Krakatower had lost two pawns when the first time-control point arrived and was intending to resign on his 31st move when the Machine broke down. Three of its pieces moved on the electric board at once, then the board went dark and all the lights on the console went out except five which started winking like angry red eyes. The gray-smocked men around Simon Great sprang silently into action, filing around back of the console. It was the first work anyone had seen them do except move screens around and fetch each other coffee. Vanderhoef hovered anxiously. Some flash bulbs went off. Vanderhoef shook his fist at the photographers. Simon Great did nothing. The Machine's clock ticked on. Doc watched for a while and then fell asleep.
When Vanderhoef jogged him awake, the Machine had just made its next move, but the repair-job had taken 50 minutes. As a result the Machine had to make 15 moves in 10 minutes. At 40 seconds a move it played like a dub whose general lack of skill was complicated by a touch of insanity. On his 43rd move Doc shrugged his shoulders apologetically and announced mate in four. There were more flashes. Vanderhoef shook his fist again. The machine flashed:
YOU PLAYED BRILLIANTLY. CONGRATULATIONS!

 

Afterwards Doc said sourly to Sandra. "And that was one big lie—a child could have beat the Machine with that time advantage. Oh, what an ironic glory the gods reserved for Krakatower's dotage—to vanquish a broken-down computer! Only one good thing about it—that it didn't happen while it was playing one of the Russians, or someone would surely have whispered sabotage. And that is something of which they do not accuse Dirty Old Krakatower, because they are sure he has not got the brains even to think to sprinkle a little magnetic oxide powder in the Machine's memory box. Bah!"
Just the same he seemed considerably more cheerful.
Sandra said guilelessly, "Winning a game means nothing to you chess players, does it, unless you really do it by your own brilliancy?"
Doc looked solemn for a moment, then he started to chuckle. "You are getting altogether too smart, Miss Sandra Lea Grayling," he said. "Yes, yes—a chess player is happy to win in any barely legitimate way he can, by an earthquake if necessary, or his opponent sickening before he does from the bubonic plague. So—I confess it to you—I was very happy to chalk up my utterly undeserved win over the luckless Machine."
"Which incidentally makes it anybody's tournament again, doesn't it, Doc?"

"Not exactly." Doc gave a wry little headshake. "We can't expect another fluke. After all, the Machine has functioned perfectly seven games out of eight, and you can bet the WBM men will be checking it all night, especially since it has no adjourned games to work on. Tomorrow it plays Willie Angler, but judging from the way it beat Votbinnik and Jal, it should have a definite edge on Willie. If it beats him, then only Votbinnik has a chance for a tie and to do that he must defeat Lysmov. Which will be most difficult."
"Well," Sandra said, "don't you think that Lysmov might just kind of let himself be beaten, to make sure a Russian gets first place or at least ties for it?"
Doc shook his head emphatically. "There are many things a man, even a chess master, will do to serve his state, but party loyalty doesn't go that deep. Look, here is the standing of the players after eight rounds." He handed Sandra a penciled list.
ONE ROUND TO GO
Player
Wins
Losses
Machine
5-1/2
2-1/2
Votbinnik
5-1/2
2-1/2
Angler
............