Eric Russell: Now Inhale

Alizik proved to be a bigger and more complicated version of chess with four hundred squares and forty pieces per side. This was the one that somebody had dragged out for sixteen days and it was the only one in the book that seemed capable of such extension. For a while he pondered alizik, wondering whether the authorities—and the video audience—would tolerate play at the rate of one move in ten hours. He doubted it. Anyway, he could not prevent his skilled opponent from making each answering move in five seconds.

Yes, that was what he really wanted: a game that slowed down the other fellow despite his efforts to speed up. A game that was obviously a game and not a gag because any fool could see with half an eye that it was possible to finish it once and for all. Yet a game that the other fellow could not finish, win or lose, no matter how hard he tried.

There wasn’t any such game on the three worlds of Gombar or the hundred worlds of Terra or the multi-million worlds yet unfound. There couldn’t be because, if there were, nobody would play it. People like results. Nobody is sufficiently cracked to waste time, thought and patience riding a hobbyhorse that got nowhere, indulging a rigmarole that cannot be terminated to the satisfaction of all concerned including kibitzers.

But nobody!

No?

“When the last move is made God’s Plan will be fulfilled; on that day and at that hour and at that moment the universe will vanish in a mighty thunderclap.”

He got off the bench, his cold eyes expressionless, and began to pace his cell like a restless tiger.

The official had an enormous pot belly, small, piggy eyes and an unctuous smile that remained permanently fixed. His manner was that of a circus ringmaster about to introduce his best act.

“Ah,” he said, noting the book, “so you have been studying our games, eh?”

“Yes.”

“I hope you’ve found none of them suitable.”

“Do you?” Taylor surveyed him quizzically. “Why?”

“It would be a welcome change to witness a contest based on something right out of this world. A genuinely new game would give a lot of satisfaction to everybody. Providing, of course,” he added hurriedly, “that it was easy to understand and that you didn’t win it too quickly.”

“Well,” said Taylor, “I must admit I’d rather handle something I know than something I don’t.”

“Good, good!” enthused the other. “You prefer to play a Terran game?”

“That’s right.”

“There are limitations on your choice.”

“What are they?” asked Taylor.

“Once we had a condemned murderer who wanted to oppose his games-partner in seeing who could be the first to catch a sunbeam and put it in a bottle. It was nonsensical. You. must choose something that obviously and beyond argument can be accomplished.”

“I see.”

“Secondly, you may not select something involving the use of intricate and expensive apparatus that will take us a long time to manufacture. If apparatus is needed, it must be cheap and easy to construct.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes—except that the complete rules of the game must be inscribed by you unambiguously and in clear writing. Once play begins those rules will be strictly followed and no variation of them will be permitted.”

“And who approves my choice after I’ve described it?”

“I do.”

“All right. Here’s what I’d like to play.” Taylor explained it in detail, borrowed pen and paper and made a rough sketch. When he had finished the other folded the drawing and put it in a pocket.

“A strange game,” admitted the official, “but it seems to me disappointingly uncomplicated. Do you really think you can make the contest last a full day?”

“I hope so.”

“Even two days perhaps?”

“With luck.”

“You’ll need it!” He was silent with thought a while, then shook his head doubtfully. “It’s a pity you didn’t think up something like a better and trickier version of alizik. The audience would have enjoyed it and you might have gained yourself a longer lease of life. Everyone would get a great kick out of it if you beat the record for delay before your execution.”

“Would they really? ”

“They sort of expect something extra-special from an alien life form.”

“They’re getting it, aren’t they?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He still seemed vaguely dissatisfied. “Oh, well, it’s your life and your struggle to keep it a bit longer.”

“I’ll have only myself to blame when the end comes.”

“True. Play will commence promptly at midday tomorrow. After that it’s up to you.”

He lumbered away, his heavy footsteps dying along the corridor. A few minutes later the warder appeared.

“What did you pick?”

“Arky-malarkey.”

“Huh? What’s that?”

“A Terran game.”

“That’s fine, real fine.” He rubbed appreciative hands together. “He approved it, I suppose?”

“Yes, he did.”

“So you’re all set to justify your continued existence. You’ll have to take care to avoid the trap.”

“What trap?” Taylor asked.

“Your partner will play to win as quickly and conclusively as possible. That is expected of him. But once he gets it into his head that he can’t win he’ll start playing to lose. You’ve no way of telling exactly when he’ll change his tactics. Many a one has been caught out by the sudden switch and found the game finished before he had time to realize it.”

“But he must keep to the rules, mustn’t he?”

“Certainly. Neither you nor he will be allowed to ignore them. Otherwise the game would become a farce.”

“That suits me.”

Somewhere outside sounded a high screech like that of a bobcat backing into a cactus. It was followed by a scuffle of feet, a dull thud and dragging noises. A distant door creaked open and banged shut.

“What goes?” said Taylor.

“Lagartine’s game must have ended.”

“Who’s Lagartine?”

“A political assassin.” The warder glanced at his watch. “He chose ramsid, a card game. It has lasted a mere four hours. Serves him right. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“And now they’re giving him the big squeeze?”

“Of course.” Eying him, the warder said, “Nervous?’

“Ha-ha,” said Taylor without mirth.

The performance did not commence in his cell as he had expected. A contest involving an alien life form playing an alien game was too big an event for that. They took him through the prison corridors to a large room in which stood a table with three chairs. Six more chairs formed a line against the wall, each occupied by a uniformed plug-ugly complete with hand gun. This was the knock-down-and-drag-out squad ready for action the moment the game terminated.

At one end stood a big, black cabinet with two rectangular portholes through which gleamed a pair of lenses. From it came faint ticking sounds and muffled voices. This presumably contained the video camera.

Taking a chair at the table, Taylor sat down and gave the armed audience a frozen stare. A thin-faced individual with the beady eyes of a rat took the chair opposite. The potbellied official dumped himself in the remaining seat. Taylor and Rat-eyes weighed each other up, the former with cold assurance, the latter with sadistic speculation.

Upon the table stood a board from which arose three long wooden pegs. The left-hand peg held a column of sixty-four disks evenly graduated in diameter, the largest at the bottom, smallest at the top. The effect was that of a tapering tower built from a nursery do-it-yourself kit.

Wasting no time, Pot-belly said, “This is the Terran game of Arky-malarkey. The column of disks must be transferred from the peg on which it sits to either of the other two pegs. They must remain graduated in the same order, smallest at the top, biggest at the bottom. The player whose move completes the stack is the winner. Do you both understand?”