Interstellar Pig

by William Sleator

  There was no machine for space travel among these cards. Joe had the access to hyperspace. That meant, thinking realistically, that I would have to remain on Earth, where The Piggy was anyway. So I wouldn't need equipment for survival in space, or on other planets. I wouldn't need supplies of food, or heat pumps, or disguises to fool the locals.

  The ocean seethed outside, closer than ever, like a hungry living organism inching toward the house. I remembered that Jrlb could breathe under water. And so I selected an oxygen-breathing apparatus that looked as though it might fit me. I discarded the rest of the travel equipment.

  I took a closer look at the disguise card, before discarding it. "Disguise Selector" was what it actually said. As though you could choose to resemble whatever creature you wanted. That might be useful. I kept it.

  Weapons, Those cards made me a little sick. I glanced at the timer. It was half black now. I returned to the weapons. They were mostly bombs, some that could be set like booby traps, others like missiles, others that could be thrown like hand grenades. I refused to blow anything up and thrust them aside. That left only the neural whip. I would have preferred a stunning or paralyzing gun, which seemed cleaner, less brutal. But nothing like that was available. I kept the whip.

  There was an immunity card, probably for some bacteria. I didn't like the idea of disease, and kept it without looking at it.

  There was lighting equipment you could wear on your head, but I discarded it, thinking of the flashlight in the kitchen. I almost kept the automatic translating headset, enabling you to understand any language. But what good would it do me? What ever they said among themselves would be lies, since they were one another's enemies too, not just mine.

  Time travel would have been wonderful, but someone else must have the Portable Access to the Fifth-Dimension Matrix—or else Luap had lost it. Zena had the brain booster, so I'd be stuck with my own IRSC.

  There were only seconds left on the timer. I had chosen just four cards. All the rest I had discarded, not wanting to be burdened by equipment I wouldn't need. Should I go back through the cards again and take back some of the weapons and equipment I had so hastily thrown away?

  The buzzer went off. I was stuck with the four cards in my hand: an oxygen breather, a disguise selector, a neural whip, and the disease immunity.

  "Only four cards, Barney?" Zena asked me, raising her eyebrows. "So many discards. You must be very confident."

  I tried to think, ignoring her sarcasm. No one was going to spell things out for me—though they did seem willing to answer certain questions. But only until the game got underway. Once that happened, I was sure they wouldn't tell me anything. I had to get as much true information as I could, while I had the chance.

  "What was that you said before, about the others?" I asked."Who are the others?"

  "You mean you imagined we were the only players, Barney?" Zena said. "Can't you get it through your little head that we've gone beyond that simple four-man plastic prototype? There are other creatures playing too. We just happen to be the first to reach this planet. But I suspect the others have arrived by now." She didn't sound very happy about it.

  Manny turned and looked out the window behind him, toward the deserted beach. It was possible to distinguish wind-tossed shapes outside, blurred through the rain that streamed across the glass.

  There was a thump on the front porch, and a scraping, skittering sound, like a branch in the wind. We all jumped.

  "The others, perhaps," Joe said.

  "Do we know how long the game is going to last?" I asked quickly.

  "The Piggy knows. The Piggy decides," Manny whispered, with terrified reverence. "The Piggy ends the game. And The Piggy's been waiting for a long time now."

  The three of them slowly stood up.

  "But what really happens at the end?" I cried, jumping up and knocking over my chair. "Is that the same? The only survivor is the one with The Piggy, and the other players and their home planets, are destroyed?"

  They watched me silently.

  "But it can't be the same, you jerks!" I roared. "It's just too . . . too huge, too awful." I couldn't find adequate words. "And it wouldn't make sense.

  If all the players but one were wiped out every time the game ended, how could the game go on? The game would stop it! It would destroy itself the first time anyone played!"

  Without speaking, they began backing away from the table, fading into the dark.

