Chapter 12
"You Really Blew It, Didn't You?"
MR. ALDERSON'S usual broad smile was tempered with polite concern as he laid the long strip of computer printout across the desk. "I'm sorry to say your attack has started to crumble, Mr. Dodgson. The delay in bringing up your ground forces left your air cavalry without enough support to hold the third sector."
Waverly leaned forward to examine the list of hypothetical casualties and equipment losses. "And my retreat to Area B went off well?"
"Oh yes. According to the logistic program, he couldn't get any infrared tracking equipment airborne in time to determine your destination after dusk fell. Of course he could guess or assume your bivouac area."
"The troops are ready if he does. I chose Area B be cause it would give us time to entrench."
"Uh-huh. The factor has already been entered in case there should be a conflict tonight. Oh, technically, the reason for the attack delay this afternoon was sabotage—slowing down your armor and infantry."
"Sabotage?"
"Well, in Monday's final set of orders you applied six units to camp security without specification. He applied twenty-five to sabotage, with transportation specified. That portion of his order was held by the computer for the usual period and would be in your brief tomorrow morning as a matter of routine discovery. I happened to be working when the random interval timer released the news that one of your six security units had connected—in effect, your staff discovered that most of your gasoline was polluted. But of course it had already taken it into account in your move order, so your armored didn't make it, and most of your infantry was stranded where you picked them up later."
"I see. What about the aircav? They didn't seem to have fuel problems."
"If you remember, the last time you used them was Saturday afternoon. Sunday their tanks were considered to have been refilled, so the computer decided they were unlikely to have been tampered with. At a guess, I'd say that would've taken at least fifty applied units." He rolled on down the paper to an odd pattern of scattered symbols.
"Anyway, here's the current disposition of your forces. I'll set it up…" The Gamesmaster slipped the paper through a long narrow slot, and a lighted screen appeared in projection. As he adjusted the paper's position, the scattered symbols appeared over a map of the imaginary battleground which was represented by a few square miles of Utopia's vast parkland. When the four registration dots were set at the corners the overlay was locked in place and Waverly began to discuss the way the battle had gone. Alderson's concern over his loss was directed more towards the practical aspects of the Game—had anything not been made clear, were the computer's decisions unrealistic, had anything not seemed fair. The Game was his child and he couldn't help worrying about its development; he admitted this was only the fourth full-scale Game that had been played, and he kept expecting things to go wrong.
His sympathy for a losing player was purely theoretical, however, and never could he have been tricked or enticed into giving a word of advice on the play, though he was always available for interpretation of a rule or an explanation of the Game's relation to real war. Since it was his creation, he could no more have given either player an unfair advantage than he could have infringed his own rules, and the Game meant more to him than did the players. But he was always eager to help them understand it, and Waverly preferred to have the inventor explain and analyze the results of each semi-hypothetical battle. He coded his own orders twice a day and fed them into the Battle Results Computer personally. Trust no one and fear no one had been his motto in this game.
As he studied the map he muttered to himself. "I doubt if he'll want to press the attack by night, since he's in a defensive position. I'll leave a set of orders for the contingency, but otherwise I'll shift around in the morning. My replacement credit is adequate; I can afford to cover my losses and even bring in some fresh troops…" He glanced at another part of the printout sheet. "Did the computer decide whether the equipment that was sabotaged would require extensive repairs before re-use?"
"No problem. Basically, a vehicular attrition factor will be balanced against your distance allotment for the first two moves tomorrow."
"I'll need those moves to prepare for him to press his advantage."
"Well, more than likely," said Alderson noncommittally. Waverly leaned back and began to study the map. His situation was, in somebody's words, hopeless, but not serious. The Game wasn't going well, and only the most daring, cautious, innovative play could see him through. In other words, he was home.
Illya had to admit they'd given him no warning. They must have suspected some time in the past, but not a word of any value to him had passed between the two Thrush assassins in his hearing for several days. Yet their behavior otherwise had been perfectly normal. Professionally he recognized and saluted their competency; personally there was the blow that always comes with having been outdone; and in one corner of his mind was the relief that said he would have one less tape to scan each night now.
He knew after he transmitted the keying signal three times that his bug in the Thrush Suite would never be heard from again. Like the dog in the nighttime, its silence told him much. The murderously talented pair were now aware of the real reason for the failure of their earlier impromptu attempts on Waverly's life, and were faced with two choices. They could continue their cover occupations with the Grounds Staff, watching to see who was likely to be watching them, or they could go underground, leave their jobs and room and be free to strike when and where they pleased.
It would be easy enough to find out whether they were at work tomorrow. Greta, the head maid for this wing of Staff Quarters, would know if their room had been vacant. And Curley Burke would know if any worker in the Park hadn't shown up and probably why. Friends, Illya reflected as he folded the slender ear phones and set them lightly in their grooves in the case, were handy things to have. Why, I've got friends I haven't even used yet, he quoted mentally, and added, But I'll need every one of them if the Deadly Duo should ever suspect who I am.
"This is Greaves, speaking for Central. Project Waterloo is proceeding according to schedule, Dr. Pike. You must prepare a target date no later than November Thirtieth for the climactic operation of Phase Two. Waverly has been located and the length of his stay has been determined. If you are to crack Solo you must act by this deadline. Waverly will be resuming control of the United Network Command on Monday December Eleventh, and Central desires at least ten days in which to take full advantage of the confusion that will accompany Solo's collapse."