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 crosscourt, 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; if it returned at all, it was by the right 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, crosscourt, and Bane was unable to field them both. He had to let one go, and chose to sacrifice the red one. He returned 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 would never get to 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 the 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 serves; 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 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 had 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.