the table and the tree.

“Methinks that were not wise, Mach,” she said, satisfied.

“Better an angry woman than an angry unicorn, he said. “She was supposed to demonstrate the paddle, not try to vamp me. I tried to be polite, but she pushed her luck.”

Fleta was silent, but her anger was gone.

Mach found practice with the animal heads. Most of these supported Stile, but one aberrant faction did not, and one of the best table tennis players of the frame was a member of that faction. This was an elephant head, who held the paddle in his trunk, and manipulated it marvelously well.

Against Eli the elephant head Mach used his regular paddle, the one Trool had carved. It had no magic, but was an excellent instrument. Mach played well, very well, for the reflexes of Bane’s body were good. But Eli tromped him; his control was superlative. This was the one who could teach him improved play without magic.

But Mach used magic, not to make returns, but to improve his own perception and stamina. To enable himself to learn, to become a better player.

They played again. At first Mach, distracted by the nature of his adversary, had made easy misses. But pride soon caught up with him, and now he played with better precision – and still lost points. That trunk was so limber and controlled that the paddle seemed like a living part of it. The spins it imparted seemed magical, though they were not. When Mach tried to analyze them, he missed worse than ever. Eli’s serves were especially bad; Mach could handle them only by playing extremely conservatively and defensively, which only set him up for further trouble.

Little by little, he discovered the key; Eli’s paddle motions were complex, shifting direction and angle with blurring facility. Sometimes the paddle literally spun in his grasp, so that it was difficult to tell which side struck the ball. Since the two sides had different surfaces that imparted different qualities to the flight of the ball, this could be devastating.

“I must learn to do that,” Mach said.

“Aye,” Eli agreed. Rather, he snorted musically through his trunk, making the affirmative; human speech was difficult for him.

They played constantly during the following days and weeks. Eli had the patience of a pachyderm, and the endurance, and was pleased to have such a willing student. He demonstrated all his best shots, and showed Mach how to counter them. Mach, realizing that he would be up against a high-tech Proton paddle in at least one game, was happy to work on his defense. A good defense could not win the game for him, at this level, for it left the initiative to the opponent; but that defense had to be tight before he could score with his offense. The best defense players took the offensive the moment a suitable opportunity offered; their opponents knew that it was folly to ease up, and so were under pressure that could cause errors.

By the time the month was done, he was giving Eli some excellent games. He was vastly improved, and ready to tackle his other self in any of the three games. He had not used the magic paddle, as that was pointless; it was already incapable of making a bad shot. In fact, he felt slightly guilty, knowing that this was one instrument Bane could not match. Only by winning both the other games could Bane prevail.

Meanwhile, Fleta had special news for him. “Dost remember my heat?” she inquired diffidently.

“Oh, no – is it coming again?”

“Nay, has not noticed it came not again?”

Mach paused.  “You mean—?”

“Aye, I be with foal.”

Mach had no idea how to react, so he simply reached for her and embraced her, so cautiously that she laughed. She was a mare; her condition did not make her delicate. She was as happy as he had ever seen her.

But she was not willing to let it rest at that, “This be my compensation, and I be separated from thee. But how much better will it be if we separate not.”

“If something can be worked out,” he agreed, “To save the frames, and still be together,”

“Aye. And raise our foal ourselves.”

“To be perhaps the best of unicorns – “

“Or the best of men.”

“Perhaps like both: able to change form freely, yet able also to practice magic.”

“Flach, the Unicorn Adept!” she exclaimed.

Why not? “Why not unite our species with a truly superior composite?”

“And needs must we set up a house, for I fear the Herd will welcome him not.”

“Why not a castle? I am Adept now; I can make what I choose. Our son should have the best,”

“The Rovot Demesnes,” she said, smiling.

She wasn’t serious enough, so he kissed her again.

Whatever the outcome of this round, they would have this success together.

It was the day of the first game.  Now at last Mach discovered how they were going to make it possible to play across the frames.  As before, the two selves would overlap, standing together at one end of the table.  Each would play his side.  But the ball, instead of passing through the no-longer-existent curtain, would fly across the net to a simulacrum of the other player at the far end.

To Mach, it looked as if Bane were standing there, paddle in hand, in Mach’s robot body, but it was probably a golem provided by the Brown Adept.  The golem would not literally play; it would merely emulate Bane’s motions.

But the ball could not physically cross between the frames.  What would the golem be striking?