  "But you have to tell me how it ends!" I begged them, my voice cracked and wavering with hysteria. "I'm one of the players now. Don't I have to know the truth?" "We learned the game, as did you, from the board," Zena said. Only she sounded different, chittering and metallic and forced, as though the human words came unnaturally to her. "That is all we know of the ending of the game."

  "But what about the last game you played?" I was close to crying now. "How did that one end?"

  "Thiss iss sstill our firsst game," hissed a dark, totally unrecognizable voice. And the three of them were gone.

  15

  Their departure, though silent, created a disturbance in the air. Three of the candles went out.

  I must have screamed. Then I was crouched over the remaining candle, whimpering, my hands cupping the flame. I couldn't think at all. My mind was a reeling mess.

  I remained in that position until I felt a draft on my neck. I had the sensation of someone moving in back of me. I spun around.

  No one was there. But I decided that I would be better off with something solid behind me, instead of standing defenseless in the center of a dark empty room. I pulled the candle out of the Florida-shaped ashtray and retreated from the table until I felt the wood paneling press against my back. Now, at least,

  I could not be attacked from behind.

  They didn't know how the game ended either. This was still their first real game, however long it had been going on. Other things about the board game were different from the real one. Was the ending accurate, or would that be different too?

  At least they were as ignorant as I was about the outcome. We were all in the same boat. That gave me a little comfort.

  Unless they had been lying. They had never given me any reason to trust them. Maybe they did know the real ending, but just weren't telling me. To weaken me.

  But then how could I plan a strategy? How could I do anything? It wasn't fair to be thrust into a dangerous game without knowing the rules. Panic and hysteria boiled up inside me again. I didn't have a chance.

  The scrabbling sound ran across the front porch, louder now. Upstairs a door slammed, and my candle went out. I was staring directly at the blotchy, gesturing shapes outside the window. My knees collapsed. I dropped the candle and sank to the floor, blind and whimpering.

  Why did you not heed me? With my knowledge, I might have prolonged his life. Speak, man. You are not deaf and dumb, the little voice woodenly suggested.

  I gasped, and rolled over to protect myself from it. But, as before, there was no one there. The voice seemed to be speaking directly into my brain.

  Frightened as I was, I was somehow able to think more rationally about this voice, now that the others weren't sitting there staring at me. And I realized that a voice inside my head didn't have to mean I was crazy. It could mean that someone was speaking to me through ESP—that was no more impossible than a lot of other things that had already happened.

  But who was speaking to me? The voice hadn't started until I had drawn my own personal card and entered actively into the real game. What did that signify? And what was it Zena had said about someone dragging me into the game?

  That was when the marvelous idea occurred to me. I sat up, suddenly hopeful again. Perhaps it was The Piggy! After all, I was the player in possession of The Piggy. Perhaps The Piggy communicated with that player during the game, and helped him.

  Maybe it even answered questions. Are you The Piggy? I thought at it. Is that who you are?

  Yn swlllyyybg k'sshhhhrikthththwzzz, the
voice replied, in a kind of reptilian gurgle.

  "Great, that's just great," I whispered, disappointment flowing back. "And me without the translating headset."

  The equipment! I had forgotten about it—until the voice, albeit indirectly, had reminded me of it. I scrambled to my feet. The equipment wouldn't be just cards now. But where was it? I'd never find it without the flashlight. And I needed the equipment now, before someone attacked. I inched along the wall toward the opening into the kitchen. I turned the corner. It was darker in here, the windows over the sink were smaller. I couldn't see, but I knew that the flashlight was usually on top of the refrigerator. My hands outstretched,

  I started across the room.

  I stopped. What if one of them was waiting in here, between me and the flashlight? All three of them could move quietly. And they were all bigger and stronger than I was, even Manny.

  Then I remembered the way their voices had changed as the game had begun. As though they had dropped their disguises and reverted to their true forms.

  What if Zulma was crouched in the middle of the kitchen floor? And had I even put the flashlight back on top of the refrigerator after using it that afternoon? If it wasn't there, I'd never find it.

