Chapter 3: Charity

Schaffer dreamed that he was warm, no, hot. Growing hotter. Sweat coated his body, he felt as if he were on fire. Was he in hell? Was that what fate had decreed? His mind was muddled, unfocused. He reached out his hand, feeling downy fur and yielding fat. He opened his eyes with a start, this was not a dream. He was awake, out of the snow and out of his suit, too. It was too dark for him to see anything, and all around him, the same soft fur pressed against his naked skin. There was an odd, musky smell, and the heat was overpowering. He pushed against the mass with his foot, but it was too heavy to move. What the hell was this, where was he?

He began to panic, he had to get out of this fluffy prison. He thrashed and struggled, whatever had enclosed him was alive, shifting and moving as he kicked and gripped the fur in his attempts to pull himself free. He pushed his face through an opening, blinking to clear his vision. He was in some kind of hall, the tall ceiling suspended by wooden beams, illuminated by flickering fires. He freed an arm, gripping a handful of fur for leverage, and pulled his torso free. He turned his head to see what had trapped him, a yelp of surprise and terror escaping his lips. It was a pile of giant tigers, snow monsters, their white fur spotted with black and grey markings. His cry had roused some of them, and they stirred to life. Their massive, vaguely feline heads emerged from the amorphous mass, and they opened their blue eyes to stare at him. They swiveled their round, furry ears, wrinkling their pink noses as if trying to smell him. One of them yawned widely, exposing a mouth full of pointed, carnivore teeth. A hairy hand the size of a dinner plate reached for him, its sausage-like fingers tipped with curved claws, and Schaffer bolted.

Driven by adrenaline, he launched himself out of the pile and onto the dirt floor, stumbling as his toes sank into the cool soil. He took off at a sprint, the instinct to outrun predators overriding his hunger and fatigue. This seemed to alarm the creatures, and they tumbled over each other, attempting to untangle themselves and give chase. Schaffer sensed cool air and headed towards it. He wouldn’t survive ten minutes out in the snow with no clothing, but it was preferable to being torn apart by hungry aliens.

He turned a corner, passing by a massive wooden support that looked as if it had been fashioned from a tree trunk, and slammed into a wall of warm fur and muscle. Dazed, he fell on his ass, then looked up to see what he had hit. It was a huge creature, at least nine feet tall, standing on two digitigrade legs that ended in feline paws. It was vaguely humanoid, with two arms and two legs, powerful muscles bulging from its shoulders and chest. Its belly protruded somewhat, giving it the appearance of a weightlifter. It had a long, fluffy tail that swayed as it examined him with its cold, blue eyes. Its ears tracked him, round and furry, like those of a lion or a bear. Its fur was as white as the snow itself, almost pure, with fewer markings than those who had been tangled in the pile and who were rapidly approaching from behind. The fur was thicker on its chest, and it had a kind of fluffy beard that descended from its jawline.

More of the creatures flooded in from behind it, blocking the exit. Some were obviously female, their exposed, feminine figures drawing his eyes. The others must be males. There were at least a dozen, probably more of them surrounding him now, watching him curiously.

One of the males who standing behind the large creature spoke, that’s what it was doing, speaking. These creatures were sapient, this was their hall. Schaffer watched as the large alien replied in a low, rumbling baritone.

Were they deciding what to do with him? Whether to eat him or not? No, they would have done that already by now, he was beginning to get the impression that they had rescued him. To what end?

The large male strode forward suddenly, leaning down and closing its gigantic hand over his face. The silky fur of its palm tickled his nose as it muffled his protests, and that same musky scent filled his lungs. He struggled as it lifted him to his feet, the strong fingers enclosing his skull, its sharp claws pricking his skin. It released him, examining him as he stood before the creatures.

What are you? their questioning looks seemed to ask, and he was of a similar mind. What were these creatures? He had heard of Borealans, he had even seen some wandering the station. They were tall, muscular aliens who hailed from this backwater. But those were hairless, more humanoid than these ones. Were these some feral variant? Their thick, furry coats seemed to suggest that they might be native to this tundra, perhaps some genetic throwback to an earlier period of the planet’s history.

