Tactics of Conquest Read online

  TACTICS OF CONQUEST

  Barry N. Malzberg

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Gateway Introduction

  Contents

  Chapter One: Pawn to King Four

  Chapter Two: Pawn to King Four

  Chapter Three: Queen to Bishop Three

  Chapter Four: Queen Knight to Queen Bishop Three

  Chapter Five: Bishop to Bishop Four

  Chapter Six: Queen Knight to Rook Four

  Chapter Seven: Queen Takes Bishop Mate

  Website

  Also by Barry N. Malzberg

  Dedication

  Prologue

  A Glossary of Terms

  Epilogue

  Author Bio

  Copyright

  “If all this is a little mad, well, then, so is the game itself ...”

  Frank Brady in Profile of a Prodigy

  PROLOGUE

  FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

  FIFTEENTH GAME RUY LOPEZ

  W

  B

  P—K4

  P—K4

  Q—B3

  QN—QB3

  B—B4

  QN—R4

  Q X B MATE

  The fifteenth game, superficially a Fool’s Mate in Four, was found to be one of the most interesting of the series and there is no reason for followers of David, Black in this match, to despair. Although his game appears to have collapsed, this four-move match is actually characterized by great subtlety and originality of play on both sides and had it not been for the unfortunate blunder on move three in which Black attacked the Bishop rather than protecting his own situation, the outcome might have been quite different.

  Most experts interviewed after the match feel that all would have been dead even with a slight advantage, perhaps, to Black, barring the blunder. It is assumed, thus, that when David returns to the White for the sixteenth match two days hence in the Orion Cluster, the verve and invention shown here, given the initiative, may well give him a victory. Certainly, with at least eleven games to go, the series must be seen as in its early stages, and the ten-to-five margin by which Louis has taken the lead, statistically insignificant.

  Fans and followers are thus advised that the series remains a tight struggle. Supporters of Louis may, while proud of his victory, take no assurance that he has an “easy set.” On the other hand, David’s many followers throughout the billions of worlds of the colonized universe may take heart from the courage and daring of his play in the fifteenth match, and may rest assured that their proponent has “just begun to fight,” as he often says.

  Interviewed briefly after the match, Louis said, “Yes, it was a good match for me and I was surprised to win so easily in four. But David is a shrewd and cunning grandmaster and was not shown to his best advantage today. If it had not been for his one small blunder the game would have been even after four and I was girding myself for a long, hard struggle. I am sure that this is going to be a difficult series. I will repeat what I said after my seven-move victory two days ago: We have not yet seen the real David but he is rounding into form and when he begins to play to his potential this will settle into a very tight contest.”

  David would not be interviewed. Sources close to him report, however, that his spirits remain high and that far from being dismayed by this four-move game his “will to fight” has now been sparked. “He’s pretty angry now,” an informed source stated, “and when he gets angry, well, you know him, he starts to play quite brilliantly. I do think that this match has now reached its turning point.”

  Although this game was distinguished by its brevity—it may someday be known as one of those “little masterpieces” or “miniatures” with which grandmaster chess is never abundant, but each is a treasure—there are many interesting aspects to be unearthed in commentary.

  White’s opening move P—K4 is a conventional Ruy Lopez but Black’s responding P—K4 indicates that he is in a “fighting mood” and ready to “join the battle.” White’s second move, an over-ambitious posting of the Queen, indicates an open game; Black’s response, a quick development of the Knight, shows that he is following for the moment convenient lines of Ruy Lopez still.

  It is at White’s third move, B—B4, that the match becomes truly original, making its first contribution to the literature on outstanding contests. It is an obvious attempt to play a fighting game in the center of the board: The temporary abandonment of the Queen further reveals the true openness of the contest. Black’s response, attacking the Queen, is a rugged joining of the battle. Deviating from the Ruy Lopez on the third move and its conventional Sicilian, Black has shown himself willing to move into truly uncharted waters. One can only admire and be awed by the depth and profundity of this move!

  White’s sudden capture of the Black Bishop, forcing mate, is, of course, unfortunate in that it could be said to bring the game to a swift conclusion, although grudging credit must be given for its ingenuity. Though it fails to answer so very many of the central, deep, profound and pressing questions raised by the initial three moves, White cannot be blamed for taking the opportunity when it came along, of course. The mate has, then, a certain beauty and logic of its own as well as a crushing finality.

  However, the depth and profundity of the game Black had prepared in the brief moves allotted him cannot be ignored and we can be sure that we will be seeing more of David’s modified Ruy Lopez in the future.

