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 mis judgment 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 yet 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 loping 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 for 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 doubt 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 loves, 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.