Some of them were wearing clothes at least, though the ones who had been in the pile were nude, as much as a furred creature could be considered nude. The largest male, better just call him Snowball for convenience, was wearing thick shorts that covered his lower body. They were made from some kind of animal fur and tied with a leather belt. His cohorts were similarly dressed, although some wore leather slings over their shoulders, adorned with what almost looked like ammo pouches.

Where were Schaffer’s clothes? He felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable with all of these creatures examining him so intimately. He must look equally strange to them, a tiny, frail creature with no fur standing in their hall. He crossed his arms over his chest in a futile attempt to cover himself.

Snowball watched him curiously, then pointed across the hall with his clawed finger. Schaffer followed it and saw his environment suit hanging on a wooden pole beside one of the fire pits that was embedded in the dirt floor, ringed by stones. They had removed it and were drying it beside the flickering flames. They were definitely intelligent, intuitive animals. Schaffer looked back to Snowball, almost as if he required permission. He didn’t, but Snowball was just so imposing, and this was their home after all. The alien gestured towards it, waving his hand as if to say go on then.

Schaffer walked across the room and retrieved the suit, along with his underclothes, pulling them on as the whole room watched him. He fastened the environment suit most of the way, but left the flexible hood and faceplate hanging loose down his back. It was out of charge completely now, but the massive hall was pretty warm, he was in no danger. He unclipped the battery pack and onboard computer system, discarding it at his feet. There was no reason to lug it around now.

He craned his neck, examining the expansive room. It seemed to be made from wood, entire tree trunks were holding up the roof like Greco-Roman pillars, and the rafters were crossed with support beams. The whole structure must have been a hundred feet long, with several fire pits spaced at intervals down the middle. The dancing flames cast deep shadows into the corners of the room, illuminating what looked like cots and tables just enough to make them out in the gloom. It was some kind of archaic longhouse, did they live here? It was downright stone age.

Feeling more secure now that he had his suit, and now certain that the aliens weren’t going to roast him alive over one of the fires, he wandered back over to the group. They were just watching him, waiting for something. Their ice-blue, reflective eyes tracked him with feline pupils, their ears swiveling and twitching. Should he try to communicate with them? Their language was almost unrecognizable as speech, maybe their vocal cords couldn’t even pronounce English words.

“Hello,” he said, waiting for some kind of response. “My name is Schaffer,” he added as he tapped his chest with a gloved finger. “Schaffer.”

The aliens looked puzzled, mumbling to each other in a tongue that sounded like a slow-motion cat fight. They dispersed, whatever they had wanted from him, they seemed to have gotten it. Evidence of his own sapience perhaps? He had to keep in mind that they had likely never seen anything like him before, he was just as alien to them as they were to him. He had to concede that on first regaining consciousness, he had reacted like a frightened animal.

They had been warming him, he realized. The aliens had piled on top of him, concentrating their body heat in order to save him from freezing. They had succeeded it seemed, he wasn’t missing any appendages, there was no blackening on his fingers or toes that would indicate frostbite. The aliens had found him in the snow half dead and had rescued him, nursing him back to health in their own primitive way.

He owed them his life, he should somehow find a way to express his thanks.

His stomach gurgled audibly, and he doubled over, clutching at his belly with a gloved hand. That was right, he hadn’t eaten for days. He had survived the cold, but the hunger was another matter entirely. What did these natives eat? Would their diet be edible to him? How could he communicate that he needed food?

Snowball seemed to have noticed and understood, placing a heavy palm on his shoulder to get his attention. The creature steered him with its hand, pushing him inexorably towards an adjacent fire pit. Schaffer could sense the strength coming off the creature, it was like a coiled spring, multiple factors more powerful than any human could hope to be. It was intimidating, these aliens could probably tear him in half like a Christmas cracker. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to be hostile.

When they reached the edge of the fire, he noticed metal hooks on a low-hanging rafter. Dangling meat, or maybe skin from some slain animal was hanging from them. Were they smoking the meat over the flames? It was a grisly sight, like something from an abattoir, and Schaffer briefly imagined himself impaled on one of those hooks. They were a good twelve feet off the floor in relation to Schaffer, but Snowball reached up easily with his long arm and retrieved one, gripping the meat in his wicked claws and dropping the entire mass into the smaller human’s waiting hands. Schaffer grunted under the strain, his knees almost buckling. The strip of meat was the size of a god damned picnic blanket and weighed far more.

