some I readings in psychology I think that our friend Louis suffers from a failure of self-confidence. Are you ill? You look sick; I hope that nothing has made you sick,” Barker said.
But it was too late. Too late, too late: stomach churning like an engine missing cylinders I was rearing from the table, making my way to the lavatory located by the coffee shop, clutching bowels and intestines. Holding also I a terror born of the certainty that I was about to disgrace myself, I was able, tentatively, to make it all the way into that enclosure before losing lunch. The scar of that encounter, I wish to make quite clear, remains deep within me even though the information imported by Barker was quite useful and has helped me in further encounters with Louis. Beyond question he does indeed bring out the majors too quickly. He lacks self-confidence. This last move of his bespeaks that tendency more eloquently than ever I could.
Louis has retired behind the screens now. Vivid images of his humiliation scuttle acrossmy mind as I lean forward intently to the board, plotting out what will pin him further. But at that moment—
Ah, well, chess is inconstancy, and there seems to be a kind of disturbance in the audience. I sense a fluttering. Billows of light cascade over the stage and there is a series of choking screams which necessarily rivet full attention. Concentration completely broken, I stare across that expanse of stage where I see that a large man has somehow broken the security cover and has rushed the stage, struggling with several guards. The guards are of various races; some are humanoid while others appear to be more exotic and the aspect of this man being surrounded by an alien and degenerated mass is quite shocking. It reminds me of certain magazine covers I recall from my difficult youth in which Humanity was seen to be Struggling in the Grip Of Disgusting Aliens. The aspect is so shocking and yet so interesting that the chess-pieces literally dwindle. Haze consumes them and I look at the intruder.
He is trying rather desperately to flee the security personnel, but he cannot break their grip. Nevertheless, driven as he is by some demonic strength he is able to pull away just enough to close further ground between himself and me and all of the time he is talking, inexhaustibly talking.
“You must stop this,” he says, “it’s totally unreasonable; we cannot go on this way.”
Is this true? Conviction can sometimes carry the day; I give it credence, hunched over, saying nothing. This situation is the problem of the security personnel, of course, and not for anything would I interfere with them. I see that they have the intruder under at least partial control; he is trying to reach me but there is no way that he canbreak the wall of arms, legs, tentacles, appendages and horns which surround him and therefore he must settle for desperate bellows.
“Something is terribly wrong!” he is shouting. “It’s not fair, it’s not right, do you understand, this match must now stop at once I” Then some aspect of his voice, his posture in struggle, connects and he becomes familiar to me. I remember who he is. Strange that I would not have known it immediately but I am of course under mental strain.
He is a senior official of FIDE, the Federation International, which controls Earth-type chess. He is furious. “This is ridiculous!” he shrieks. He must have stolen aboard one of the spaceships, smuggling himself away like precious contraband. Then again, he may have won approval from the Overlords to come along as a representative of the International. Who is to know? “We have not approved this match,” he is saying, his honest face streaked with rage and pain. “We have not certified this competition; we have not selected these competitors. This match is being conducted in violation of the statutes which control and organize our great game itself!”
Finally, at this last outburst, the guards establish some
But it was too late. Too late, too late: stomach churning like an engine missing cylinders I was rearing from the table, making my way to the lavatory located by the coffee shop, clutching bowels and intestines. Holding also I a terror born of the certainty that I was about to disgrace myself, I was able, tentatively, to make it all the way into that enclosure before losing lunch. The scar of that encounter, I wish to make quite clear, remains deep within me even though the information imported by Barker was quite useful and has helped me in further encounters with Louis. Beyond question he does indeed bring out the majors too quickly. He lacks self-confidence. This last move of his bespeaks that tendency more eloquently than ever I could.
Louis has retired behind the screens now. Vivid images of his humiliation scuttle acrossmy mind as I lean forward intently to the board, plotting out what will pin him further. But at that moment—
Ah, well, chess is inconstancy, and there seems to be a kind of disturbance in the audience. I sense a fluttering. Billows of light cascade over the stage and there is a series of choking screams which necessarily rivet full attention. Concentration completely broken, I stare across that expanse of stage where I see that a large man has somehow broken the security cover and has rushed the stage, struggling with several guards. The guards are of various races; some are humanoid while others appear to be more exotic and the aspect of this man being surrounded by an alien and degenerated mass is quite shocking. It reminds me of certain magazine covers I recall from my difficult youth in which Humanity was seen to be Struggling in the Grip Of Disgusting Aliens. The aspect is so shocking and yet so interesting that the chess-pieces literally dwindle. Haze consumes them and I look at the intruder.
He is trying rather desperately to flee the security personnel, but he cannot break their grip. Nevertheless, driven as he is by some demonic strength he is able to pull away just enough to close further ground between himself and me and all of the time he is talking, inexhaustibly talking.
“You must stop this,” he says, “it’s totally unreasonable; we cannot go on this way.”
Is this true? Conviction can sometimes carry the day; I give it credence, hunched over, saying nothing. This situation is the problem of the security personnel, of course, and not for anything would I interfere with them. I see that they have the intruder under at least partial control; he is trying to reach me but there is no way that he canbreak the wall of arms, legs, tentacles, appendages and horns which surround him and therefore he must settle for desperate bellows.
“Something is terribly wrong!” he is shouting. “It’s not fair, it’s not right, do you understand, this match must now stop at once I” Then some aspect of his voice, his posture in struggle, connects and he becomes familiar to me. I remember who he is. Strange that I would not have known it immediately but I am of course under mental strain.
He is a senior official of FIDE, the Federation International, which controls Earth-type chess. He is furious. “This is ridiculous!” he shrieks. He must have stolen aboard one of the spaceships, smuggling himself away like precious contraband. Then again, he may have won approval from the Overlords to come along as a representative of the International. Who is to know? “We have not approved this match,” he is saying, his honest face streaked with rage and pain. “We have not certified this competition; we have not selected these competitors. This match is being conducted in violation of the statutes which control and organize our great game itself!”
Finally, at this last outburst, the guards establish some
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