The Machine hammered its button and rammed its queen across the electric board. In Grabo's imagination it was like an explosion.
Grabo held onto his nerves with an effort and plunged into a maze of calculations.
Once he came to, like a man who has been asleep, to realize that he was wondering whether the lights were still blinking behind the screens while he was making his move. Did the Machine really analyze at such times or were the lights just an empty trick? He forced his mind back to the problems of the game, decided on his move, checked the board twice for any violent move he might have missed, noted on his clock that he'd taken five minutes, checked the board again very rapidly and then put out his hand and made his move—with the fiercely suspicious air of a boss compelled to send an extremely unreliable underling on an all-important errand.
Then he punched his clock, sprang to his feet, and once more waved for Vanderhoef.
Thirty seconds later the Tournament Director, very red-faced now, was saying in a low voice, almost pleadingly, "But Bela, I cannot keep asking them to change the screens. Already they have been up twice and down once to please you. Moving them disturbs the other players and surely isn't good for your own peace of mind. Oh, Bela, my dear Bela—"
Vanderhoef broke off. Grabo knew he had been going to say something improper but from the heart, such as, "For God's sake don't blow this game out of nervousness now that you have a win in sight"—and this sympathy somehow made the Hungarian furious.
"I have other complaints which I will make formally after the game," he said harshly, quivering with rage. "It is a disgrace the way that mechanism punches the time-clock button. It will crack the case! The Machine never stops humming! And it stinks of ozone and hot metal, as if it were about to explode!"
"It cannot explode, Bela. Please!"
"No, but it threatens to! And you know a threat is always more effective than an actual attack! As for the screens, they must be taken down at once, I demand it!"