This might be an irrelevant detail, but Mach wanted to know, as it could affect his attitude and therefore his play.  He didn’t want to ask openly, which he realized was foolish; he was adapting increasingly to living ways, as he spent more time in this living body.  Living creatures had awareness of pain, both physical and mental, and tended to be much more careful about things they did not quite understand than machines were.  Mach was now far more sensitive than he had ever been in Proton, and he liked to believe that was an asset.  So he wanted to know whether a hornet’s nest was inhabited without getting stung during the investigation, and to know the exact nature of the appearance of his opponent without suffering any embarrassment about his naiveté in asking.  So he practiced another aspect of personality that came more readily to the living than to the machine:  innocuous deception.

He went to Fleta for one more embrace.  “Is that a golem?” he whispered to her ear.

Her ear twitched.   She did retain some unicorn mannerisms in her human form! “Nay, it has not smell,” she replied.  “It be a wraith.”

“Thank you.”  So the whole thing, ball and player was merely an image, a projection for the information coming through him.  Trool’s spells from the Book of Magic could readily accomplish that; indeed, Mach himself could do something similar, at need.

“That be all thou dost want of me?” Fleta inquired.

Oops.  “All I can ask in public,” he said.

She sniffed, but was mollified.

He returned to the table and took up his paddle. It was the standard one that Trool had made for him, without magic.  In this first game, the equipment was equivalent, with each paddle meeting set specifications.  The idea was to see how well each played with no advantage of equipment.  “Let’s rally a little first,” he suggested.

“Aye” Bane agreed.  “This be a strange arrangement.”

Suddenly Mach wished that the two of them could be together like this when not opposing each other.  That they could do without illusion what now required illusion.  Maybe, after this contest was settled, they could see about that.

He picked up the ball and served it, throwing it up from his left palm in the prescribed manner, so that it was evident that his hand imparted no spin to it.  It bounced on his side of the table and crossed the net.  He knew that it became illusory at that point, transformed by magic to an image, while in the frame of the Proton the Game Computer introduced a physical ball with the exact velocity, azimuth and spin of the one in Phaze.  In Proton Mach was the image, generated holographically, seeming as real a Bane did on this side.  It was an amazingly sophisticated interface, to make the appearance of an ordinary game.

Bane returned the ball, seeming at ease.  It crossed back over the net.  Was there a flicker as it did so?  Mach could not be sure.  In any even, he should not allow himself to be distracted by the intricacies of the system; he had to play as well as he could.  If he even started wondering how he could move freely about, to play the ball to either side or far back from the table, without losing his overlap-contact with Mach, he would start fouling up!  How much of his own motion was also illusion?

They played for a few minutes, becoming acclimatized.  All was in working order.  “Time for business,” Mach said, with both excitement and regret.

“Aye.”  Bane caught the ball in his hand, put his hands behind him, brought them out closed and held them just below the level of the table.  Mach pointed with his paddle to Bane’s right hand.  Bane lifted it: empty.  That meant that Bane had the first serve.

Bane served.  The ball came across the net, low and fast, striking Mach’ right corner.  Mach fielded it with a chop, using a short sharp down stroke to return the ball with a backspin.  This tended to slow its progress, causing it to drop to the center of Bane’s table rather toward the back edge. But the backspin did more than that. It changed the nature of the bounce, so that the ball tended to lift and fall short; an incautious player could have misjudged it and missed it for that reason. And more yet: when the other paddle touched it, the spin would tend to carry the ball down, perhaps into the net, for a miss.

But Bane now knew all that Mach did about the dynamics of play. He met the ball with a chop of his own, that countered and reversed the spin, sending the same kind of shot back.

Mach, ready for this, touched the ball lightly with his backhand, so that it bobbed up over the net and down just the other side: a shot that could be far more troublesome than it appeared, because normally a player stood back from the table.

But Bane was there, and with a quick flick of his wrist plunked the ball down and to Mach’s right, so that it bounced near the edge of the table and dropped to the side. Mach leaped to intercept it, but the table was in the way, and he could not get there in time to do more than flip it way up in the high arch over the net.

That, of course, was a setup. Bane slammed it off the far side, and Mach had no way to return it.

One – love, for Bane. Now the game was truly under way!

Mach recovered the ball and tossed it back. Bane caught it in his hand and took his stance for the next serve.

This one was backhand, cutting across the Mach’s left side. He returned it the same way as he had the first, with backspin. Mach’s return was similar again; the machine body and mind tended to stay in familiar channels. That was apt to be a weakness.

