Then--the ball moved, a small movement, and there was a roar. Uninfluenced, the ball dropped and rolled to the center court, and Tony stood in bewilderment as Slag shook himself awake. Grant leaped up and tried to push through to the box exit. Behind him, Bee clung. "Granny, what will you do? What can you...." He shook her off and answered her with his mind as he struggled on. "Stop them, that's what! End the match." "How? You know you cannot!" But he felt her mind cling at the hope, and sent back reassurance. "_I_ can. They may not like it, but _I_ can stop these matches. Don't worry, I'll get your brother safely out of there." She was relieved. Knowledge of his position--his relation to the sport--he felt her memory produce the reasons. _Sport_, thought Grant. _I invented a sport. Oh, Allah! What has my sport become?_ And then her mind shrieked at him, stabbed at his brain: "Tony--Tony darling!" Dazedly he heard the moan and fought a path to the transparent screen. Out on the court lay a white figure, outspread, and the ball rolled slowly past the dripping head. "Too late!" sobbed Bee. "Too late! Tony...." * * * * * Somehow she was down there before Grant. He saw her, huddled over Tony's body, as he finally reached an open gate in the domed screen. On the opposite edge of the court, Psycho-sport Commissioner Woods was in conversation with the referee, Harmon. A flash bulb glowed. Three reporters looked at the fallen player and spoke casually to each other. Towering above the group was Slag, staring down as if surprised. Grant went first to the Commissioner, who adopted a defensive attitude immediately, throwing up his hands. "Don't jump on _me_, now. It seems I am helpless. Ask Harmon yourself. There was nothing wrong that he could see." "That's nonsense," said Grant, "and you know it. No matter who it is, a ball will not smash into an awake player. It simply cannot be done. Even a novice can overcontrol his opponent at that range." "Right. It couldn't have happened." Sarcasm indicated the worry felt by Woods. "Damn it, Lane, that's the way it is. Harmon watched like a hawk in his bubble. The dome was sealed; not a single leak. Slag's second crouched behind the shield and never moved. I personally supervised Anthony's examination. He was in perfect condition. The only thing yet to check is the ball, but the ball...." "You have it? Never mind, no ball invented could do that alone. Tony could handle any ball, even without the new sensitive core. And in a hundred games every day, they don't ever have this sort of accident." "Just when Slag plays." The Commissioner touched Grant's arm helplessly. "The force of the man's mind must be terrible, Lane. He must be a superman. But what am I going to do? If I outlaw him without legal grounds...." He stopped, gulped nervously.