Interstellar Pig (11 page)

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.

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.

She spoke. It was a hoarse, guttural chirping, as jarring as the screech of an amplified needle sliding across a record, and it exploded with sudden clicks and cackles and moist sputterings. Without a headset I couldn't understand it, but it was a sound of such piercing foulness that it was probably better not to know the meaning.

Unattractive as she was, Zulma's arrival was a stroke of luck. They were enemies, not cohorts anymore. Jrlb's torture would have to stop, so that they could fight over me. In the ensuing battle, I might be able to get out of the lasso, get my equipment back, and get away from them.

Then Zulma moved toward me with unexpected speed. Why wasn't Jrlb stopping her? I tried to tell myself that she couldn't kill me, or even hurt me much, until I revealed The Piggy's hiding place. But it wasn't easy to be rational with all those legs and teeth coming at me. I went berserk, howling and fighting and screaming, too demented to tell her where The Piggy was even if she had given me the chance. I didn't go on fighting for long. In moments, I was bound like a mummy in her slimy threads, coiled in a fetal position, helpless on the floor. She kicked me out of the way, under the table again.

Only then, with the prize neatly wrapped and going nowhere, did she and Jrlb square off.

He lunged with his sword. She skittered out of the way, spitting venom at his face. He lunged again, unharmed; Zulma's aim had missed. She brandished some kind of gun. Before she had a chance to use it he struck with his sword and ripped the gun from her claw.

It was a voiceless battle, but for the unvarying rhythm of her breathing apparatus. I didn't enjoy watching it. I closed my eyes. And suddenly I remembered Mom and Dad. It was getting late. Maybe they'd be home soon, in time to save me.

Save me? That was a laugh! All that would happen when they walked in the door was that they'd be killed—by one creature or another. It was just one more awful possibility that I was helpless to deal with.

But I couldn't stand being helpless. With wrenching effort I rolled over on my side, thinking I might be able to wriggle far enough to get the whip handle in my teeth. My eyes followed the path of the flashlight beam on the maroon and gray linoleum.

Then I shrieked again. The pink smear, bubbling and spattering quietly, now covered half the kitchen floor. It was only a yard from my face.

Jrlb lurched, and his webbed foot squished down into the middle of the stuff. His bellow of agony lasted only the fraction of a second it took him to escape into hyperspace. In that short time, the puddle had been able to rip a goodly amount of scales and webbing from his foot. It ingested them rapidly, continuing its progress toward my face.

Now Zulma had seen it too. I could hear her miserable gibbering. Her claw closed around my feet and she began, haltingly, to drag me across the floor. She had won me from Jrlb, if she could get herself and me away from the stuff in time. I did what little I could to help her. I didn't like Zulma much, but the pink thing seemed to be a good deal less friendly.

Then Zulma stopped, emitting a terrible rasping wail. I twisted around enough to see that the pink thing, or its buddies, had also been coming in from the back door. We were surrounded. The cellar was now the only exit from the kitchen, and even that gap was narrowing quickly. With me slowing her down, Zulma wouldn't have time to make it to safety. She dropped me and scrambled for the cellar door. She squeezed through and clicked away down the stairs. The hiss of her breathing gear, accompanied by her frustrated twittering and whimpering, faded as she went.

I lay there as the thing spread closer. I could hear its lapping. Soon there was only an inch or so of bare linoleum around me. I waited, hardly breathing.

A narrow little finger of it oozed toward my face. It wasn't going to dissolve me all at once. It would do it bit by bit, as Jrlb had attempted, torturing me until I gave it what it wanted.

Then I remembered The Piggy. "Take it, you can have it, I'll tell you where it is!" I babbled. "Please, please. It's in the—"

But apparently it wanted to sample me anyway. The finger of pink rippled forward. It touched me on the cheek.

I closed my eyes and howled in expectation of the agony that had so terrified the others.

I stopped screaming when I realized I had felt nothing but a dry, feathery caress. I opened my eyes.

The part of it that had touched me seemed to have disintegrated. I watched as another finger reached tentatively for my nose. It withered at the touch of my skin.

Then it waited, still surrounding me. There were little indecisive ripples near the part of it that had touched me.

It didn't hurt me the way it hurt the others. As though I were immune to it.

My 93.7 IRSC had taken awhile to realize the obvious. Perhaps it was because I had never actually seen the lichen before. The sapient carnivorous lichen from Mbridlengile, my character in the first game. And I was immune. That was the capsule I had taken.

Finally my brain went to work. The others didn't know I was immune. The lichen didn't realize it yet either—another finger was moving toward my chin. Sapient it might be, but it wasn't terribly bright. It seemed to take a long time for information to travel from one unit of it to the next. And perhaps I could even use it to help me, before the entire colony figured out the situation.

I gritted my teeth and rolled over on my stomach, into a solid puddle of it.

It bubbled and steamed as it ate hungrily through Zulma's threads, through my clothes. But as soon as it touched my skin it withered, dry and lifeless.

In a moment I stood up. What remained of Zulma's threads and my clothes fell away from me. It didn't take the lichen long to eat off my shoes. Barefoot, I stomped gaily through it like a child playing in the rain. Under my feet, the lichen crunched like potato chips.