Mach followed through with the same sort of shot he had made at this point in the first rally, flipping the ball gently over the net to the center of the table. And Bane replied as he had before, with the drop shot to the side, in a squeeze, and made a poor return, and got it smashed past him. Two – love for Bane.

But Mach was verifying what might be weaknesses in his opponent; that was more important than the points, at the moment. Mach had qualities of imagination he had lacked as a machine, and now he was using them for what he hoped would be his advantage. If he charted Bane’s weaknesses, he could exploit them before the game was done.

Bane’s third serve was forehand, to Mach’s backhand. One forehand crosscourt, one backhand crosscourt, one forehand downcourt – the next should be backhand downcourt, and the fifth a new variation. If so, Mach would know what to expect later in the game, and that would help immensely.

He returned it with a high looping sidespin shot, the kind that could utterly befuddle a neophyte but would be a lost point against an experienced player. Sure enough, Bane compensated for the spin and slammed it off the corner. Three – love. A lost point, but confirmation of the reaction. It was not possible to put ultimate spin on a ball with the standard paddle surface, but in a later game it would be another matter.

However, he could not afford to get too far behind. He played to win on the fourth point. As anticipated, Bane served the ball backhand, to Mach’s forehand, and because he was ready for it, he slammed it right back where it had come from. It was a beautiful shot, and it caught Bane by surprise; the paddle was late, and the ball went flying to the side, out of play. Three – one.

Bane’s fifth serve was a drop shot, as Mach had thought reasonably likely. He dropped it back, and gained the initiative, which in due course won him the point. Three – two.

Now it was Mach’s serve. He tested Bane’s reactions on different types, and verified that Bane’s skill was basically Mach’s own – before he had come to Proton. He was thoroughly familiar with that style of play, by no coincidence, and knew its strengths and weaknesses. A defensive game would never prevail, because the robot made no unforced errors, and would outlast any other opponent. But the right kind of offense, initiated at the right occasion, could force errors. Mach was about to find out whether what he had learned from Eli the elephant head was the right kind.

It was, but not by much. Mach found that by making wild alterations in his play, he could cause Bane to lose track momentarily and become vulnerable – but that same wildness made Mach’s own shots unreliable. He missed more than he should have, by taking risks, playing low-percentage shots. As a result, the score seesawed. He caught up at 9-9, fell behind to 13-10 (the server’s score was always given first), went ahead at 16-17, and tied again at 19-19.

It was make-or-break time. Mach, as the robot, would not have gambled; Mach, as the living creature, did. It was his serve, and he had no better occasion to seize the initiative. He used the Eli special, thinking of his right arm as a flexible trunk, using it to put on the backspin that looked like a topspin. He spun the paddle; both sides were the same, for this game, but the spin helped mask the particular angle and motion as it contracted the ball. If it fooled Bane the way it had himself –

It did. Bane’s return smacked into the net. He had countered for topspin, and sent the ball wrong.

Now for the real gamble. Mach had not repeated shots since his experimentation early in the game; Bane should be expecting a different serve. Mach used the same one, spinning the paddle again. This time Bane, more cautious, did manage to return it – but his volley was unaggressive. Mach played it aggressively, gained the initiative, and forced the rally to its conclusion. He made the point, and won the game, 21-19.

But he knew he would never catch Bane that way again. This ploy had been viable only at the end of the game, only for two points. If he ever tried that serve again, Bane would know what to do with it, and that, combined with error-free play, would suffice. Robots did learn from experience, and learned well.

“Good game,” Mach said.

Bane nodded. “Until tomorrow.”

But tomorrow was freestyle. Mach would have the magic paddle. This had been the key game, setting up for the sure win tomorrow.

Bane faded out, along with the far side of the table. Mach turned to Fleta, who seemed to materialize almost in his arms. “I took him on skill,” he said, well satisfied.

“Don’t get cocky,” Translucent said. “He’s as good as you are, and you won’t take him again this way.”

“I won’t need to,” Mach said.

But the Adept did not look confident.

Chapter 16: Decision 

Bane shook his head. “He learned tricks he never knew before! I’m in a position to know. I could have finished the match by being smarter in the Chase, and now one more loss can finish it the other way. I know not we’er I have really been trying.”

“You tried,” Agape said. “You were ahead, but then he used those peculiar serves.”

“I know not who could have taught him those,” he said. “I played the game all my life, but ne’er could match my father, and knew of none other could. Stile would not have trained him, and – “ Then a thought caught up. “The renegade animal heads! They played not with others, but there were stories of an elephant head who was marvelously dexterous with his trunk! That could be it!”

