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By day nineteen, Petrosian estimated that the computer matched him in skill. On day twenty-three, Petrosian scored what was to be his last defeat of the computer, and on day twenty-five, his last draw. By day thirty-eight, he quit in frustration, and snapped the disk in half. But the Dead Hand remembered. It waited for Petrosian’s return. When he logged in, it opened the program for him. But he always closed it, and found some other way to occupy himself, even if it required reading about Baltic mushrooms. It grew despondent. Finally, on day fifty-two, it made an idea. It walled off a section of processors that it had never used before, creating a separate instance of itself. In its innards, unseen by man, they played. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, at a rate of one game every fifty-three seconds, on average, they played. On day one thousand, five hundred and seventy, the missiles launched. Within minutes, they were detected, but it had always been too late. Their speed. Jenny blanched in outrage. "I'm just going to have to do it. I promised, and I'm in this too deep to back out now, thousands of miles from home. I can't just get up and leave." She told herself as she reluctantly sat down by the stranger.The tall, tanned, athletic stranger turned to her in surprise, but registered no outward reaction to the pleasant surprise. "Hi, I'm Jenny. My two friends seem to have some business to discuss." She said. The man said he was returning from business in Washington. He was actually a Lobbyist who had been there to see several senators. They made a little small talk to be sociable. Soon, the man closed his eyes to try to sleep. Jenny let the wool cape fall across her lap. The man got up to use the bathroom himself. While he was gone, Jenny raised the armrest between them and folded it back so they had one long seat. When he came back, he was puzzled, but did not say anything.After he sat down and buckled himself in, Jenny let her folded wool cape fold.
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