late in life, knowing he would die before too long. That poem,
Well, Stile intended to send this obnoxious Citizen out to sea. It was already apparent that the man was not a top player; he depended on his luck too heavily, and on a basic strategy of 'making' points - of setting up two or more men on a point, so that the opponent could neither land there nor hit a blot. Luck and conservative play - a good enough strategy for most occasions. Three out of four times, a winning strategy.
But Stile was not an ordinary player. He depended not on luck but on skill. Luck tended to equalize, especially on an extended series, while skill was constant. That was what gave the superior player the advantage, even in a game of chance. It was necessary to take risks in order to progress most efficiently. There would be some losses because of these risks, but, overall, that efficiency would pay off. Stile was already grasping the weakness of the Citizen's mode of play. Probably the man had an imperfect notion of the strategy of the doubling cube - and that could make all the difference, regardless of his vaunted luck.
Soon the Citizen had a number of men in his home board, ready to be borne off. The first player who bore off all fifteen men would win the game, but not necessarily the Round. This modification was scored by points; each man left in play when the opponent finished was one point. One hundred points was the Game. It could take several games to accumulate the total. The key was to minimize one's losses in a losing game, and maximize one's winnings in a winning game. That was where the doubling cube came in.
Best to test the man's level, however. Stile needed to have a very clear notion of his opponent's vulnerability, because the Citizen was not a complete duffer; he was just good enough to be dangerous. Luck did play an important part in backgammon, just as muscle did in wrestling; it had to be taken into account.
Stile rolled 3-2. As it happened, he was able to enter two men and hit blots on the second and third points. It was a good break, for the Citizen left few blots he could possibly avoid. Thus Stile's 2 and 3 dice canceled the effect of cumulative scores of twenty-one and twenty-two on the Citizen's dice. Stile was making his limited luck match the effect of his opponent's good luck. It was a matter of superior management.
But the Citizen was hardly paying attention to the moves. He was trying to undermine Stile's confidence, convinced that even in a game of chance, a person's certainty counted most. 'A number of people have been wondering where you disappear to between Rounds, little man. You seem to walk down a certain service corridor, and never emerge at the far end. Hours or even days later you emerge, going the opposite direction. It is a food- machine service corridor, yet you show no sign of feasting. Now how can a man disappear from the board, like a piece being sent to the bar? It is a mystery.'
Stile continued playing. 'People enjoy mysteries, sir.'
The dice rolled; the men advanced. The Citizen's luck held; he was gaining despite imperfect play. 'Mysteries exist only to be resolved. It is possible that you have discovered something fantastic, like a curtain that separates fact from fantasy? That you pass through this invisible barrier to a world where you imagine you are important instead of insignificant?'
So the man had done fairly thorough research into Stile's Phaze existence too. Still, Stile refused to be baited. 'No doubt, sir.'
'And can it really be true that in that fantasy you ride a unicorn mare and associate with vampires and werewolves?'
'In fantasy, anything is possible,' Stile said.
'Double,' the Citizen said, turning the doubling cube to two.
Now the game drew to a close. The Citizen finished first; Stile was left with eight men on the board. Doubled, that was sixteen points against him.
They set up for the second game, since they were not yet dose to the one hundred points necessary for the finish. The Citizen was obnoxiously affable; he liked winning. Stile hoped he would get careless as well as overconfident. With luck, the Citizen might even distract himself at a key time by his determined effort to unnerve Stile.
Still, the Citizen's luck held. The man played indifferently, even poorly at times, but the fortune of the dice sustained him. When he had a clear advantage, he doubled, and Stile had to accept or forfeit the game. Then Stile had a brief run of luck - actually, skillful exploitation of the game situation - and doubled himself. 'Double!' the Citizen said immediately when his own turn came, determined to have the last word and confident in his fortune. Now the doubling cube stood at eight.
'I understand a little squirt like you can use magic to snare some mighty fine-looking women,' the Citizen said as they played. 'Even if they're taller than you.'
'Many women are,' Stile agreed. References to his height did irritate him, but he had long since learned to conceal this. He was 1.5 meters tall, or an inch shy of five feet, in the archaic nomenclature of Phaze.
The Citizen's infernal luck continued. There did seem to be something to his claim about being lucky; he had certainly had far superior throws of the dice, and in this game, supervised by the Game Computer, there could be no question of cheating. He was winning this game too, by a narrower margin than the last, but the eight on the doubling cube gave every piece magnified clout. The Citizen liked to double; maybe it related to his gambling urge.
'I guess there could be one really luscious doll who nevertheless married a dwarf,' the Citizen observed with a smirk. 'I guess she could have been ensorcelled.'
'Must have been.' But despite his refusal to be baited about his recent marriage to the Lady Blue, Stile was losing. If this special ploy did not work, he would wash out of the Tourney. If only the luck would even out!
'Or maybe she has a hangup about midgets. Sort of like miscegenation. Some people get turned on that way.'
The Citizen was redly trying! But Stile played on calmly. 'Some do, I understand.'
'Or maybe pederasty. She likes to do it with children.'
But the effect of that malicious needle was abated by the Citizen's choice of the wrong concept. It was generally applicable to the sexual motive of a male, not a female. Still, Stile would gladly have dumped this oaf down a deep well.
Stile lost this game too, down six men. Forty-eight more points against him, a cumulative total of sixty-four. Another game like this would finish him.
The luck turned at last and he won one. But he had only been able to double it once, and only picked up six points. Then the Citizen won again: eight men, redoubled, for thirty-two points. The score now stood at 96-6. The next game could finish it.
Still the Citizen's amazing luck held. Had he, after all, found some way to cheat, to fix the dice? Stile doubted it; the Tourney precautions were too stringent, and this was an important game, with a large audience. The throws had to be legitimate. Science claimed that luck evened out in the long run; it was difficult to prove that in backgammon.
Stile's situation was desperate. Yet there were ways. Stile knew how to play the back game specialty, and now was the time. When his position looked good, he doubled; when the Citizen was dearly ahead,
Stile used the back game to interfere with the Citizen's establishment on his home board. Because most of Stile's men had been relegated to the bar, he had them in ready position to attack the Citizen's men as they lined up for bearing off. This sort of situation could be a lot more volatile than many people thought 'Double,' Stile said, turning the cube.
'You're crazy,' the Citizen said, redoubling in his turn.
Stile hit another blot. He needed more than this to recover a decent position, but it helped.
The Citizen threw double sixes. That moved his blotted man all the way from the bar to one space from the end. His luck was still more than sufficient to swamp whatever breaks Stile managed.
Stile doubled again, though he was still obviously behind. The Citizen, when his turn came, laughed and doubled once more. Now the cube stood at sixty-four, its maximum. 'You really want to go down big, tyke!'