  I listened to the rattle of the windowpanes, the unsteady drumming of the rain. And there was no rhythmical gulping hiss, the telltale sound of Zulma's ever present breathing gear. They would have to have breathing gear now, in their natural forms. That meant there was no one else in the room.

  I ran for the refrigerator. I slid my hand over the smooth cold surface. My fingers closed around corrugated plastic. I grunted with relief, and with my back against the refrigerator door I switched on the flashlight.

  The equipment was arranged on the kitchen table, as welcome as birthday presents shipped by UPS. I recognized the whip at once, shiny and white, coiled like a vicious albino snake. I grabbed for it, eager for the protection it offered. I stopped my hand just in time, half an inch from the bright needle at the tip. I didn't know how it worked, but it wouldn't be wise to touch the business end. The ridged handle felt like rubber and fitted easily into my hand. I stepped carefully away from the rest of the whip as I pulled it from the table. Tentatively, I gave it a feeble flick. The needle at the tip fizzled like a sparkler.

  I wasn't sure I would ever be able to use it, but I stuck the handle into my belt and turned back to the other equipment. There was a brownish green capsule the size of a marble: the immunity pill. I hesitated, then gulped it down, wondering if it was the right thing to do.

  Describe physiological sensation of swallowing antidote, requested the robotlike voice.

  It doesn't feel like anything, I answered automatically. Then I remembered my question about the voice. Come on, just tell me the truth, I asked it. Are you The Piggy? Please, tell me.

  It is the Devil, the Devil, he revealed his true nature to me, Tobias. I had to do it. It is the Devil, the voice replied, emotionlessly.

  I sighed with frustration. It answers to specific questions were even less helpful than Zena's. Zena, who was really Zulma, and might attack at any minute. I had better deal with the rest of the equipment now, while I had the chance.

  The underwater breathing gear was recognizable by the tube and face mask.

  Instead of a metal cylinder it had a kind of plastic balloon. The apparatus fit over my shoulders like a lightweight backpack. It would be no hindrance to movement. I couldn't picture exactly how I might be suddenly swept out into the water, but who knew what Joe—or Jrlb— might be able to do with the hyperspace card? It might make sense to keep the respirator on.

  The disguise selector looked like a digital watch and fit snugly around my wrist. There was a blank screen and three little buttons marked ACTIVATE, DEACTIVATE, and SELECT. When I pressed SELECT, a variety of creatures flashed quickly but distinctly onto the screen. I recognized the ones from the game, including Zulma, Moyna, and Jrlb. There were others that were new to me. When I lifted my finger from SELECT, the image remained for several seconds—long enough to enable me to press ACTIVATE if I desired. DEACTIVATE would presumably bring me back to my normal appearance.

  Why did it fit me so neatly, I suddenly wondered, as did all the other equipment? Why were the instructions in English? And why, for that matter, had the rule book been in English, and the writing on the cards? I was baffled for a moment. Then I remembered how, when I had first looked at the rule book, the words had seemed to squirm for an instant, before becoming legible. It was understandable in the language of whoever happened to look at it. Any game played by so many different species would have to be built that way.

  And when would one of these species start to do something? How much time had passed since the others had gone? I knew they wouldn't leave me in peace for much longer.

  Then I heard the scrabbling sound again. Only now it wasn't on the front porch; it seemed to be coming from the dining room. Whatever was making it had crept inside and was headed for the kitchen.

  Did I dare investigate it with the flashlight?

  Describe physiological sensation of being on the point of immediate extinction, requested the voice.

  I spun around. Jrlb stood in the center of the kitchen.

  It was not like looking at his picture on the card. He emitted a powerful briny reek. Salt water and scummy foam dripped from his smooth oily gray hide. He stood upright, leaning forward slightly. His hands and feet were huge and webbed and covered with scales, spread far apart to help him balance. He had no neck, or nose, or ears. Red rectangular goggles hid his eyes. His mouth was a wide lipless slit beneath the glasses, pressed tightly shut. The three-foot-long sword had a mean saw-toothed edge, and as he leaned forward, the barbed tip pointed directly at my eyes.

