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    Roger Zelazny's "Unicorn Variation"

Preface from Unicorn Variations: This story came into being in a
somewhat atypical fashion.  The first movement in its direction
occurred when Gardner Dozois phoned me one evening and asked whether
I'd ever done a short story involving a unicorn.  I said that I had
not.  He explained then that he and Jack Dann were putting together a
reprint anthology of unicorn stories, and he suggested that I write
one and sell it somewhere and then sell them reprint rights to it.
Two sales.  Nice.  I told him that I'd think about it.
    Later, I was asked by another anthologist whether I'd ever done a
story set in a barroomùand if so, he's like it for a reprint
collection he was doing.  I allowed that I hadn't.  A week or so after
that, I attended a wine tasting with the redoubtable George R. R.
Martin, and during the course of the evening I decided to mention the
prospective collections in case he had ever done a unicorn story or a
barroom story.  He hadn't either, but he reminded me that Fred
Saberhagen was putting together a reprint collection of stories
involving chess games (_Pawn to Infinity_).  "Why don't you," he said,
"write a story involving a unicorn and a chess games, set it in a
barroom and sell it to everybody?"  We chuckled and sipped.  A few
months later, I went up to Vancouver, B.C., to be the guest of V-Con,
a very pleasant regional science fiction convention.  I had decided to
take my family on the Inland Passage Alaskan cruise after that.  Now
right before I left New Mexico I had read Italo Calvino's _Invisible
Cities_, and when I read the section titled "Hidden Cities. 4."
something seemed to stir.  It told of the city where the inhabitants
exterminated all of the vermin, completely sanitizing the place, only
to be haunted then by visions of creatures that did not exist.  Later,
during the convention, things began to flow together; and on my way
down to the waterfront to board _Prinsendam_, I stopped at a number of
bookstores, speed reading all the of the chess sections until I found
what I wanted, two hours before sailing time.  I bought the book.  I
sailed.  I wrote "Unicorn Variation" in odd moments during what proved
a fine cruise.  My protagonist is named Martinùany similarity to
George (who is a chess expert) is not exactly unintentional.  (I'll
include a note on the game itself as an afterpiece to the tale.)
Later that year the _Prisendam_ burned and sank.  The story didn't.  I
sold it a sufficient number of times to pay for the cruise.
                                                    Thanks, George.

_____________________________________________________________________

    A bizarrerie of fires, cunabulum of light, it moved with a deft,
almost dainty deliberation, phasing into and out of existence like a
storm-shot piece of evening; or perhaps the darkness between the
flares was more akin to its truest natureùswirl of black ashes
assembled in prancing cadence to the lowing note of desert wind down
the arroyo behind buildings as empty yet filled as the pages of unread
books or stillnesses between the notes of a song.
    Gone again.  Back again.  Again.
    Power, you said?  Yes.  It takes considerable force of identity to
manifest before or after one's time.  Or both.
    As it faded and gained it also advanced, moving through the warm
afternoon, its tracks erased by the wind.  That is, on those occasions
when there were tracks.
    A reason.  There should always be a reason.  Or reasons.
    It knew why it was thereùbut not why it was _there_, in that
particular locale.
    It anticipated learning this shortly, as it approached the
desolation-bound line of the old street.  However, it knew that the
reason may also come before, or after.  Yet again, the pull was there
and the force of its being was such that it had to be close to
something.
    The buildings were worn and decayed and some of them fallen and
all of them drafty and dusty and empty.  Weeds grew among the
floorboards.  Birds nested upon rafters.  The droppings of wild things
were everywhere, and it knew them all as they would have known it,
were they to meet face to face.
    It froze, for there had come the tiniest unanticipated sound from
somewhere ahead and to the left.  At that moment, it was again phasing
into existence and it released its outline which faded as quickly as a
rainbow in hell, that but the naked presence remained beyond
subtraction.
    Invisible, yet existing, strong, it moved again.  The clue.  The
cue.  Ahead.  A gauche.  Beyond the faded word SALOON on weathered
board above.  Through the swinging doors.  (One of them pinned alop.)
    Pause and assess.
    Bar to the right, dusty.  Cracked mirror behind it.  Empty
bottles.  Broken bottles.  Brass rail, black, encrusted.  Tables to
the left and rear.  In various states of repair.
    Man seated at the best of the lot.  His back to the door.  Levi's.
Hiking boots.  Faded blue shirt.  Green backpack leaning against the
wall to his left.
    Before him, on the tabletop, is the faint, painted outline of a
chessboard, stained, scratched, almost obliterated.
    The drawer in which he had found the chessmen is still partly
open.
    He could no more have passed up a chess set without working out a
problem or replaying one of his better games than he could have gone
without breathing, circulating his blood or maintaining a relatively
stable body temperature.
    It moved nearer, and perhaps there were fresh prints in the dust
behind it, but none noted them.
    It, too, played chess.
    It watched as the man replayed what had perhaps been his finest
game, from the world preliminaries of seven years past.  He had blown
up after thatùsurprised to have gotten even as far as he hadùfor he
never could perform well under pressure.  But he had always been proud
of that one game, and he relived it as all sensitive beings to certain
turning points in their lives.  For perhaps twenty minutes, no one
could have touched him.  He had been shining and pure and hard and
clear.  He had felt like the best.
    It took up a position across the board from him and stared.  The
man completed the game, smiling.  Then he set up the board again, rose
and fetched a can of beer from his pack.  He popped the top.
    When he returned, he discovered that White's King's Pawn had been
advanced to K4.  His brow furrowed.  He turned his head, searching the
bar, meeting his own puzzled gaze in the grimy mirror.  He looked
under the table.  He took a drink of beer and seated himself.