Snowball waited, watching him as he held the offering, Schaffer sniffing it experimentally. Could he eat this? What if the life on this planet used entirely different amino acid chains, or their blood contained arsenic or something of the sort? Oh well, it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. If he ate the meat and it poisoned him, he would die. If he didn’t eat the meat and starved, he would die. Better to just bite the proverbial bullet.

He raised it to his mouth with some difficulty, it really was oppressively heavy, and bit into the meat. It tasted vaguely like jerked pork, it was fatty and chewy, dried by the flames and flavored by the smoke. It was pleasant, tasty even. He took another bite, his hunger rising from his belly and goading him on. Snowball watched him with a satisfied expression, arms crossed over his fluffy chest as Schaffer gorged himself.

He ate until he was full to bursting, then handed the rest of the meat back to Snowball, who had been waiting patiently for him to eat his fill. The alien returned it to its hook, a comically small section missing where Schaffer had chewed into it, then the human sat on the soil beside the fire and rubbed his belly. After a moment, Snowball joined him, sitting cross-legged. His jointed heels hooked under his legs at an odd angle, his enormous tail trailing on the ground behind him like a furry anaconda.

Schaffer patted his belly, then gave a thumbs up.

“Good.”

The alien imitated the gesture, curling his furry fingers and extending his thumb, then grunted in a way that almost approximated the word good. Snowball seemed to want to communicate. He was attentive to Schaffer’s gestures and speech, doing his best to imitate him like some kind of giant, fluffy parrot. Schaffer patted himself on the chest as Snowball watched him.

“Schaffer,” he said.

The alien copied the gesture, slamming his massive fist against his chest.

“Sleugh,” he slurred in his rumbling voice, trying to repeat the name. He didn’t seem to understand what Schaffer was attempting to convey.

“No, no,” Schaffer chided as he patted his chest again. “Schaffer,” he reiterated, careful to enunciate the name clearly. He pointed to Snowball, waiting for a reply. Snowball’s eyes widened, and he seemed to grasp the concept.

“Shoofa,” the alien said as he pointed at him. It was a fine attempt. Then he patted himself on the breast. “Zagza.”

He had said it quickly, but Schaffer repeated the name while pointing at the alien, and he seemed delighted. His name was Zagza then, it was a start at least. These creatures were not so alien after all. They understood gestures, they had similar language abilities, they were curious and intuitive. Schaffer dared to believe for a moment that perhaps his bad luck had finally turned. These aliens had been in the right place at the right time to come to his rescue, if he had decided to leave the outpost half an hour later, he might have missed them. Half an hour earlier and his body might have been buried in fresh snow. If even one of those bullets had been dry enough to fire, he would be dead right now...

He raised his hands, warming them against the flickering flames. He had heat now, shelter, food. He had no idea how he might get back to civilization, but at least for now, he was out of immediate danger. These natives seemed friendly enough, although their sheer size and obvious predatory leanings kept him wary of getting too comfortable around them.

After a few minutes of silence, Zagza got up and left, and Schaffer found himself sitting alone with a few of the cat-like aliens observing him from a distance. They started to close in slowly, emerging from the darkness like a pack of hungry wolves. It made him nervous, the hair on his arms standing on end as they crept towards him. Soon they were only a foot away, eight or nine of them, most of them females. Their fur was a little more off-color than the pure white of Zagza’s coat, they had more numerous and prominent markings. Their sparse, or total lack of clothing made him somewhat uncomfortable. One approached from behind, looming over him and sniffing his hair with its pink nose. He didn’t react, and emboldened, it patted his head with its fluffy fingers.

These aliens had an insatiable curiosity and apparently no concept of personal space. It caught a strand in its hooked claw and tugged a little painfully. Schaffer twisted around and gently batted its hand away. The alien, very conspicuously female, cocked her head at him.

She looked as if she were trying to figure him out, classify him. She gripped his hand in hers, comparing their digits. Schaffer’s five, slender fingers contrasted greatly with her four. They were thick and tipped with shiny, black claws. She had pads on her fingertips, probably to grip objects through her soft fur. She was incredibly warm, her coat trapping her body heat below its surface with a fierce intensity.