  The series resumes two days hence in the Orion Cluster.

  When these two most evenly matched opponents sit down for a game almost anything can happen and it usually does. Appetites for their next and subsequent matches are keener than ever.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Pawn to King Four

  They had a lot of trouble getting me into this fifteenth game. Playing Black, no less!

  None of it was my fault. I was merely acting as would any reasonable man: setting my conditions, setting the price. Furthermore, it was apparent that at this, the fifteenth match of the cross-universal series to decide the fate of the worlds, the turning point had arrived. I was going to smash my opponent, tear ope
n his game, render him useless for the remainder of the series, and since there remained twenty-six matches beyond this I did not want to risk, at this relatively early stage, the demolition of the series.

  Reasonable? Reasonable! Better, I figured, to carry Louis along, split the matches as we moved further toward the Outer Celestial Ring and there, having contrived a twenty-to-twenty tie for this last suspenseful encounter, having controlled matters toward a situation of the utmost suspense, I would destroy him utterly ... exhibiting as if for the first time the full, dazzling range of my technique and thus bring about—as had been fated from the beginning—the Era of Decency and Kindness.

  But timing, ah! Timing was important. In order to maximize the gate, in order to maintain the high level of suspense necessary to bring the largest degree of significance to my inevitable and final victory, it was necessary to carry him along. Even the Overlords would have approved (wouldn’t they?) if I had discussed my intentions with them, but I decided that it was best not to discuss the situation because the stupid creatures believe this to be an honest match and want absolutely no semblance of cheating.

  So I settled upon this decision in what I like to call the channels of my mind: the necessity to win certain matches, throw others, keep up a calculated suspense all the way to the end, involving ever-greater numbers of spectators and witnesses in the tremendous struggle. But it became apparent to me as early as game seven that my opponent’s game was beginning to crack. No more the deft Ruy Lopez, the transposition of Queen Knight’s Pawn, the Fried-Liver Attack which had characterized, if rather erratically, his earlier games. Instead, he took to a solid, unimaginative line without courage or follow-through, sometimes falling into my devastating traps, other times not so much falling in as merely bypassing with a bemused expression, staring straight ahead somewhat dully, his honest and homely old face betraying extremes of emotion which he hardly had the physiognomy to put forth.

  Oh, it was most distressing, is what it was. Although I knew that I could beat him literally at will and that the outcome of our matches and hence the fate of the universe was foreordained, it was unsettling nevertheless to see him coming apart so disgracefully. At this rate, I felt, he might not even last out the series, the full forty-one games. On Deneb, therefore, I had to throw a match in a most disgraceful and obvious fashion: I had to deliberately place my King’s Rook en prise to his ineptly handled Bishop and then leave it there for three full moves until the clumsy fool was able at last to deduce its presence and grab it, putting me into a thunderous check and managing with my eager cooperation to win the game—which I extended to checkmate.

  This brought the score of the series to nine games to five in his favor, the last eight of his victories consecutive, but his expression as he left the table, his face white and uncertain, his piggish little eyes literally flooded with tears of exhaustion and humiliation (because he knew that I had thrown the game) was enough to give me a real thrill of fear. Nine games to five advantage or not, Louis was not going to last out the series. He would have a complete emotional breakdown. He would lose control of his spirit. He would begin to fling pieces.

  I therefore decided that the next game, due to be played in the fifth planet of the Antares Cluster, would be one that I would have to pass up. Forfeiture by absence, I concluded, would be the best or better policy, it would increase the margin of games won and lost by my opponent to ten and five, and in this way some suspense would be attendant. Perhaps this plan of mine, to forfeit by absence, was somewhat misguided. I would be the very first to admit this since I am neither a vain man nor an excessively righteous one (unlike most grandmasters, who are arrogant fools). Regardless, at that time, it seemed to be the proper and correct attitude. Forfeit out and save Louis the strain.

  I therefore took to my cold and loveless bed (because celibacy during a match is a condition of victory; chess is an athletic endeavor) in the Hilton Deneb at the conclusion of the fourteenth game of the series. I refused to arise, even for meals, except for necessary attempts to relieve myself in a large basin in the wretched adjoining room. The Overlords have supplied us with the most luxurious quarters possible and the Hilton Deneb was not lacking in amenities. An enormous structure, lofting hundreds of stories above the planetary level of this rather dismal area, it was not only well appointed but had all of those small luxuries which I still recall as being touches of home from the planet Earth where my odyssey began not so long ago. It was possible, for instance, to look down upon a large, simulated used-car lot which gleamed and sparkled some thousands of feet down, all of its vehicles polished to a high and deadly gloss by loyal attendants. And there was a constant stream of seductive Earth-type females (cunningly provided by the Overlords).