“That, and the natural skill of your human body,” she agreed.

“Aye, it be a good body,” he said with a certain resigned pride. “This machine body makes errors not; but also can handle complex surprises not. He caught me often enough with shots I could calculate not in time. He knew my limits, as he should. It were his body longer than mine.”

“But you can adjust.”

“Aye. He can catch me once or twice with a new shot, but hereafter I be attuned to the device, and it be useless. I will be stronger for the next game, and stronger still for the third. In only a month, he cannot have mastered enough new things to compensate for that.” 

She changed the subject, “Let’s go look at Nepe.”  She meant their child, who did not yet exist.  But there was daily progress in the construction of the robot body, to be like that of a human baby, and the development of the particular programming required to enable that body to interface harmoniously with a partial Moebite. Agape herself was gaining mass, eating voraciously, preparing for the time of fission.  If  Bane won the contest and the two of them had to separate they would delay long enough to get Nepe started.  That, at least, they intended to salvage from victory.

Next day Bane was ready. This was freestyle, and he had prepared diligently.  The key was in the paddle.  Technology was able to produce a wide variety of sizes, substances, weights and surfaces, and he had tested them as thoroughly as he could.  He now had a paddle that was virtually magical in its propensities.  The touch of finger or thumb on the controls near the joining of the blade and handle could change the hardness of the rubber. (It wasn’t rubber, but tradition called it that) all the way from diamond to marshmallow, and the adhesion from glass to glue.  The paddle could hold the ball so that it would not drop off, or be so slippery that the ball bounced away with its spin unaffected.  It could completely damp out both the force and spin of an incoming ball, or put on devastating force and spin of its own.  Because the nature of the surface was exactly what he specified it to be, without changing the appearance, the other player would have little notion what was coming.  He could make an obvious gesture, applying phenomenal spin, but set the paddle on null so that none of that spin was imparted, and the other player would miss by compensating for non-existing spin.  Such paddles had been illegal for centuries for tournament play, but popular for trick play.

Mach had never used one, preferring to hone his skill within tournament regulations.  Adaptation to such a paddle could spoil a serious player for tournaments, because his reflexes were wrong.  Only the mediocre players tried to shift back and forth between types; the top ones settled on legal variants and perfected their technique with these. Indeed, a top player could defeat any of the special paddle players, because surface was only part of the nature of the game. Skill and training and consistency counted for more.

That was one reason that Bane had not played his best in the first game; he had adapted to the specialized paddle for the freestyle, and so not been in perfect tune for the standard paddle. He had invoked a different program for the other, so that he did play well, but he could have played better had he put all of his energy into perfecting his technique with it. Instead he had settled for the level of skill Mach had developed, and put his energy into the special mode. He expected to win this second game, because he knew that neither Mach’s prior experience nor that of his own body prepared them for the type of play and deception this paddle offered. A good player with a conventional paddle could handle a mediocre one with a special paddle – but he was now a good player with a special paddle. That made it a new ball game.

Indeed, he had practiced against some of the ranking players of Proton, in special matches. They had used their legal paddles, and regarded it as an intriguing challenge to meet the special one. A number of them were clearly superior to Mach, as he had played them before, but the paddle added considerably to Bane’s effectiveness. He had taken them, in the early games, then lost again as they learned how to compensate, but all admitted that he was a more formidable player this way. They doubted that any player on the planet could take him in the first game, this way; the difference was too striking. It was hardly possible to learn in the course of a single game what he had spent a month mastering, and it was not easy to do in several games.

So Bane was confident. Mach, attuned to the conventional mode of the first game, would find himself up against a totally different creature in the second. He would compensate – but hardly before he had lost the game.

Yet as they stepped up to their ends of the composite-image table, Mach seemed oddly confident. Had he devised a similar paddle, and practiced against it? That seemed unlikely, because the tricks he had learned with the conventional paddle should have taken most of his training time.

They rallied, as before, and things seemed normal. Mach had a different paddle, but of course, so did Bane. He did not try any special shots, preferring to save them for the game. Soon they were ready, and Mach caught the ball and hid his fists under the table.

Bane guessed right, and was right; he had the serve. Now was time for the surprises.

He started with a fierce cross-court topspin; the rubber softened and rendered tacky so that it imparted far more spin to the ball than would ordinarily have been the case. Mach, judging by the prior surface, would fail to compensate sufficiently, and the ball would fly well beyond the end of the table.

