Doc gave a short scornful laugh. "Krakatower! Don't pay any attention to _him_. A senile has-been, it's a scandal he's been allowed to play in this tournament! He must have pulled all sorts of strings. Told them that his lifelong services to chess had won him the honor and that they had to have a member of the so-called Old Guard. Maybe he even got down on his knees and cried--and all the time his eyes on that expense money and the last-place consolation prize! Yet dreaming schizophrenically of beating them all! Please, don't get me started on Dirty Old Krakatower." "Take it easy, Doc. He sounds like he would make an interesting article? Can you point him out to me?" "You can tell him by his long white beard with coffee stains. I don't see it anywhere, though. Perhaps he's shaved it off for the occasion. It would be like that antique womanizer to develop senile delusions of youthfulness." "And Grabo?" Sandra pressed, suppressing a smile at the intensity of Doc's animosity. Doc's eyes grew thoughtful. "About Bela Grabo (why are three out of four Hungarians named Bela?) I will tell you only this: That he is a very brilliant player and that the Machine is very lucky to have drawn him as its first opponent." He would not amplify his statement. Sandra studied the Scoreboard again. "This Simon Great who's down as programming the Machine. He's a famous physicist, I suppose?" "By no means. That was the trouble with some of the early chess-playing machines--they were programmed by scientists. No, Simon Great is a psychologist who at one time was a leading contender for the world's chess championship. I think WBM was surprisingly shrewd to pick him for the programming job. Let me tell you--No, better yet--" Doc shot to his feet, stretched an arm on high and called out sharply, "Simon!" A man some four tables away waved back and a moment later came over. "What is it, Savilly?" he asked. "There's hardly any time, you know." * * * * * The newcomer was of middle height, compact of figure and feature, with graying hair cut short and combed sharply back. Doc spoke his piece for Sandra. Simon Great smiled thinly. "Sorry," he said, "But I am making no predictions and we are giving out no advance information on the programming of the Machine. As you know, I have had to fight the Players' Committee tooth and nail on all sorts of points about that and they have won most of them. I am not permitted to re-program the Machine at adjournments--only between games (I did insist on that and get it!) And if the Machine breaks down during a game, its clock keeps running on it. My men are permitted to make repairs--if they can work fast enough." "That makes it very tough on you," Sandra put in. "The Machine isn't allowed any weaknesses."