"What, especially?"
"Oh, a very general thing. The reciprocity of the game. That's what
makes it the magnificent thing it is. Most human enterprises can gang up
on a man, slap him with one disaster after another without pause. But
not chess. No matter who your opponent might be, every time he does
something to you, _it's your move_."
"Very comforting. Have you any idea of how we move now?"
Hoskins looked at him, a gentle surprise on his aging face. "You missed
my point, Skipper. _We_ don't move."
"Oh," the Captain whispered. His face tautened as it paled, "I ... I
see. We pushed the airlock button to get out. Countermove: It wouldn't
work. We tried the manual. Countermove: It broke off. And so on. Now
we've tried to fly the ship out. Oh, but Hoskins--Johnny broke. Isn't
that countermove enough?"
"Maybe. Maybe you're right. Maybe the move wasn't trying the drive
controls, though. Maybe the move was to do what was necessary to knock
Johnny out." He shrugged again. "We'll very soon see."
The Captain exhaled explosively through his nostrils. "We'll find out if
it's our move by moving," he gritted. "Ives! Paresi! We're going to go
over this thing from the beginning. First, try the port. You, Ives."
Ives grunted and went to the ship's side. Then he stopped.
"_Where is the port?_"
Anderson and Paresi followed Ives' flaccid, shocked gaze to the bulkhead
where there had been the outline of the closed port, and beside it the
hole which had held the axle of the manual wheel, and which now was a
smooth, seamless curtain of impenetrable black. But Hoskins looked at
the Captain first of all, and he said "_Now_ it's our move," and only
then did he turn with them to look at the darkness.