    He reached out and moved his Pawn to K4.  A moment later, he saw
White's King's Knight rise slowly into the air and drift forward to
settle upon KB3.
    He stared for a long while into the emptiness across the table
before he advanced his own Knight to his KB3.  White's Knight moved to
take his Pawn.  He dismissed the novelty of the situation and moved
his Pawn to Q3.  He all but forgot the absence of a tangible opponent
as the White Knight dropped back to its KB3.  He paused to take a sip
of beer, but no sooner had he placed the can upon the tabletop than it
rose again, passed across the board and was upended.  A gurgling
noise followed.  Then the can fell to the floor, bouncing, ringing
with an empty sound.
    "I'm sorry," he said, rising and returning to his pack.  "I'd have
offered you one if I'd thought you were something that might like it."
    He opened two more cans, returned with them, placed one near the
edge of the table, one at his own right hand.
    "Thank you," came a soft, precise voice from a point beyond it.
    The can was raised, tilted slightly, returned to the tabletop.
    "My name is Martin," the man said.
    "Call me Tlingel," said the other.  "I had thought that perhaps
your kind was extinct.  I am pleased that you at least have survived
to afford me this game."
    "Huh?" Martin said.  "We were all still around the last time that
I lookedùa couple of days ago."
    "No matter.  I can take care of that later," Tlingel replied.  "I
was misled by the appearance of this place."
    "Oh.  It's a ghost town.  I backpack a lot."
    "Not important.  I am near the proper point in your career as a
species.  I can feel that much."
    "I am afraid that I do not follow you."
    "I am not at all certain that you would wish to.  I assume that
you intend to capture that Pawn?"
    "Perhaps.  Yes, I do wish to.  What are you talking about?"
    The beer can rose.  The invisible entity took another drink.
    "Well," said Tlingel, "to put it simply, yourùsuccessorsùgrow
anxious.  Your place in the scheme of things being such an important
one, I had sufficient power to come and check things out."
    "'Successors'?  I do not understand."
    "Have you seen and griffins recently?"
    Martin chuckled.
    "I've heard the stories," he said, "Seen the photos of the one
supposedly shot in the Rockies.  A hoax, of course."
    "Of course it must seem so.  That is the way with mythical
beasts."
    "You're trying to say that it was real?"
    "Certainly.  Your world is in bad shape.  When the last grizzly
bear died recently, the way was opened for the griffinsùjust as the
death of the last aepyornis brought in the yeti, the dodo the Loch
Ness creature, the passenger pigeon the sasquatch, the blue whale the
kraken, the American eagle the cockatriceù"
    "You can't prove it by me."
    "Have another drink."
    Martin began to reach for the can, halted his hand and stared.
    A creature approximately two inches in length, with a human face,
a lionlike body and feathered wings was crouched next to the beer can.
    "A minisphinx," the voice continued.  "They came when you killed
off the last smallpox virus."
    "Are you trying to say that whenever a natural species dies out a
mythical one takes its place?" he asked.
    "In a wordùyes.  Now.  It was not always so, but you have
destroyed the mechanisms of evolution.  The balance is now redressed
by those others of us, from the morning landùwe, who have never truly
been endangered.  We return, in our time."
    "And youùwhatever you are, Tlingelùyou say that humanity is now
endangered?"
    "Very much so.  But there is nothing that you can do about it, is
there?  Let us get on with the game."
    The sphinx flew off.  Martin took a sip of beer and captured the
Pawn.
    "Who," he asked then, "are to be our successors?"
    "Modesty almost forbids," Tlingel replied.  "In the case of a
species as prominent as your own, it naturally has to be the
loveliest, most intelligent, most important of us all."
    "And what are you?  Is there any way that I can have a look?"
    "Wellùyes.  If I exert myself a trifle."
    The beer can rose, was drained, fell to the floor.  There followed
a series of rapid rattling sounds retreating from the table.  The air
began to flicker over a large area opposite Martin, darkening within
the glowing framework.  The outline continued to brighten, its
interior growing jet black.  The form moved, prancing about the
saloon, multitudes of tiny, cloven hoofprints scoring and cracking the
floorboards.  With a final, hear-blinding flash it came into full view
and Martin gasped to behold it.
    A black unicorn with mocking, yellow eyes sported before him,
rising for a moment onto its hind legs to strike a heraldic pose.  The
fires flared about it a second longer, then vanished.
    Martin had drawn back, raising one hand defensively.
    "regard me!" Tlingel announced.  "Ancient symbol of wisdom, valor
and beauty, I stand before you!"
    "I thought your typical unicorn was white," Martin finally said.
    "I am archetypical," Tlingel responded, dropping to all fours, "And
possessed of virtues beyond the ordinary."
    "Such as?"
    "Let us continue our game."
    "What about the fate of the human race?  You saidù"
    ". . . And save the small talk for later."
    "I hardly consider the destruction of humanity to be small talk."
    "And if you've any more beer . . ."
    "All right," Martin said, retreating to his pack as the creature
advanced, its eyes like a pair of pale suns.  "There's some lager."
    Something had gone out of the game.  As Martin sat before the ebon
horn on Tlingel's bowed head, like an insect about to be pinned, he
realized that his playing was off.  He had felt the pressure the
moment he had seen the beastùand there was all that talk about an
imminent doomsday.  Any run-of-the-mill pessimist could say it without
troubling him, but coming from a source as peculiar as this . . .
    His earlier elation had fled.  He was no longer in top form.  And
Tlingel was good.  Very good.  Martin found himself wondering whether
he could manage a stalemate.