  His arrival had been silent and instantaneous. He was devoid of his crippling breathing gear. With the hyperspace card he could hop instantly back to the ocean, like a swimmer coming up for air, whenever he needed a breath. And how often would that be? Certain sea creatures, I knew, could hold their breath for astonishing lengths of time.

  I backed against the table, one hand on the flashlight, the other on the whip.

  Jrlb moved heavily toward me, swaying. His sword swung back and forth, buzzing faintly, so close that I could feel the wind of it on my face. One stroke would take off my nose, or blind me. I knew he would maim before he would

  kill, because he wanted The Piggy. And I could get rid of him, unharmed, without even having to use the whip. All I had to do was tell him where it was.

  No. I have been there before, the voice stated dully.

  And I did not want to give it up. This wasn't Joe anymore. It was a stinking fish thing that would carve me up slowly, piece by bloody piece, to get what it wanted. And The Piggy, if that's what it was, wanted me!

  Jrlb was powerful, but clumsy out of his element. I made one small quick movement with my hand. The whip's needle sizzled against his foot. He lurched to the side. A gurgling bellow of pain escaped his lips; the reddish slits on either side of his face gaped open. He vanished, leaving behind his stench, and a puddle on the linoleum.

  But he'd be back, as soon as he got another breath of water. And he could turn up anywhere, closer to me this time, slicing as he came. I pulled a chair out of the way and slid under the table.

  Squatting there, I became aware again of the sound from the dining room. It was a busy lapping sound, like a multitude of mouths slithering across the floor. The kitchen floor now. It hadn't even paused during our battle. As if Jrlb's sword and my whip were irrelevant to its oozing progress.

  I pointed the light at it. A flat pinkish smear, like a squashed jellyfish, extended from the dining room across several feet of kitchen floor. It was spreading. In my direction.

  Salt water splashed across my face, blinding me. Something tightened around my torso, pinning my arms to my sides. The flashlight and the whip clattered to the floor as I was dragged out from under the table and jerked to my feet. I struggled, but the
lasso tightened painfully around my ribs and wrists. I couldn't really see the hulking shape that held the cord, but I could smell it. Jrlb was back, and he had me bound and helpless.

  He couldn't talk, holding his breath, but he didn't need to. There was a faint humming, a whisper of wind, and a razor sliced into my cheek. I screamed.

  Jrlb waited, silent as a shark in a tank. Only there was no wall of glass to protect me. Instinctively I tried to reach up and wipe off the blood trickling down my face. But my hand wouldn't move. The cord tightened.

  Jrlb's goggles enabled him to see in the dark— . the lasso had been accurately thrown, the cut aimed precisely. It had only been a warning, inflicting no permanent damage. But he wouldn't be £ so kind again. Another slash might take an ear.

  What do I do now? I appealed to the voice. Help me, please!

  You must never leave this room again, Ethan. And I am only helping you by taking away this object which so obsesses—

  Oh, be quiet! I furiously ordered it. Why couldn't it say something sensible?

  The next cut went deeper, slicing through the sleeve of my T-shirt. "Stop it! Wait a second. I'll tell you!" I begged Jrlb, hoping to stall him until he ran out of breath. But maybe he wouldn't run out. Porpoises, I suddenly remembered, could hold their breath for half an hour.

  Then, to my right, the basement door creaked open. I could only vaguely distinguish the squat, rounded shape at the top of the stairs. But the steady hollow throb of the breathing gear was unmistakable.

  Zulma had arrived.

  16

  Zulma was less than four feet high, but she was so big around that she could not get through the cellar door until she crawled up on the wall and squeezed through sideways. I heard the scratch of sharp bristles on the doorframe as she dragged her bulk into the room. Against the pale shape of the refrigerator, I could see that the joints of her legs were higher than her body. The facet of an eye glimmered in the faint light from the window as she paused to survey the scene.