Mach returned it, and the ball did loop up, but the force was gone, and it plunked down in the center of the table. Obviously he had been caught by surprise, but had a lucky shot. Table tennis was a game of skill, but luck played its part, as it did in every game to some extent. That was part of the excitement; the invocation of chance.

No problem. Bane smashed it down the center, and easy put-away shot. The first point was his.

Except that the ball looped up giddily, and somehow managed to catch Bane’s side of the table again. Was the frame translation mechanism malfunctioning? No, the arc was true; Mach had just somehow managed to aim it right, obviously with no certainty on his part. Sometimes it happened.

Bane made sure it would not happen again. He thumbed his paddle to maximum force, producing a surface that had all the thrusting power of a trampoline, and smashed the ball down with such velocity that Mach would have to retreat far back from the table to have any hope of returning it.

But Mach remained up close – and the ball, crazily, came back, in another shaky but fair return. It seemed impossible, but there it was. How could it have happened?

Bane, shaken by this freak series, tried to trick shot. He wound up as if for the hardest slam yet, then dinked the ball down just over the net with a heavy backspin that damped it almost to a standstill.

Mach, though, was ready. The tip of his paddle caught the ball and flipped it to the side, forcing Bane to dive for the return – and then, of course, Mach slammed the setup to the other side, winning the point. Love – one.

But Bane knew that freak shots could not be depended on. Mach had been extraordinarily lucky in his returns, then pounced on the opportunity that offered when Bane changed the pace. Had Mach been playing well back from the table, in anticipation of a slam, he would never have caught up to the dink shot.

He served again, this time putting on backspin so heavy that though the ball started fast, it slowed dramatically and failed to clear the table for the second bounce on the far side. Bane returned it without even trying to counter the spin; as a result, the ball sailed up in an invitation for another smash.

Bane of course accepted the invitation, and slammed it off Mach’s backhand corner. But Mach took it on his backhand without effort, and again it looped back. Bane slammed it off Mach’s forehand corner. Yet again Mach intercepted it in what should have been a return that careered wildly, but again the ball simply looped back to strike at the center of Bane’s table.

This was crazy! Mach wasn’t even trying to play offensively; he was simply making fluke returns! What was he up to? No one could play that way for long without losing the point; human reflexes were not swift enough or good enough to handle slammed balls up close.

This time Bane softened his rubber and sliced, so that the ball curved visibly in the air before striking the table. The sidespin did not have much effect on the bounce, but would be very strong against the opposing paddle. The shot was hard enough so that Mach would not have much time to analyze or compensate.

But Mach didn’t try. He simply poked his paddle at the ball – and the ball looped back in another of those high, amateurish returns.

This time Bane had been watching that paddle closely. The angle had not even been correct. By rights the ball should have flown off the table, a lost point. Yet it had flown fair, to the center of the table. It was like magic.

Magic! Suddenly Bane caught on. Mach had gotten hold of a magic paddle! That possibility had never occurred to him. There had been no magic paddles in Phaze, because there was no point to them; why use magic to foul up a game of skill? But evidently someone had crafted one, perhaps simply for the challenge of it, and now Mach had it.

Bane tried to slam the ball again, but his realization about the paddle distracted him, and he missed the table. Love – two.

Obviously the paddle was enchanted so that any shot it made was fair. If no effort was made to guide it, the ball returned in neutral fashion; a high arc to the center of the table If Mach made a more aggressive shot, then it went where he sent it – but wouldn’t miss if he sent it wrong. Thus he could try for the most difficult shots with the certainty of making them. Or not try at all, and still get the ball back. He could not miss.

How was he, Bane, to win the game – when his opponent could not miss a shot? All his preparation with the special paddle had been nullified in a single stroke! Only in Phaze would magic work – but Mach was playing in Phaze. Since the validity of a shot was determined at the point of the ball’s contact with the paddle, it didn’t matter that there was no magic on Bane’s end of the table; the ball was correctly guided there.

If they had set it up to exchange courts at the halfway point of each game – but in this special situation that wasn’t feasible. So Mach would have the magic throughout the game.

Bane had thought he would win this game readily. Now, suddenly, he faced defeat and loss of the entire contest, because he had overlooked this possibility.

He glanced at the audience. They were watching, in Proton and in Phaze, but would not speak to him in the midst of the game. What advice could anyone give him, anyway? It could not remove the enchantment on Mach’s paddle!

