"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.
Bugs around the arcs, and big, ebony Willie in his striped shirt, waiting in the ring, smiling, just happening to be in Alix's corner as he climbed through.
Willie bent, pretending to help part the ropes. Willie whispered, "You'll get all the breaks you need, Alix."
Alix came through and stood erect. "I don't want a single break, Willie, just a fair shake. You can understand it has to be like that."
"I can, Alix. I'm sorry. About the name—just Alix? Or I could blur the rest."
"Alix one-three-four-oh, not blurred. It's my name."