"Yes, you are. And I cut you out, in their minds, with words. The brown ones read me and the black ones and the yellow ones, and I built you up, in their minds--_and tonight they'll wait for a signal from you_." "A signal from me? Are you--what--?" "A signal from you. To those in the crowd, to those watching on the video screens, the ones who are briefed and _know_ about rioting, about how to steer a revolution. Think of the irony of it--man's prejudice building the army of resentment and man's genius building the machines that army can use to destroy man--white man. White man--first." "First--?" Manny said. "You've dreams beyond tonight, Joe?" Joe smiled disarmingly. "I use too many words. That one got away. We can't think beyond tonight, now." He turned to Alix. "It's not an involved signal, Alix. It's just one word. The word is 'kill'. From _you_ it's more than a word, it's an order." There was a knock at the door, and the sono-bray above the door said, "Time to go up. Time for the big one." All three were silent, and then Joe put a hand on Alix's shoulder. "You can't give the signal from your back, Alix. You'd better be standing up, when this one is over with." Alix looked at Joe, trying to read behind those brown eyes. Alix said, "I'll be standing up. There's never been a second I doubted that." They went out, and there was a clamor, a ring of scribes in the corridor beyond the showers. One of them voiced it for all of them, "What the hell is this, Manny? Joe a cousin, or something. How about a statement?" Manny looked at them bleakly. "We hope to win, but we're up against a superior being. It's in God's lap." Cynical men, but they resented the blasphemy--coming from a robot. Joe said, "And Alix is his prophet. Who's betting what?" No answer. They stared at Joe, and some wrote down a few words. One of them looked at Alix. "How about you, Alix? How do you feel?" Alix, the humble, the new day Uncle Tom, the subservient. Alix lifted his chin and didn't smile. "Confident. I'll win." "How?" another asked. "Hitting him harder, and oftener. What's he got but a hook and an iron jaw?" "Guts," one of them said. "You've got to hand him that, Alix." "I concede nothing," Alix answered. "We'll see, tonight." * * * * * There were no further questions. They went down the long aisle that led to the bright ring, Manny and Alix and the other handler, who'd been waiting in the prelim boys' shower room. Eighty thousand people in the Bowl, a clear, warm night, and millions watching on the video screens around the globe. Video hadn't hurt this one--this was history, a robot crossing the status line. They wanted to be a part of this. The referee was black, Willie Newton. It would look like less favoritism, if the referee was black, reasoned the white man in their left-handed reasoning.