    After a time, he saw that he could not and resigned.
    The unicorn looked at him and smiled.
    "You don't really play badlyùfor a human," it said.
    "I've done a lot better."
    "It is no shame to lose to me, mortal.  Even among mythical
creatures there are very few who can give a unicorn a good game."
    "I am pleased that you were not wholly bored," Martin said.  "Now
will you tell me what you were talking about concerning the
destruction of my species?"
    "Oh, that," Tlingel replied.  "In the morning land where those
such as I swell, I felt the possibility of your passing come like a
gently wind to my nostrils, with the promise of clearing the way for
usù"
    "How is it supposed to happen?"
    Tlingel shrugged, horn writing on the air with a toss of the head.
    "I really couldn't say.  Premonitions are seldom specific.  In
fact, that is what I came to discover.  I should have been about it
already, but you diverted me with beer and good sport."
    "Could you be wrong about this?"
    "I doubt it.  That is the reason I am here."
    "Please explain."
    "Are there any beers left?"
    "Two, I think."
    "Please."
    Martin rose and fetched them.
    "Damn!  The tab broke off this one," he said.
    "Place it upon the table and hold it firmly."
    "All right."
    Tlingel's horn dipped forward quickly, piercing the can's top.
    ". . . Useful for all sorts of things," Tlingel observed,
withdrawing it.
    "The other reason you're here. . . ." Martin prompted.
    "It is just that I am special.  I can do things that the others
cannot."
    "Such as?"
    "Find your weak spot and influence events to exploit it, toùhasten
matters.  To turn the possibility into a probability, and thenù"
    "_You_ are going to destroy us?  Personally?"
    "That is the wrong way to look at it.  It is more like a game of
chess.  It is as much a matter of exploiting your opponent's
weaknesses as of exercising your own strengths.  If you had not
already laid the groundwork I would be powerless.  I can only
influence that which already exists."
    "So what will it be?  World War III?  An ecological disaster?  A
mutated disease?"
    "I do not really know yet, so I wish you wouldn't ask me in that
fashion.  I repeat that at the moment I am only observing.  I am only
an agentù"
    "It doesn't sound that way to me."
    Tlingel was silent.  Martin began gathering up the chessmen.
    "Aren't you going to set up the board again?"
    "To amuse my destroyer a little more?  No thanks."
    "That's hardly the way to look at itù"
    "Besides, those are the last beers."
    "Oh."  Tlingel stared wistfully at the vanishing pieces, then
remarked, "I would be willing to play you again without additional
refreshment. . . ."
    "No thanks."
    "You are angry."
    "Wouldn't you be, if our situations were reversed?"
    "You are anthromorphizing."
    "Well?"
    "Oh, I suppose I would."
    "You could give us a break, you knowùat least let us make our own
mistakes."
    "You've hardly done that yourself, though, with all the creatures
my fellows have succeeded."
    Martin reddened.
    "Okay.  You just scored one.  But I don't have to like it."
    "You are a good player.  I know that. . . ."
    "Tlingel, if I were capable of playing at my best again, I think I
could beat you."
    The unicorn snorted two tiny wisps of smoke.
    "Not _that_ good," Tlingel said.
    "I guess you'll never know."
    "Do I detect a proposal?"
    "Possibly.  What's another game worth to you?"
    Tlingel made a chuckling noise.
    "Let me guess: You are going to say that if you beat me you want
my promise not to lay my will upon the weakest link in mankind's
existence and shatter it."
    "Of course."
    "And what do I get for winning?"
    "The pleasure of the game.  That's what you want, isn't it?"
    "The terms sound a little lopsided."
    "Not if you are going to win anyway.  You keep insisting that you
will."
    "All right.  Set up the board."
    "There is something else that you have to know about me first."
    "Yes?"
    "I don't play well under pressure, and this game is going to be a
terrific strain.  You want my best game, don't you?"
    "Yes, but I'm afraid I've no way of adjusting your own reactions
to the play."
    "I believe I could do that myself if I had more than the usual
amount of time between moves."
    "Agreed."
    "I mean a lot of time."
    "Just what do you have in mind?"
    "I'll need time to get my mind off it, to relax, to come back to
the positions as if they were only problems. . . ."
    "You mean to go away from here between moves?"
    "Yes."
    "All right.  How long?"
    "I don't know.  A few weeks, maybe."
    "Take a month.  Consult your experts, put your computers onto it.
It may make for a slightly more interesting game."
    "I really didn't have that in mind."
    "Then it's time you're trying to buy."
    "I can't deny that.  On the other hand, I will need it."
    "In that case, I have some terms.  I'd like this place cleaned up,
fixed up, more lively.  It's a mess.  I also want beer on tap."
    "Okay.  I'll see to that."
    "Then I agree.  Let's see who goes first."
    Martin switched a black and a white Pawn from hand to hand beneath
the table.  He raised his fists then and extended them.  Tlingel
leaned forward and tapped.  The black horn's tip touched Martin's left
hand.
    "Well, it matches my sleek and glossy hide," the unicorn
announced.
    Martin smiled, setting up the white for himself, the black pieces
for his opponent.  As soon as he had finished, he pushed his Pawn to
K4.
    Tlingel's delicate, ebon hoof moved to advance the Black King's
Pawn to K4.
    "I take it that you want a month now, to consider your next move?"
    Martin did not reply but moved his Knight to KB3.  Tlingel
immediately moved a Knight to QB3.
    Martin took a swallow of beer and then moved his Bishop to N5.
The unicorn moved the other Knight to B3.  Martin immediately castled
and Tlingel moved the Knight to take his Pawn.
