"But it's my move, and I have no move," she objected, focussing her probe again.
"... signed, Perat, Viscount of Tharn, Commandant, Occupation Zone One."
Through that distant fragment of her mind she sensed that something was watching the doll with feral interest.
The cat.
"So? No move? Then you lose," replied Perat.
"But my king isn't in check. You told me yourself that when my king was not in check, and I had no legal move, that I was stalemated, and the game was a draw."
In that other room, her telepathic contact guided the little figure down the table leg. Slowly now, don't excite the cat into pouncing. She had only seconds left, but it should suffice to place the dispatch in Gorph's incoming box. The pompous little supervisor would send it by the first jet messenger without doubt or question, and the field crew would proceed to draw the five columns.
Pain daggered into her right leg!
