"Good," DeVore said. He leaned forward and connected two of his groups, .then turned the board about. "Play white from here, Tong Chou."
It was the fourth time it had happened and DeVore had yet to lose a game, despite being each time in what seemed an impossible position as black.
Yes, Chen thought. Karr was right after all. But you're not just a master at this game—it is as if the game were invented for one like you. He smiled inwardly and placed the first of his stones as white.
There was the same ruthlessness in him. The same cold calculation. DeVore did not think in terms of love and hate and relationships but in terms of advantage and groups and sacrifice. He played life as if it were one big game of wei chi.
And perhaps that's your weakness, Chen thought, studying him a moment. Perhaps that's where you're inflexible. For men are not stones, and life is not a game. You cannot order it thus and thus and thus, or connect it thus and thus and thus. Nor does your game take account of accident or chance.
Chen looked down again, studying the board, looking for the move or sequence of moves that would make his position safe. White had three corners and at least forty points advantage. It was his strongest position yet: how could he lose from this?
Even so, he knew that he would lose. He sighed and sat back. It was as if he were looking at a different board from the one DeVore was studying. It was as if the other man saw through to the far side of the board, on which were placed—suspended in the darkness—the stones yet to be played.
He shivered, feeling suddenly uneasy, and looked down at the tube he had brought with him.
"By the way, Tong Chou, what is that thing?"
DeVore had been watching him; had seen where his eyes went.
Chen picked it up and hefted it, then handed it across. He had been surprised DeVore had not insisted on looking at the thing straightaway. This was his first mention of it in almost two hours.
"It's something I thought might amuse you. I brought it with me from the Above. It!s a viewing tube. You manipulate the end of it and place your eye to the lens at this end."
"Like this?"
Chen held his breath. There! It was done! DeVore had placed his eye against the lens! The imprint would be perfect! Chen let his breath out slowly, afraid to give away his excitement.
"Interesting," said DeVore and set it down again, this time on his side of the board. "I wonder who she was."
The image was of a high-class Hung Mao lady, her dress drawn up about her waist, being "tupped" from the rear by one of the GenSyn ox-men, its huge, fifteen-inch member sliding in and out of her while she grimaced ecstatically.
Chen stared at the tube for a time, wondering whether to ask for it back, then decided not to. The imprint might be perfect, but it was better to lose the evidence than have DeVore suspicious.
For a while he concentrated on the game. Already it was beginning to slip from him, the tide to turn toward the black. He made a desperate play in the center of the board, trying to link, and found himself cut not once but twice.
DeVore laughed. "I must make those structures stronger next time," he said. "It's unfair of me to pass on such weaknesses to you."
Chen swallowed, suddenly understanding. At some point in the last few games he had become, if not superfluous, then certainly secondary to the game DeVore was playing against himself. Like a machine with a slight unpredictability factor built into its circuits.
He let his eyes rest on the tube a moment, then looked up at DeVore. "Does my play bore you, Shih Bergson?"
DeVore sniffed. "What do you think, long Chou?"
Chen met his eyes, letting a degree of genuine admiration color his expression. "I think my play much too limited for you, Overseer Bergson. I am but a humble player, but you, Shift Bergson, are a master. It would not surprise me to find you were the First Hand Supreme in all Chung Kuo."
DeVore laughed. "In this, as in all things, there are levels, long Chou. It is true, I find your game limited, predictable, and perhaps I have tired of it already. But I am not quite what you make me out to be. There are others—a dozen, maybe more— who can better me at this game, and of them there is one, a man named Tuan Ti Fo, who was once to me as I am to you. He alone deserves the title you conferred on me just now."
DeVore sat back, relaxed. "But you are right, long Chou. You lost the game two moves back. It would not do to labor the point, eh?" He half turned in his chair and leaned back into the darkness. "Well, Stefan? What do you think?"
The albino stepped out from the shadows at the far end of the room and came toward the table.
Chen's heart missed a beat. Gods! How long had he been there?
He edged back, instinctively afraid of the youth, and when the albino picked up the viewing tube and studied it, Chen tensed, believing himself discovered—certain, for that brief moment, that DeVore had merely been toying with him; that he had known him from the first.
"These GenSyn ox-men are ugly beasts, aren't they? Yet there's something human about them, even so."
The pale youth set the tube down then stared at Chen a moment: his pink eyes so cruel, so utterly inhuman in their appraisal, Chen felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.
"Well?" DeVore had sat back, watching the young man.
The albino turned to DeVore and gave the slightest shrug. "What do I know, Overseer Bergson? Make him field supervisor if it suits you. Someone must do the job."
His voice, like his flesh, was colorless. Even so, there was something strangely, disturbingly familiar about it. Something Chen could not, for the life of him, put his finger on just then.
DeVore watched the youth a moment longer, then turned, facing Chen again. "Well, Tong Chou. It seems the job is yours. You understand the duties?"
Chen nodded, forcing his face into a mask of gratitude; but the presence of the young albino had thrown him badly. He stood up awkwardly, almost upsetting the board, then backed off, bowing deeply.
"Should I leave, Overseer?"
DeVore was watching him almost absently. "Yes. Go now, Tong Chou. I think we're done."
Chen turned and took a step toward the door.
"Oh, and Tong Chou?"
He turned back slowly, facing DeVore again, fear tightening his chest and making his heart pound violently. Was this it? Was this the moment when he turned the board about?
But no. The Overseer was holding out the viewing tube, offering it to him across the board.
"Take this and bum it. Understand me? I'll have no filth on this plantation!"
WHEN THE PEASANT had gone, Lehmann came across and sat in the vacant seat, facing DeVore.
DeVore looked up at him. "Will you play, Stefan?" Lehmann shook his head curtly. "What was all that for?" DeVore smiled and continued transferring the stones into the bowls. "I had a hunch, that's all. I thought he might be something more, but it seems I'm wrong. He's just a stupid peasant." "How do you know?"
DeVore gave a short laugh. "The way he plays this game, for an opener. He's not pretending to be awkward, he is! YouVe seen his face when he concentrates on the board!"
DeVore pulled down his eyes at the corners and stretched his mouth exaggeratedly.
"So? He can't play wei chi. What does that mean?" DeVore had finished clearing the board. Taking a cloth from the pocket of his pau, he wiped the wood. "It means he's not Security. Even the basest recruit would play better than Tong Chou." He yawned and sat back, stretching out his arms behind him, his fingers interlaced. "I was just being a little paranoid, that's all."
"Again, I thought it was your policy to trust no one?"
DeVore smiled, his eyes half lidded now. "Yes. That's why I'm having his background checked out."