He was behind by two points, a trifling amount, yet he felt like resigning, to spare himself the humiliation that was coming. Could he win even a single point?

But battered pride kept him going. He would play his best regardless, so that everyone would know it. He would not give up just because the game had become hopeless.

He tossed up the ball for the third serve, and tried for a horrendous slice.

And missed the ball entirely. That was the danger in trying too hard; the angle was so sharp and the speed of the paddle so great that the tiniest misjudgment could become devastating.

Love – three. When the server made his pass at the ball, that was the serve. He had missed his serve and forfeited the point. Some brave try that had been!

Missed the ball entirely . . .

That was not supposed to happen to a robot; it was an unforced error. But the body was governed by Bane’s mind, and he had overridden it to try his own extreme technique. By going beyond the body’s parameters, he had enabled it to err. Yesterday Mach had used trick shots that caused the computer brain to miscalculate; this time he had done it to himself. But that was of lesser significance.

Suddenly he realized how he could give himself a fighting chance. This game was not over!

He served again, making the paddle surface hard and fast, applying minimal spin, just enough to help control the ball. Spin made limited difference now, because the magic paddle nullified it; the balls Mach returned were spinless. But speed and placement counted, because Mach had to get the paddle to the ball. He now needed spin only to help control his shots.

Mach returned it with that familiar looping shot that was the paddle’s default. Ready for this, Bane smashed it back. Mach’s second return was higher, a perfect setup.

Bane decided to test the limit of the magic. He set his paddle for maximum hardness, and smashed the ball down as hard as his metal arm could do it. The ball flattened significantly against his paddle, then rebounded with such force that when it caught the edge of the table it broke, with half of it dropping down the side of the table while the other half dragged after.

But Mach’s paddle was there, jabbing at it. And the tip of the paddle caught the crushed remnant and hooked it over the net so that it plopped in the center on Bane’s side.

The point did not count; the broken ball had to be replaced but another type of point had been made; the magic paddle could return anything at all, even a demolished ball. As long as it touched it.

Bane served again, the same way. Mach returned the same way. A very similar shot offered, and Bane wound up for the same smash. But this time he bent his wrist sharply back and slammed the ball off the opposite side of the table.

Mach, caught by surprise, did not even try the ball. The point was Bane’s. One – three.

The magic paddle could not return what it did not touch. As far as it was concerned, the ball was out of play. It was up to Mach to get it there in time.

And up to Bane to see that Mach could not get it there in time.

The remainder of the game was grueling. The robot body that made no unforced errors, and the magic paddle that never missed its shot. Bane played every shot for maximum motion on the opponent’s part, getting Mach off balance, putting the ball where he did not expect it, so that his living-body reaction was strained, and errors occurred. Mach had been a machine all his life and still tended to depend on the automatic reliability of it; but now he was living flesh, and the flesh was fallible. He could not always get to the ball, and each time he failed, Bane won the point.

But Bane’s body was healthy, and the magic paddle made returns easy. He did not readily miss the ball. So the rallies were long and hard, and only when Mach tired did Bane score. That was the final key, however: Bane’s body did not tire. He was able to keep the pace indefinitely.

So inevitably, the final point was his. Bane had beaten the magic paddle, and won the game. The score was tied, one game apiece.

“I think some thought you were not trying hard to win,” Agape said when they were private, after the grueling game. “That double is gone.”

“It be strange,” Bane said. “When it looked hopeless, and I thought there was no point in continuing, that was when I had to try hardest to win.”

“Tomorrow will decide it,” she said.

“Tomorrow will decide it,” he agreed. “He won the game I thought he would lose, because the flesh can play not as reliably as a machine – but the flesh managed to strain the limits o’ the machine through innovative play. He lost the game methought he would win, because o’ the magic paddle – but the machine managed to strain the limits o’ the flesh. Tomorrow – I think no one can know the outcome o’ that game,”

“No one can know,” she agreed.

“But an I win, and we must separate – “

“There will still be Nepe,” she said. “We can surely delay that long.”

“Aye. But an Mach return to this body – “

“Where else?” she asked with a wry smile.

“It would please me if thou didst play Fleta for him, again. I oppose him, but I hate him not, and his love for the filly be true.”

She did not answer right away. “I thought never to play that role again,” she said at last.

“Aye. But an I deprive him o’ her, what do I owe him in return?”

“And what of Fleta? What do you owe her?”

That returned him to reality. “Must needs I find another way.” He got up. “I will talk with Blue.”