    "I think we'll make it," Martin said suddenly, "if you'll just let
us alone.  We do learn from our mistakes, in time."
    "Mythical beings do not exactly exist in time.  Your world is a
special case."
    "Don't you people ever make mistakes?"
    "Whenever we do they're sort of poetic."
    Martin snarled and advanced his Pawn to Q4.  Tlingel immediately
countered by moving the Knight to Q3.
    "I've got to stop," Martin said, standing.  "I'm getting mad, and
it will affect my game."
    "You will be going, then?"
    "yes."
    He moved to fetch his pack.
    "I will see you here in one month's time?"
    "Yes."
    "Very well."
    The unicorn rose and stamped upon the floor and lights began to
play across its dark coat.  Suddenly, they blazed and shot outward in
all directions like a silent explosion.  A wave of blackness followed.
    Martin found himself leaning against the wall, shaking.  When he
lowered his hand from his eyes, he saw that he was alone, save for the
knights, the bishops, the kings, the queens, their castles and both
the kings' men.
    He went away.

    Three days later Martin returned in a small truck, with a
generator, lumber, windows, power tools, paint, stain, cleaning
compounds, wax.  He dusted and vacuumed and replaced the rotten wood.
He installed the windows.  He polished the old brass until it shone.
He stained and rubbed.  He waxed the floors and buffed them.  He
plugged holes and washed glasses.  He hauled all the trash away.
    It took him the better part of a week to turn the old place from a
wreck back into a saloon in appearance.  Then he drove off, returned
all of the equipment he had rented and bought a ticket for the
Northwest.
    The big, damp forest was another of his favorite places for
hiking, for thinking.  And he was seeking a complete change of scene,
a total revision of outlook.  Not that his next move did not seem
obvious, standard even.  Yet, something nagged. . . .
    He knew that it was more than just the game.  Before that he had
been ready to get away again, to walk drowsing among shadows,
breathing clean air.
    Resting, his back against the bulging root of a giant tree, he
withdrew a small chess set from his pack, set it up on a rock he'd
moved into position nearby.  A fine, mistlike rain was settling, but
the tree sheltered him, so far.  He reconstructed the opening through
Tlingel's withdrawal of the Knight to Q3.  The simplest thing would be
to take the Knight with the Bishop.  But he did not move to do it.
    He watched the board for a time, felt his eyelids drooping, close
them and drowsed.  It may only have been for a few minutes.  He was
never certain afterward.
    Something aroused him.  He did not know what.  He blinked several
times and closed his eyes again.  Then he reopened them hurriedly.
    In his nodded position, eyes directed downward, his gaze was fixed
upon an enormous pair of hairy, unshod feetùthe largest pair of feet
that he had ever beheld.  They stood unmoving before him, pointed
toward his right.
    Slowlyùvery slowlyùhe raised his eyes.  Not very far, as it turned
out.  The creature was only about four and a half feet in height.  As
it was looking at the chessboard rather than at him, he took the
opportunity to study it.
    It was unclothed but very hairy, with a dark brown pelt, obviously
masculine, possessed of a low brow ridges, deep-set eyes that matched
its hair, heavy shoulders, five-fingered hands that sported opposing
thumbs.
    It turned suddenly and regarded him, flashing a large number of
shining teeth.
    "White's Pawn should take the Pawn," it said in a soft, nasal
voice.
    "Huh?  Come on," Martin said.  "Bishop takes Knight."
    "You want to give me Black and play it that way?  I'll walk all
over you."
    "Martin glanced again at its feet.
    ". . . Or give me White and let me take that Pawn.  I'll still do
it."
    "Take White," Martin said, straightening.  "Let's see if you know
what you're talking about."  He reached for his pack.  "Have a beer?"
    "What's a beer?"
    "A recreational aid.  Wait a minute."
    Before they had finished the six-pack, the sasquatchùwhose name,
he had learned, was Grendùhad finished Martin.  Grend had quickly
entered a ferocious midgame, backed him into a position of dwindling
security and pushed him to the point where he had seen the end and
resigned.
    "That was one hell of a game," Martin declared, leaning back and
considering the apelike countenance before him.
    "Yes, we bigfeet are pretty good, if I do say it.  It's our one
big recreation, and we're so damned primitive we don't have much in
the way of boards and chessmen.  Most of the time, we just play it in
our heads.  There're not many can come close to us."
    "How about unicorns?" Martin asked.
    Grend nodded slowly.
    "They're about the only ones can really give us a good game.  A
little dainty, but they're subtle.  Awfully sure of themselves,
though, I must say.  Even when they're wrong.  Haven't seen any since
we left the morning land, of course.  Too bad.  Got any more of that
beer left?"
    "I'm afraid not.  But listen, I'll be back this way in a month.
I'll bring some more then if you'll meet me here and play again."
    "Martin, you've got a deal.  Sorry.  Didn't mean to step on your
toes."

    He cleaned the saloon again and brought in a keg of beer which he
installed under the bar and packed with ice.  He moved in some bar
stools, chairs and tables which he had obtained at a Goodwill store.
He hung red curtains.  By then it was evening.  He set up the board,
ate a light meal, unrolled his sleeping bag behind the bar and camped
there than night.
    The following day passed quickly.  Since Tlingel might show up at
any time, he did not leave the vicinity but took his meals there and
sat about working chess problems.  When it began to grow dark, he lit
a number of oil lamps and candles.
    He looked at his watch with increasing frequency.  He began to
pace.  He couldn't have made a mistake.  This was the proper day.  Heù
    He heard a chuckle.
