"Sorry, babe," Angler broke in with a wave of dismissal. "I'm dated up for two months in advance. Waiter! I'm here, not there!" And he went charging off.
Doc and Sandra looked at each other and smiled.
"Chess masters aren't exactly humble people, are they?" she said.
Doc's smile became tinged with sad understanding. "You must excuse them, though," he said. "They really get so little recognition or recompense. This tournament is an exception. And it takes a great deal of ego to play greatly."
"I suppose so. So World Business Machines is responsible for this tournament?"
"Correct. Their advertising department is interested in the prestige. They want to score a point over their great rival."
"But if the Machine plays badly it will be a black eye for them," Sandra pointed out.
"True," Doc agreed thoughtfully. "WBM must feel very sure.... It's the prize money they've put up, of course, that's brought the world's greatest players here. Otherwise half of them would be holding off in the best temperamental-artist style. For chess players the prize money is fabulous—$35,000, with $15,000 for first place, and all expenses paid for all players. There's never been anything like it. Soviet Russia is the only country that has ever supported and rewarded her best chess players at all adequately. I think the Russian players are here because UNESCO and FIDE (that's Federation Internationale des Echecs—the international chess organization) are also backing the tournament. And perhaps because the Kremlin is hungry for a little prestige now that its space program is sagging."
"But if a Russian doesn't take first place it will be a black eye for them."
Doc frowned. "True, in a sense. They must feel very sure.... Here they are now."