The rest of the voyage passed this way. While I honed my magical talents she finalized her costumes. We ate well, slept well-and other than a glass or two of wine with meals the only booze I enjoyed was my evening libation.

Our schedule was going to be tight when we arrived at our destination. I had to take more positive action rather than just wearing running shoes and elbowing past the rest of the passengers. This involved a little financial meeting with the chief purser. A smarmy type given to much dry hand-wiping and white-toothed grinning.

“And how may I be of service to you, sir?”

“You can advise me about my luggage. If we pack our bags the night before we arrive-would you be able to take them then?”

“It will be my great pleasure.”

“So if you have them the night before there is no reason why they cannot be unloaded first?” I slipped him fifty credits as I said this.

“As good as done, sir-you have my word on that.”

“And some additional information, if you please. Who would you suggest that I should talk to, to insure that my wife and I are first to leave this admirable vessel?”

“Myself, sir! Disembarking is at my discretion.” Another banknote vanished.

“I imagine that you make this run very often. Do you have any suggestions about easing our way through customs?”

“It is funny that you should say that, sir. My cousin is a customs agent at the spaceport and-”

Much lighter in pocket, but much more relaxed about our arrival, I returned to our cabin to pack.

Through all this not-too-subtle bribery we were first off the spacer when she landed. First through customs, courtesy of the purser’s cousin, where our untouched and unsearched luggage awaited us. Waiting there was a burly type in soiled and wrinkled coveralls who held a sign that read MISTUR DEGRIZZ. I signaled to him and he approached.

“You deGrizz?”

“Me diGriz. Who you?”

“Igor. Come.”

I whistled and our luggage followed us, as we followed him out of the terminal into the dusty, fume-filled street outside. Angelina sniffed.

“I don’t like this place-nor do I like our monosyllabic friend, Igor. ”

“I’m afraid it’s that kind of a planet. Mining and heavy manufacturing for the most part. Did you detect a certain tone of desperation in James’s last memo?”

“I did. Let us see what kind of transportation he has provided. Uggh! ”

Uggh, indeed. The truck was a great, scratched, filthy cubical thing with wheels on all four corners. It had once been painted pink, surely a mistake, and on its side, under a layer of dirt, a message could be read.

IGOR VAN SERVICE-GO ANYWHERE

I hoped that this was true. Igor opened a hatch and pitched our luggage in. Then climbed a ladder to the cab above. The engine rumbled to life and belched a fetid black cloud over us. Through watery eyes I saw his hand appear in the open door where it made a single gesture of invitation before vanishing from sight. We climbed after him, settled onto the scratched and patched seat, stared out of the filthy front window as gears ground somewhere below us. The thing lurched and vibrated, then rumbled forward onto the road.

“Do you know where we are going?” Trying not to let my lip curl at the depressing scenery moving by outside.

“Ungh,” Igor said, or something like that.

“We are going to Lortby, right? To the Rashers and Quills Porcuswine Farm there.”

After another long period of waiting, this simple query elicited a reluctant and monosyllabic sound of agreement. Eventually something that passed for speech followed.

“Get dirt, pay more.”

I suppose that this could be translated as, “If you allow an animal to track filth into my vehicle of any kind, the already preposterously high fee will be even higher.” I grunted in return and that was the end of conversation as he knew it.

Factories, smoke stacks and grim walls reluctantly gave way to scrubby countryside of some sort. Mostly swamp. The shoulders of the road made a handy dumpsite, so rubbish of all kinds marked our none-too-swift passage. Angelina and I tried a desultory conversation that soon died away. We bumped and jiggled around on the seat, looking out glazedly at the worn landscape. Some hours, or centuries, later we turned off the main road and down a rutted farm track past a sign that read. RASHERS AND QUILLS, decorated with a not-too-bad illustration of a porcuswine rampant. The legend below informed us that ALL TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT.

Thus assured of a friendly reception I slid down from the vehicle when we stopped. Stretched and groaned, then headed for the only door in the large building that faced onto the yard.

A bell tinkled when I opened the door, and the man behind the desk looked up; same build and demeanor as Igor. I was going to say “Good morning” but quickly changed it to “Ugh,” which he ugghed right back.

“Need porcuswine,” I said.

“Carcass or quartered?”

“Alive not dead. In one piece.”

This stopped him and his forehead lined with the unaccustomed effort of thought which finally produced speech.

“No sell alive.”

“Now you do.” I rolled a hundred-credit coin across the desk which he snatched up.

“Against law.”

“Law just changed.” Another coin followed the first. With a great effort a smile slowly appeared on his granite features; he stumbled to his feet and headed for the door. Angelina was waiting outside with fire in her eye.

“One more minute with Igor and I would have killed him. I could see the mute passion building in those bloodshot eyes. We needed a driver. So instead of zonking him here I am. Have you arranged everything?”

“I sincerely hope so!” I said with faked bonhomie. “This other brilliant conversationalist is taking us to the porcuswine. Shall we follow him?” With the thought of visiting these fine creatures my good spirits did return. “We must never forget that they have traveled with mankind to the stars. Providing protection-as well as nourishment. A cross between the deadly and spiny porcupine and the mighty swine, they are a beauty to behold. Ahh!” I said as we entered the building and were face-to-face with a gigantic boar. Angelina’s nostrils widened; she did not completely share my enthusiasm for the creatures.

This was indeed the swine of my dreams! His reddish quills rose when he saw us, tiny eyes glittered with anger. A drop of saliva rolled down one tusk and dripped to the floor. “Sooey,” I intoned softly, “Sooey, sooey—good swine.”

And I reached between the bars and scratched him between the ears. He rattled his quills and grunted with happiness. Porcuswine can’t reach this spot and just love to be scratched.

Angelina had seen me do this before, but the swinemeister bulged his eyes and looked as. though he was suffering a coronary.

“Watch out! He’s a killer!”

“I am sure of it. But only for those who deserve killing. To the rest of mankind the porcuswine is loyal, protectiveyea, even reverent. Good swine,” I said, admiring the immense form. Loath to leave, but I had to. Fine as this boar was, he was too big for our theatrical act. “Need smaller one.”

We went deeper into the swinery, passed wary-eyed mothers with piglets, more and more of these lovely creatures. We turned a corner and I gasped and halted. There in the pen before me was the most endearing yearling I had ever seen. Tiny eyes sparkled with good cheer, delicate quills all—arustle. She trotted over on tiny hoofs when I called, burbled with happiness when I scratched the right spot.

A deal was struck, more credits changed hands, a piece of rope was produced. She took to the leash at once, trotted delicately ahead of us as we returned to our vehicle.

“A swine of delight,” I said. “We shall call her Gloriana.”

“Who was that?” Angelina asked, instantly suspicious. “One of your early girlfriends?”