    Turning about, he saw a black unicorn head floating in the air
above the chessboard.  As he watched, the rest of Tlingel's body
materialized.
    "Good evening, Martin."  Tlingel turned away from the board.  "The
place looks a little better.  Could use some music. . . ."
    Martin stepped behind the bar and switched on the transistor radio
he had brought along.  The sounds of a string quartet filled the air.
Tlingel winced.
    "Hardly in keeping with the atmosphere of the place."
    He changed stations, locating a country and western show.
    "I think not," Tlingel said.  "It loses something in
transmission."
    He turned it off.
    "Have we a good supply of beverage?"
    Martin drew a gallon stein of beerùthe largest mug that he could
locate, from a novelty storeùand set it upon the bar.  He filled a
much smaller one for himself.  He was determined to get the beast
drunk if it were at all possible.
    "Ah!  Much better than those little cans," said Tlingel, whose
muzzle dipped for but a moment.  "Very good."
    The mug was empty.  Martin refilled it.
    "Will you move it to the table for me?"
    "Certainly."
    "Have an interesting month?"
    "I suppose I did."
    "You've decided upon your next move?"
    "Yes."
    "Then let's get on with it."
    Martin seated himself and captured the Pawn.
    "Hm.  Interesting."
    Tlingel stared at the board for a long while, then raised a cloven
hoof which parted in reaching for the piece.
    "I'll just take that Bishop with this little Knight.  Now I
supposed you'll be wanting another month to make up your mind what to
do next."
    Tlingel leaned to the side and drained the mug.
    "Let me consider it," Martin said, "while I get you a refill."
    Martin sat and stared at the board through three more refills.
Actually, he was not planning.  He was waiting.  His response to Grend
had been Knight takes Bishop, and he had Grend's next move ready.
    "Well?" Tlingel finally said.  "What do you think?"
    Martin took a small sip of beer.
    "Almost ready," he said.  "You hold your beer awfully well."
    Tlingel laughed.
    "A unicorn's horn is a detoxicant.  Its possession is a universal
remedy.  I wait until I reach the warm glow stage, then I use my horn
to burn off any excess and keep me right there."
    "Oh," said Martin.  "Neat trick, that."
    ". . . If you've had too much, just touch my horn for a moment and
I'll put you back in business."
    "No, thanks.  That's all right.  I'll just push this little Pawn
in front of the Queen's Rook two steps ahead."
    "Really . . ." said Tlingel.  "That's interesting.  You know, what
this place really needs is a pianoùrinkytink, funky. . . . Think you
could manage it?"
    "I don't play."
    "Too bad."
     "I suppose I could hire a piano player."
    "No.  I do not care to be seen by other humans."
    "If he's really good, I suppose he could play blindfolded."
    "Never mind."
    "I'm sorry."
    "You are also ingenious.  I am certain that you will figure
something out by next time."
    Martin nodded.
    "Also, didn't these old places used to have sawdust all over the
floors?"
    "I believe so,"
    "That would be nice."
    "Check."
    Tlingel searched the board frantically for a moment.
    "Yes.  I meant 'yes.'  I said 'check.'  It means 'yes' sometimes,
too."
    "Oh.  Rather.  Well, while we're here . . ."
    Tlingel advanced the Pawn to Q3.
    Martin stared.  That was not what Grend had done.  For a moment,
he considered continuing on his own from here.  He had tried to think
of Grend as a coach up until this point.  He had forced away the
notion of crudely and crassly pitting one of them against the other.
Until P-Q3.  Then he recalled the game he had lost to the sasquatch.
    "I'll draw the line here," he said, "and take my month."
    "All right.  Let's have another drink before we say good night.
Okay?"
    "Sure.  why not?
    They sat for a time and Tlingel told him of the morning land, of
primeval forests and rolling plains, of high craggy mountains and
purple seas, of magic and mythic beasts.
    Martin shook his head.
    "I can't quite see why you're so anxious to come here," he said,
"with a place like that to call home."
    Tlingel sighed.
    "I suppose you'd call it keeping up with the griffins.  It's the
thing to do these days.  Well.  Till next month . . ."
    Tlingel rose and turned away.
    "I've got complete control now.  Watch!"
    The unicorn form faded, jerked out of shape, grew white, faded
again, was gone, like an afterimage.
    Martin moved to the bar and drew himself another mug.  It was a
shame to waste what was left.  In the morning, he wished the unicorn
were there again.  Or at least the horn.

    It was a gray day in the forest and he held an umbrella over the
chessboard upon the rock.  The droplets fell from the leaves and made
dull, plopping noises as they struck the fabric.  The board was up
again through Tlingel's P-Q3.  Martin wondered whether Grend had
remembered, had kept proper track of the days. . . .
    "Hello," came the nasal voice from somewhere behind him and to the
left.
    He turned to see Grend moving about the tree, stepping over the
massive roots with massive feet.
    "You remembered," Grend said.  "How good!  I trust you also
remembered the beer?"
    "I've lugged up a whole case.  We can set up the bar right here."
    "What's a bar?"
    "Well, it's a place where people go to drink-in out of the rainùa
bit dark for atmosphereùand they sit up on stools before a big
counter, or else at little tablesùand they talk to each otherùand
sometimes there's musicùand they drink."
    "We're going to have all that here?"
    "No.  Just the dark and the drinks. Unless you count the rain as
music.  I was speaking figuratively."
    "Oh.  It does sound like a good place to visit, though."
    "Yes.  If you will hold the umbrella over the board, I'll set up
the best equivalent we can have here."
    "All right.  Say, this look like a version of the game we played
last time."
    "It is.  I got to wondering what would have happened if it had
gone
this way rather than the way it went that it went."