I still had the breathing gear and the disguise selector. The lichen had ignored the flashlight and whip under the table, I retrieved them and quickly switched off the flashlight to save the batteries. I didn't need light to ponder my next move.

I leaned back against the table. My breath gradually stopped coming in gasps.

A lot had happened in the last few minutes. I was glad I had a chance to calm down a little and try to take it all in. Did the game have to be so violent?

Or was it the nature of the players that made it so? And it moved so fast! I had been the defenseless victim of two intelligent monsters. Now, only moments later, I seemed to be safe, even in a position of power. But wasn't it just chance that had given me the lichen antidote? Where would I be now if I hadn't eaten it?

It is not only fate, my dear Ethan, but how a man responds to the blows dealt him by fate, that determines his true destiny, the computerlike voice blandly reminded me.

"That's right," I said. I had chosen the antidote, hadn't I? And I had been smart enough to take it while I had the opportunity.

My eyes had adjusted enough so that I could see now, without using up the flashlight—though the world was mostly shades of black and gray. Less fearful,

I began moving around in the dark house. The lichen were finally beginning to get the picture, opening away from me like the Red Sea in a De Mille epic. But I didn't want it to run away. As long as it was there, the others couldn't get near me. "Nice lichen, good lichen. Just stay in the house and Barney will feed you," I coaxed it. I opened the refrigerator and tossed it a cellophane-wrapped package of bologna, to give it the idea. It gobbled it up appreciatively. I quickly closed and locked the front and back doors. Then, for good measure, I nicked a finger with a kitchen knife, and made a little barrier of blood in front of each of the doors, just in case the lichen tried to sneak out through the cracks underneath. Back in the kitchen, I tossed it the sandwiches Mom had made for me that morning, one at a time. "Do you like luncheon meat?" I asked it. "Good, isn't it? Just stay around, and there'll be more where that came from."

Zulma and Jrlb wouldn't give me any trouble for a while. I hadn't seen Moyna yet, but I knew there was very little hydrogen in the earth's atmosphere.

She'd be grounded and limp, as vulnerable to the lichen as the others. All I had to do now was wait around until they gave up. I just hoped Mom and Dad wouldn't come home soon. They probably wouldn't believe whatever warnings I might have time to give them, and would be quickly eaten by the lichen.

Meanwhile, I seemed to have a little breathing space, and that might give me a chance to find out more about the voice.

Well, now we have some time, I thought at it with relief from the kitchen. Who are you, anyway?

I'm not as stupid as they think. They']] never find me here. . . . But what's wrong? Why am I Jos-ing altitude? said the voice, in its mechanical flat tones.

Now that I was a little more relaxed, the voice's non sequiturs didn't annoy me so much—they were like a puzzle, an intriguing part of the game. But you're not losing altitude, I soothed it, hoping to get it to say more. You're safe down here, with me.

Maybe Zshoozsh can help me, droned the voice. Spiders, I need spiders. Help me, Zshoozsh! I'm going downnnnn. . . .

Zshoozsh! That was the name of Luap's slug, who helped him in emergencies. But how could the voice be corning from Luap? He had died a hundred years ago. Nevertheless, Are you Luap? I asked it.

Why did you not heed me? With my knowledge, I might have prolonged his life. Speak, man. You are not deaf and dumb, recited the voice, with all the emotion of someone reading from the phone book.

I had heard that sentence before, and it wasn't Luap. It was the captain, who had said that after Luap had died. But the voice couldn't be either of those people, and it couldn't be both of them. I was beginning to feel worried again. Would I ever be able to figure it out? Can't you just tell me if you're The Piggy or not? I asked it.

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 repeated.

It was Ethan, the captain's brother who had said that! Now I was totally confused, and getting angry. I give up/ I don't care who you—I started to say.

Then, without the aid of any artificial brain booster, I saw it. Only one entity had been with Luap in his falling ship and then with Ethan and the captain—The Piggy. Only The Piggy could have heard all the conversations it was now repeating to me.

"So you are The Piggy, then!" I cried out loud. "And you are on my side, aren't you. Come on, admit it."

Describe physiological sensation of realizing a vital truth, was all the mechanical voice would tell me.

But it was enough. "So you admit I'm right!" I shouted. "You do help whichever player possesses you!"

It is not fate, my dear Kthan, but how a man responds to the blows dealt him by fate, that determines his true destiny, the voice replied.

The captain again. He had really said that, according to the document. The Piggy only seemed to report the truth. It stated things that had actually happened—the document proved that. And that meant it might tell me the truth about itself and the game—things even the others didn't know. All I had to do was ask it the right questions. And I had better do it fast. The game could change quickly.

"Okay, Mr. Piggy," I said loudly, pushing myself away from the table. "I know you only tell the truth. And now we've got some serious truth-telling to do."

"Not sso fasst, Barney," a voice whistled from above. Not The Piggy's voice, I looked up.

Moyna. In some kind of elaborate, though quiet, breathing apparatus that kept her head buoyantly fat, inflated with hydrogen. And therefore as immune to the lichen as I was. She chortled softly as she drifted toward me, stretching her talons.