  “You are the greatest chess player in the universe and the entire fate of our way of life depends upon you,” they would point out to me, “because if you win our way of life will continue to flourish and prosper but if you lose the Overlords by decree will declare the curtain to fall upon our way of life and the thousand years of destruction will begin. But that is not to worry about; you cannot lose, but still we would certainly like to make you at peace with yourself,” they would conclude in their provincial, Earth-type accents (I was touched) and then fling themselves against and upon me, their earth-type limbs lunging against mine in a most unsettling and discommoding fashion, their large, Earth-type breasts perching on my mouth (which in more normal postures was pursed to consider the more intricate possibilities of a Knight’s Fork). I turned all of them away, of course, some regretfully. Sex and championship chess do not mix and it is important at all costs to keep the two activities separate but on the other hand I will admit that some caused me to doubt. The Overlords had provided me with an excellent selection of females. Doubtless they were doing the same to Louis in his room (for all the good that that would do them!) but my will can survive such cheap distractions and one and all I cleared them out of my quarters. After the matches, when I save the universe, it will be a different story, of course.

  On the third day, when I had not yet arisen from bed to commence my ablutions before departure to the Antares Cluster, the Overlord whom I know only as Five came into the room, somewhat imperiously I thought (they simply have no sense of privacy; it must be a gestalt-culture), and addressed me as I was still lying on the bed.

  “David,” he or it said, “it is important that you arise now. The ship is about to depart. Everyone else is on it and waiting.”

  “I don’t feel well,” I said without moving. The Overlords and I have cultivated a relative informality of exchange, but I do admit that I feel a certain sense of strain in addressing them. Xenophobes would understand. “I’m not going to leave.”

  “Of course you’re going to leave,” Five said. “I told you, the ship is about to leave. We must hurry.”

  “I’m sorry about this,” I said, unmoving, “but I really don’t feel well enough to go. I’m afraid that I’m forfeiting the game for illness. But go ahead without me; I’ll catch up later on.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t understand,” Five said, rather snappishly, I thought. His tentacles waved, his bipodal body became rather purple. (They are somewhat humanoid in appearance, these Overlords, but one cannot forget at any time that they are malevolent creatures who set up this match in order to impose their way of life upon us and they just are not very nice. The purple enhances the xenophobic thrust.) “This is no time for hypochondria, not when you’re due to board now and all facilities in the Cluster have been sold out for a long time. You have an obligation.”

  “No. Screw it, I won’t.” There was an airy feeling of departing from ritual in saying this; chess players relish defiance as do no other obsessives. “I have a sore throat.”

  “We will cure it.”

  “I have chills and fever.”

  “That can be worked on.”

  “I have cold sweats, even when I lie at rest, and I am afraid that I am not able to think about championship
chess right now.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Maybe later,” I said. “Maybe in a few days I will have recovered. In the meantime, Louis can give a simultaneous exhibition. That surely will take the place of competition and I’ll be better in no time.”

  “I am sorry,” Five said, empurpling further. “This is wholly irregular. We never contemplated the possibility of illness holding up the matches. I’m afraid that I’m going to have to summon a physician.”

  And saying no more he stalked from the room, leaving me in uneasy balance between the sheets. In due course a Terran physician came in, quite awed by his patient, needless to say, and subjected me to a rapid if unflattering examination, ending by studying certain parts of my anal opening in a way which gave me a good deal of pain although, disgracefully, the pain was shot through now and then by the need to giggle. “I’m afraid I have no real diagnosis,” he said when he was finished and Five, getting this word from him shortly thereafter (the Overlords respect modesty), brought him back into the room to say, “This must be a lie.”

  “Oh no,” the doctor said, “rather it’s a neurasthenic episode of some sort. His gross motor signs are normal. Actually, this may be a fatal illness,” the Earth-type physician concluded with a rather horrid giggle, “but, of course, I do not consider myself to be a definitive final authority on matters of this sort.” Saying no more he fled the room, the old bastard, little tools of his trade dribbling from his case as he went. Since the commencement of the matches, of course, the Overlords have enslaved the entire populations of all planets on which the matches take place, which might account for the doctor’s nerves. It is always psychologically difficult to be glimpsed as a member of a slave-class, but then again he might have been a neurasthenic specimen already working for the Overlords. They spoke of having undercover agents.