    "Hmm. Let me see. . . ."
    Martin removed four six-packs from his pack and opened the first.
    "Here you go."
    "Thanks."
    Grend accepted the beer, squatted, passed the umbrella back to
Martin.
    "I'm still White?"
    "Yeah."
    "Pawn to King six."
    "Really?"
    "Yep."'
    "About the best thing for me to do would be to take this Pawn with
this one."
    "I'd say.  Then I'll just knock off your Knight with this one."
    "I guess I'll just pull this Knight back to K2."
    ". . . And I'll just take this one over to B3.  My I have another
beer?"
    An hour and a quarter later, Martin resigned. The rain had let up
and he had folded the umbrella.
    "Another game?" Grend asked.
    "Yes."
    The afternoon wore on.  The pressure was off.  This one was just
for
fun.  Martin tried wild combinations, seeing ahead with great clarity,
as he had that one. . . .
    "Stalemate," Grend announced much later.  "That was a good one,
though.  You picked up considerably."
    "I was more relaxed.  Want another?"
    "Maybe in a little while. Tell me more about bars now."
    So he did.  Finally, "How is all that beer affecting you? he
asked.
    "I'm a bit dizzy.  But that's all right. I'll still cream you the
third game."
    And he did.
    "Not bad for a human, though.  Not bad at all.  You coming back
next month?"
    "Yes."
    "Good.  You'll bring more beer?"
    "So long as my money holds out."
    "Oh.  Bring some plaster of Paris then.  I'll make you some nice
footprints and you can take casts of them.  I understand they're going
for quite a bit."
    "I'll remember that."
    Martin lurched to his feet and collected the chess set.
    "Till then."
    "Ciao."

    Martin dusted and polished again, moved in the player piano and
scattered sawdust upon the floor.  He installed a fresh keg.  He hung
some reproductions of period posters and some atrocious old paintings
he had located in a junk shop.  He placed cuspidors in strategic
locations.  When he was finished, he seated himself at the bar and
opened a bottle of mineral water.  He listened to the New Mexico wind
moaning as it passed, to grains of sand striking against the
windowpanes.  He wondered whether the whole world would have that dry,
mournful sound if Tlingel found a means for doing away with humanity,
orùdisturbing thoughtùwhether the successors to his own kind might turn
things into something resembling the mythical morning land.
    This troubled him for a time.  Then he went and set up the board
through Black's P-Q3.  When he turned back to clear the bar he saw a
line of cloven hoofprints advancing across the sawdust.
    "Good evening, Tlingel," he said.  "What is your pleasure?"
    Suddenly, the unicorn was there, without preliminary pyrotechnics.
It moved to the bar and placed one hoof upon the brass rail.
    "The usual."
    As Martin drew the beer, Tlingel looked about.
    "The place has improved, a bit."
    "Glad you think so.  Would you care for some music?"
    "Yes."
    Martin fumbled at the back of the piano, locating the switch for
the small, battery operated computer which controlled the pumping
mechanism and substituted its own memory for rolls.  The keyboard
immediately came to life.
    "Very good, Tlingel stated.  "Have you found your move?"
    "I have."
    "Then let us be about it."
    He refilled the unicorn's mug and moved it to the table, along
with his own.
    "Pawn to King six," he said, executing it.
    "What?"
    "Just that."
    "Give me a minute.  I want to study this."
    "Take your time."
    "I'll take the Pawn," Tlingel said, after a long pause and another
mug.
    "Then I'll take this Knight."
    Later, "Knight to K2," Tlingel said.
    "Knight to B3."
    An extremely long pause ensued before Tlingel moved the Knight to
N3.
    The hell with asking Grend, Martin suddenly decided.  He'd been
through this part any number of times already.  He moved his Knight to
N5.
    "Change the tune on that thing!" Tlingel snapped.
    Martin rose and obliged.
    "I don't like that one either.  Find a better one or shut it off!"
    After three more tries, Martin shut it off.
    "And get me another beer!"
    He refilled their mugs.
    "All right."
    Tlingel moved the Knight to K2.
    Keeping the unicorn from castling had to be the most important
thing at the moment.  So Martin moved his Queen to R5.  Tlingel made a
tiny, strangling noise, and when Martin looked up smoke was curling
from the unicorn's nostrils.
    "More beer?"
    "If you please."
    As he returned with it, he saw Tlingel move the Bishop to capture
the Knight.  There seemed no choice for him at that moment, but he
studied the position for a long while anyway.
    Finally, "Bishop takes Bishop," he said.
    "Of course."
    "How's the warm glow?"
    Tlingel chuckled.
    "You'll see."
    The wind rose again, began to howl.  The building creaked.
    "Okay," Tlingel finally said, and moved the Queen to Q2.
    Martin stared.  What was he doing?  So far, it had gone all right,
but . . .  He listened again to the wind and realized he was taking.
    "That's all folks," he said, leaning back in his chair.
"Continued next month."
    Tlingel sighed.
    "Don't run off.  Fetch me another.  Let me tell you of my
wanderings in your world this past month."
    "Looking for weak links?"
    "You're lousy with them.  How do you stand it?"
    "They're harder to strengthen than you might think.  Any advice?"
    "Get the beer."
    They talked until the sky paled in the east, and Martin found
himself taking surreptitious notes.  His admiration for the unicorn's
analytical abilities increased as the evening advanced.
    When they finally rose, Tlingel staggered.
    "You all right?"
    "Forgot to detox, that's all.  Just a second.  Then I'll be
fading."
    "Wait!"
    "Whazzat?"
    "I could use one too."
    "Sure.  Grab hold, then."