“And I,” she said.

They went to Citizen Blue, who met them graciously, with Sheen. “On the morrow, mayhap I will win the match, Bane said. “And deprive myself and Mach o’ our lives, and the alien and the filly o’ theirs. That be no easy thing.”

“The imbalance must be corrected,” Blue replied. “But you will be able to visit the frames, while we work to find the key for correction.”

Bane took a deep breath. “Methinks we have the key already. It be between thee and my father.”

Blue arched an eyebrow.

“The Oracle learned it,” Bane continued. “There be a line between ye two, and that be the line Mach and I followed. Methinks thou couldst exchange, an thou didst try.”

Blue whistled. “And lose our loves, even as we have asked of you.”

“I thought o’ it not that way!” Bane protested.

“But it may be that way,” Blue said grimly.

“Unless there be another way. The Oracle be studying that.”

“What way is that?”

“To end the separation o’ the frames, and merge them again.”

“But that separation is for a reason!”

“A reason that accomplished not its purpose. The imbalance remains.”

Citizen Blue nodded. “That would be a whole new game!”

“A game that leaves all of us our loves.”

“We must explore this! If you and Mach – “

“First must I win the game tomorrow. Then will Mach work with me, and with thee. Then can the root of this be explored.”

“Yes. Win tomorrow, and the essential tool is ours. The Oracle and the Book of Magic, reunited – “

“Aye,” Bane said, feeling better. Now he could do his utmost, and believe that the best would come of it.”

The final game was Doublet: played with two balls and four paddles. It was not popular with serious players, because it tended to get wild, but dabblers liked it, as did some specialists.

Each player had one standard paddle, and one freestyle paddle. Play was not required to alternate between them; rather, each ball had to be played with its own paddle. Thus this represented two separate games, played simultaneously. It could be a formidable challenge.

Bane had the first serve, which meant one pair of balls. He was required to serve the standard one first; the yellow ball, with the standard paddle. The second had to follow not before the first cleared the net, and not after the first returned; the window was while the opposite player was playing the first. Thereafter there was no set order; the balls were simply played as they came.

Bane had the standard paddle in his left hand. He tossed up the yellow ball with his right, his fingers also holding the other paddle, and struck it with the correct paddle. Then he tossed the red ball with his left hand, and struck it with his high-tech paddle. Both balls were served cross-court, requiring Mach to orient on the extremes rapidly.

The first was coming back as he completed his serving pass for the second. He played it back to the same court he had served the red one, and with a shorter stroke, so that it gained somewhat on the other. But Mach played them back to opposite courts. Whether it was better strategy to play them to the same court or to opposite courts was an open question; it depended on the player and the situation. Already Bane felt his robot intellect being extended; this was no easy task for it, tracking two at once.

Now the two balls were crossing oppositely. Theoretically there was the danger of them colliding, and that was a complication in regular play. But for this game there was no problem; the yellow and red balls were on different planes of reality, and would pass through each other without interacting. In fact, that applied to the paddles, too: the wrong one could not touch the ball, literally. Thus there would be no question whether the ball was returned with the wrong paddle. Bane wasn’t quite sure how this worked; perhaps the seemingly solid balls were mere images, extensions of the images on the far side of the table. They seemed solid, but he had learned not to believe everything that had seeming, in either frame.

Bane played conservatively, concentrating on one ball at a time, so that he could devote his whole competence to it. He put intricate spins on the red ball – only to see them nulled by the magic paddle Mach used. He went for speed and placement with the yellow ball, because the standard paddle was not as sharp on spins. But Mach could handle such straightforward play.

Mach played slow on the red ball, retreating from the table to return it late, and fast on the yellow one. As a result, the two soon came into alignment. Bane tried to separate them in space, if not in time, angling the red one right and the yellow one left.

That was his tactical error. Mach slammed them simultaneously, cross-court, and Bane was unable to field them both. He had to let one go, and chose to sacrifice the red one. He retuned the yellow one.

Love-one. Now it was down to a one-ball game, with standard equipment. Mach had won their prior such game – but Bane had zeroed in on the new tricks and was ready for them. Deceptive spin would not catch him. Also, Mach could no longer use the magic paddle, so could fail to return the ball. This was better for Bane. He played hard, moving the ball from side to side and front to back, until Mach’s fallible living body made the error of sending too gentle a return, and Bane put it away for the point. One-one.

