Psychotennis, Anyone?

If scientific advance changes our forms of courtship, can other
sports be far behind? Not when telekinesis is finally perfected!

Before them the ball took a savage turn toward the player in white. Around Grant the crowd stood up and roared, and he felt suddenly tense and doubting. Then the player ducked, the ball shot through above him to smash against the court wall, and he controlled the rebound to send the sphere once more into erratic, darting flight.

"Again!" Grant felt his muscles suddenly relax with release of anxiety. He turned to the girl."Bee, I'm worried. It's not like Tony—does he want to get killed? He should stop those shots, not dodge them. Are you sure he's all right?"

"Now, Granny." The girl kept her eyes fixed on the court."Remember, Tony took this match for charity. He wants the crowd to have a show, that's all. He is in splendid shape."

"No sleep," Grant went on worriedly."I'm sure it must be that. If his brain were alert, he'd control that ball until Slag went crazy. Without sleep, you can't focus prop—"

"Please, Granny,stop!" In that instant her throbbing mind touched his, and he caught a glimpse of the alarm in her face. She, too, felt that something was wrong. But she tugged at his sleeve and pointed through the screen at the oval below."Look!"

Slag's feet were set wide apart, and his black-robed body stood square. But his head had begun a sort of slow wobble, from side to side, as the ball lanced in perihedral swings about the court.

"Praise Allah!" whispered Grant."A beautiful dance! Tony's thinking that gangster, into a coma."

The white player was in concentration, using his eyes only rarely in shifting ever more complex movements to the sphere. Then the rhythmic pattern had become a wildcorondo, with Slag as its center, and the dark figure stood hypnotized, with only spasmodic jerks of his brutal features to mark the fear in his mind.

"Now," said Grant. His voice seemed loud in the awed silence of the spectators."Now, Tony! Call it a day!"

"Just touch him," whispered Bee."Don't hurt him, Tony."

It was as if they had signaled the player, even through the tele-proof screen. Gradually the wild swings of the ball slowed. It circled Slag gently, dropped closer, and poised above him. Tony's mind was clearly in full control of the sensitive sphere.

In a seat behind Grant, an excited man suddenly yelled,"Thumbs down, hard!" Obviously the crowd was ready to sacrifice its erstwhile hero.

Then—the ball moved, a small movement, and there was a roar. Uninfluenced, the ball dropped and rolled to the center court, and Tony stood in bewilderment as Slag shook himself awake.

Grant leaped up and tried to push through to the box exit. Behind him, Bee clung."Granny, what will you do? What can you...."

He shook her off and answered her with his mind as he struggled on."Stop them, that's what! End the match."

"How? You know you cannot!"

But he felt her mind cling at the hope, and sent back reassurance."I can. They may not like it, butI can stop these matches. Don't worry, I'll get your brother safely out of there."

She was relieved. Knowledge of his position—his relation to the sport—he felt her memory produce the reasons.Sport, thought Grant.I invented a sport. Oh, Allah! What has my sport become?

And then her mind shrieked at him, stabbed at his brain:"Tony—Tony darling!"

Dazedly he heard the moan and fought a path to the transparent screen. Out on the court lay a white figure, outspread, and the ball rolled slowly past the dripping head.

"Too late!" sobbed Bee."Too late! Tony...."

Somehow she was down there before Grant. He saw her, huddled over Tony's body, as he finally reached an open gate in the domed screen. On the opposite edge of the court, Psycho-sport Commissioner Woods was in conversation with the referee, Harmon. A flash bulb glowed. Three reporters looked at the fallen player and spoke casually to each other. Towering above the group was Slag, staring down as if surprised.

Grant went first to the Commissioner, who adopted a defensive attitude immediately, throwing