     Tlingel's head descended and Martin took the tip of the horn
between his fingertips.  Immediately, a delicious, warm sensation
flowed through him.  He closed his eyes to enjoy it.  His head
cleared.  An ache which had been growing within his frontal sinus
vanished.  The tiredness went out of his muscles.  He opened his eyes
again.
    "Thankù"
    Tlingel had vanished.  He held but a handful of air.
    "ùyou."

    "Rael here is my friend.  He's a griffin."
    "I'd noticed."
    Martin nodded at the beaked, golden-winged creature.
    "Pleased to meet you, Rael."
    "The same," cried the other in a high-pitched voice.  "Have you
got the beer?"
    "Whyùuhùyes."
    "I've been telling him about beer," Grend whispered.  "But he's
good company.  I'd appreciate your humoring him."
    Martin opened the first six-pack and passed the griffin and the
sasquatch a beer apiece.  Rael immediately punctured the can with his
beak, chugged it, belched and held out his claw.
    "Beer!" he shrieked.  "More beer!"
    Martin handed him another.
    "Say, you're still into that first game, aren't you?" Grend
observed, studying the board.  "Now, _that_ is an interesting
position."
    Grend drank and studied the board.
    "Good thing it's not raining," Martin commented.
    "Oh, it will.  Just wait a while."
    "More beer!" Rael screamed.
    Martin passed him another without looking.
    "I'll move my pawn to N6," Grend said.
    "You're kidding."
    "Nope.  Then you'll take that Pawn with your Bishop's Pawn.
Right?"
    "Yes . . ."
    Martin reached out and did it.
    "Okay.  Now I'll just swing this Knight to Q5."
    Martin took it with the Pawn.
    Grend moved his Rook to K1.
    "Check," he announced.
    "Yes.  That _is_ the way to go," Martin observed.
    Grend chuckled.
    "I'm going to win this game another time," he said.
    "I wouldn't put it past you."
    "More beer?" Rael said softly.
    "Sure."
    As Martin passed him another, he noticed that the griffin was now
leaning against the tree trunk.
    After several minutes, Martin pushed his King to B1.
    "Yeah, that's what I thought you'd do," Grend said.  "You know
something?"
    "What?"
    "You play a lot like a unicorn."
    "Hm."
    Grend moved his Rook to R3.
    Later, as the rain descended gently around them and Grend beat him
again, Martin realized that a prolonged period of silence had
prevailed.  He glanced over at the griffin.  Rael had tucked his head
beneath his left wing, balanced upon one leg, leaned heavily against
the tree and gone to sleep.
    "I told you he wouldn't be much trouble," Grend remarked.
    Two games later, the beer was gone, the shadows were lengthening
and Rael was stirring.
    "See you next month?"
    "Yeah."
    "You bring any plaster of Paris?"
    "Yes, I did."
    "Come on, then.  I know a good place pretty far from here.  We
don't want people beating about _these_ bushes.  Let's go make you
some money."
    "To buy beer?" Rael asked, looking out from under his wing.
    "Next month," Grend said.
    "You ride?"
    "I don't think you could carry both of us," said Grend, "and I'm
not sure I'd want to right now if you could."
    "Bye-bye then," Rael shrieked, and he leaped into the air,
crashing into branches and tree trunks, finally breaking though the
overhead cover and vanishing.
    "There goes a really decent guy," said Grend.  "He sees everything
and he never forgets.  Knows how everything worksùin the woods, in the
airùeven in the water.  Generous, too, whenever he has anything."
    "Hm," Martin observed.
    "Let's make tracks," Grend said.

    "Pawn to N6?  Really?" Tlingel said.  "All right.  The Bishop's
Pawn will just knock off the Pawn."
    Tlingel's eyes narrowed as Martin moved the Knight to Q5.
    "At least this is an interesting game," the unicorn remarked.
"Pawn takes Knight."
    Martin moved the Rook.
    "Check."
    "Yes, it is.  This next one is going to be a three-flagon move.
Kindly bring me the first."
    Martin thought back as he watched Tlingel drink and ponder.  He
almost felt guilty for hitting it with a powerhouse like the sasquatch
behind its back.  He was convinced now that the unicorn was going to
lose.  In every variation of this game that he'd played with Black
against Grend, he'd been beaten.  Tlingel was very good, but the
sasquatch was a wizard with not much else to do but mental chess.  It
was unfair.  But it was not a matter of personal honor, he kept
telling himself.  He was playing to protect his species against a
supernatural force which might well be able to precipitate World War
III by some arcane mind manipulation or magically induced computer
foul-up.  He didn't dare give the creature a break.
    "Flagon number two, please."
    He brought it another.  He studied it as it studied the board.  It
was beautiful, he realized for the first time.  It was the loveliest
living thing he had ever seen.  Now that the pressure was on the verge
of evaporating and he could regard it without the overlay of fear
which had always been there in the past, he could pause to admire it.
If something _had_ to succeed the human race, he could think of worse
choices. . . .
    "Number three now."
    "Coming up."
    Tlingel drained it and moved the King to B1.
    Martin leaned forward immediately and pushed the Rook to R3.
    Tlingel looked up, stared at him.
    "Not bad."
    Martin wanted to squirm.  He was struck by the nobility of the
creature.  He wanted so badly to play and beat the unicorn on his own,
fairly.  Not this way.
    Tlingel looked back at the board, then almost carelessly moved the
Knight to K4.
    "Go ahead.  Or will it take you another month?"
    Martin growled softly, advanced the Rook and captured the Knight.
    "Of course."