Now it was Mach’s serve, both balls. Because of the special nature of this game, the serve changed each time, so as to prevent a facile combination of serves from generating too great a run of points. He served the yellow ball fast, crosscourt, and the red one slow, downcourt. He was trying to get the two aligned again, so as to catch Bane in the same split as before. But this time Bane had a trick of his own to play.

He returned the yellow fast and the red slow but not easy.  He set his paddle to max-tack and sent what was known as the double loop:  a high shot with extremely potent topspin.  It came down on Mach’s side almost vertically and bounced away almost horizontally, retaining formidable spin.  That would be an extraordinarily difficult shot to return, if it were not for the magic paddle.

Meanwhile, the yellow ball had lapped the red one, and he played it before the red one landed, slamming it to the far corner.  Mach knew that if he went for it he could never get the red one.  So he let the yellow go, losing the point, and caught the red.

It was one-ball table tennis again – but this was the variant Bane had proven he could win.  He smashed eh ball again and again, until he maneuvered Mach out of position and placed a shot he could not reach.  One-three, Bane’s favor.

That set the complexion of the game.  Bane had greater reliability when the game was down to one ball; Mach had the advantage with two, because his living body was more flexible and his magic paddle gave him one sure return.  After the initial points neither tried to align the two balls; it gave too much of an advantage to the one who had the first chance to make simultaneous slams.  Mach won the first ball more often than not, and Bane the second.  The lead varied, and changed often, but it was basically even ball.

Thus it was that they came to the conclusion neither had wanted: a 20-20 tie.  Now it would be sudden death; the first to gain an advantage of two points would win the game and the match.

Bane was torn: should he play conservatively, or draw on a special shot he had saved for emergency use?  If he played conservatively, they would probably continue splitting points and the game would drag out interminably.  If he gambled on tricky but risky play, he could win quickly – or lose as quickly.  It was his set of serve; the initiative was his.

As a robot, he knew that his best chance was conservative.  Mach, in the volatile living body, could make mistakes, magic paddle notwithstanding.  But as a living being who was merely housed in a machine, he felt that his best chance was to take the gamble.  At least it would be over quickly.  He gambled.  He served the yellow ball low and fast, so that Mach would not be able to do more than return it.  He did the same with the red one.  The magic paddle would return it regardless, but if he served it easy, Mach could take the initiative and make an aggressive shot and Bane did not want that.

The yellow came back.  This time he sent it in a phenomenally high shot, a towering trajectory that sent it as far aloft as the crown of a tree.  That effectively put it out of play for a few seconds.  Meanwhile he returned the red one with a backspin so strong that the ball actually bounced backward, back across the net, rather than on the forward for Mach’s return.

Would Mach be so surprised that he let the ball go?  If so, he would lose the point?  Then Bane would have the lead, and the advantage on the remaining ball.

Mach stepped around the table and went for the red ball.  This was legal:  a player could strike the ball on the opponent’s side of the table, if its natural impetus carried it there.  Many players did not know that, but of course Mach did.  But how would he play it – when he was unable to cross the curtain?  That was the question, and because Bane did not know the answer, it was the essence of his gamble.

Mach stepped forward, across the midline – and disappeared.  He was now entering the magical representation on the other side of his table.  No provision had been made to project his image, here.  He was in limbo.

Abruptly the red ball changed course, taking off at right angles, crossing the table, bouncing and sailing off the far side near the net.  Bane had no chance to get it.  He lost the gamble; Mach had struck the ball he saw in his frame, and the question of its nature in Proton now was answered:  it was illusion, and was affected by Mach’s stroke.

Twenty – twenty-one.  Bane was behind, and now the yellow ball was coming down.  Mach reappeared, circled the table, and set up for a left-handed slam.  The element of surprise had failed, and now Mach had a setup to put away.  Bane might return it, but he had lost the initiative, and the point would almost certainly be Mach’s.

Mach slammed it – and it touched the corner of Bane’s side and veered crazily away, an unplayable ball.  Mach had taken his own gamble, striving for a placement ordinarily beyond human ability and won.

Won everything.

And Bane, knowing that he had tried his best, honestly, and lost despite it, was relieved.  He had given Citizen Blue the key to a possible reversal of the situation, while he was on Blue’s side; now he was on the other side, by the terms of the deal, and was no longer free to provide such information.  The Contrary Citizens and Adverse Adepts had no more with than Adept Stile or Citizen Blue to see the frames destroyed; perhaps some mutually satisfactory accommodation would yet be worked out.  So it was not necessarily the end of decency.

Or so he hoped.