    Tlingel captured the Rook with the Pawn.  This was not the way
that the last variation with Grend had run.  Still . . .
    He moved his Rook to KB3.  As he did, the wind seemed to commence
a peculiar shrieking above, amid, the ruined buildings.
    "Check," he announced.
    The hell with it! he decided.  I'm good enough to manage my own
end game.  Let's play this out.
    He watched and waited and finally saw Tlingel move the King to N1.
    He moved his Bishop to R6.  Tlingel moved the Queen to K2.  The
shrieking came again, sounding nearer now.  Martin took the Pawn with
the Bishop.
    The unicorn's head came up and it seemed to listen for a moment.
Then Tlingel lowered it and captured the Bishop with the King.
    Martin moved his Rook to KN3.
    "Check."
    Tlingel returned the King to B1.
    Martin moved the Rook to KB3.
    "Check."
    Tlingel pushed the King to N2.
    Martin moved the Rook back to KN3.
    "Check."
    Tlingel returned the King to B1, looked up and stared at him,
showing teeth.
    "Looks as if we've got a drawn game," the unicorn stated.  "Care
for another one?"
    "Yes, but not for the fate of humanity."
    "Forget it.  I'd given up on that long ago.  I decided that I
wouldn't care to live here after all.  I'm a little more
discriminating than that."
    "Except for this bar."  Tlingel turned away as another shriek
sounded just beyond the door, followed by strange voices.  "What is
that?"
    "I don't know," Martin answered, rising.
    The doors opened and a golden griffin entered.
    "Martin!" it cried.  "Beer!  Beer!"
    "UhùTlingel, this is Rael, and, andù"
    Three more griffins followed it in.  Then came Grend, and three
others of his own kind.
    "ùand that one's Grend," Martin said lamely.  "I don't know the
others."
    "They all halted when they beheld the unicorn.
    "Tlingel," one of the sasquatches said, "I thought you were still
in the morning land."
    "I still am, in a way.  Martin, how is it that you are acquainted
with my former countrymen?"
    "WellùuhùGrend here is my chess coach."
    "Aha!  I begin to understand."
    "I am not sure that you really do.  But let me get everyone a
drink first."
    Martin turned on the piano and set everyone up.
    "How did you find this place?" he asked Grend as he was doing it.
"And how did you get here?"
    "Well . . ." Grend looked embarrassed.  "Rael followed you back."
    "Followed a jet?"
    "Griffins are supernaturally fast."
    "Oh."
    "Anyway, he told his relatives and some of my folks about it.
When we saw that the griffins were determined to visit you, we decided
that we had better come along to keep them out of trouble.  They
brought us."
    "Iùsee.  Interesting. . . ."
    "No wonder you played like a unicorn, that one game with all the
variations."
    "Uhùyes."
    Martin turned away, moved to the end of the bar.
    "Welcome, all of you", he said.  "I have a small announcement.
Tlingel, a while back you had a number of observations concerning
possible ecological and urban disasters and lesser dangers.  Also,
some ideas as to possible safeguards against some of them."
    "I recall," said the unicorn.
    "I passed them along to a friend of mine in Washington who used to
be a member of my old chess club.  I told him that the work was not
entirely my own."
    "I should hope so."
    "He has since suggested that I turn whatever group was involved
into a think tank.  He will then see about paying something for its
efforts."
    "I didn't come here to save the world," Tlingel said.
    "No, but you've been very helpful.  And Grend tells me that the
griffins, even if their vocabulary is a bit limited, know almost all
that there is to know about ecology."
    "That is probably true."
    "Since they have inherited a part of the Earth, it would be to
their benefit as well to help preserve the place.  Inasmuch as this
many of us are already here, I can save myself some travel and suggest
right now that we find a meeting placeùsay here, once a monthùand that
you let me have your unique viewpoints.  You must know more about how
species become extinct than anyone else in the business."
    "Of course," said Grend, waving his mug, "but we really should ask
the yeti, also.  I'll do it, if you like.  Is that stuff coming out of
the big box music?"
    "Yes."
    "I like it.  If we do this think-tank, you'll make enough to keep
this place going?"
    "I'll buy the whole town."
    Grend conversed in quick gutturals with the griffins, who shrieked
back at him.
    "You've got a think tank," he said, "and they want more beer."
    Martin turned toward Tlingel.
    "They were your observations.  What do you think?"
    "It may be amusing," said the unicorn, "to stop by occasionally."
Then, "So much for saving the world.  Did you say you wanted another
game?"
    "I've nothing to lose."
    Grend took over the tending of the bar while Tlingel and Martin
returned to the table.
    He beat the unicorn in thirty-one moves and touched the extended
horn.
    The piano keys went up and down.  Tiny sphinxes buzzed about the
bar, drinking the spillage.

_____________________________________________________________________

    The game itself.  Okay.  It was Halprin v. Pillsbury in Munich, in
1901.  Pillsbury was the stronger player.  He'd beaten a number of
very good players and had only Halprin, a weaker player, left to face.
But two other players, running very close to Pillsbury for first
prize, decided to teach him a lesson.  The night before the game they
got together with Halprin and coached him, teaching him everything
they had learned concerning Pillsbury's style.  The following day,
Pillsbury faced a much better-prepared Halprin than he had anticipated
playing.  He realized this almost too late.  The others chuckled and
felt smug.  But Pillsbury surprised them.  Even caught off guard
initially, he managed a draw.  After all, he was very good.  Martin
is playing Halprin's game here, and Tlingel Pillsbury's.  Except that
Martin isn't really weak.  He was just nervous the first time around.
Who wouldn't be?

_____________________________________________________________________

Last modified 4-16-98