These creatures were certainly native to this region. Their entire bodies were covered in velvet fur and insulating fat, giving them a pudgy, almost doughy appearance that belied their immense strength. More of them crowded around, pawing at his suit and sniffing the air around him. He felt like a dog encircled by grabby children. He was a little worried that their claws would tear his clothing, and so dodged to avoid their probing hands where he could. He had no way of telling them to stop, so he endured their attentions as they ran their fingers through his hair and turned his face in their grasp to get a better view of him.

One fumbled with the seal that ran down the front of his environment suit, perhaps curious as to what lay beneath. Another slipped its hand between his legs, brushing his groin as it roved. He jumped to his feet abruptly, his hands raised defensively.

“Okay, that’s enough cultural exchange for one day.”

The female who had been crouched behind him hooked her hands under his armpits and lifted him clear off the floor. He flailed his legs, his stomach turning as she hefted him, apparently testing how much he weighed. She brought him closer to her, leaning down to his neck, and he shivered as he felt her tongue graze his skin. It was long and rough, leaving a hot, wet smear of saliva.

He struggled more violently, and she placed him back on the ground, muttering something under her breath to a cohort. Schaffer wiped the back of his neck with his gloved hand, scowling at them.

What did these creatures want with him? Why had they saved him? They didn’t seem hostile, but as long as communication was a problem, he could never be sure of their intentions.

He felt an intense wave of fatigue overcome him suddenly. After solving the problem of food, his body now craved rest. He had endured a very long day, or at least what felt like one, he wasn’t sure how long the days lasted on this planet. He needed time to recuperate and digest, to straighten out his thoughts. He looked around him, searching for signs of the cots that he had seen earlier. There were several lining one wall, massive, alien-sized beds covered in layers of blankets and pelts. They looked far more inviting than the frozen mattresses at the outpost.

He made his way over to the nearest bed, and the circle of aliens parted to let him pass, watching him as he hopped up onto one of the wooden frames. It was a little too tall for him, but he managed, burrowing into the furry blankets. It was all animal hide, incredibly soft and warm. The patterning and coloration were not their own, these must come from prey animals, likely the same ones that provided them with meat. The bed was incredibly long and wide, far bigger than just one of the creatures would require. They must sleep in piles, like when they had thawed him. He was reluctant to remove his suit, it gave him a sense of security, however superficial that might be. It would provide zero protection from those curved claws should one of the monsters decide that he looked more like food than a friend, but it made him feel less vulnerable, so he didn’t remove it.

It was colder over here than it had been by the fire pit, but the fleecy blankets would soon take care of that. He heard heavy footsteps and rolled over to see that the aliens were leaving their place by the fire and approaching him. Oh for God’s sake, couldn’t they just leave him alone?

He shooed them as they made their way to the bed, waving his hands and gesturing for them to leave, but they ignored him. The aliens crawled onto the frame to join him as it sagged under their combined weight. They jostled each other and pressed together, forming a veritable wall of fluffy flesh around him. It was stifling, alarming. They were far too large and heavy to behave like lap dogs, and Schaffer was too fragile for this kind of treatment.

“Fuck off, I just want to sleep,” he protested. He tried to shove one of the fat aliens off him, but his hands sunk into its soft flesh like some kind of massive, immovable beanbag. They smelled too. It wasn’t unpleasant, but their strong, animal musk that invaded his nose. He felt a furry arm snake around his chest, pulling him out from under the blankets and into the pile of aliens proper. It hugged him against its body like a child with a favorite doll, and sensing this, more of the creatures pressed closer to him.

He was completely enclosed, and the heat was mounting, he was starting to sweat inside his suit. He struggled against the arm that held him firmly in its grip, the alien practically spooning with him at the center of the pile, and he eventually succeeded in slipping away. He crawled out from beneath the mound of bodies, using their fur as leverage to pull himself free, sliding out from under them and falling off the bed.

They seemed puzzled by this behavior, their blue eyes peeking out at him from between the jumbled bodies, the odd head emerging from the heap to track him with its round ears. He brushed himself off, then made his way to an adjacent bed, making it abundantly clear that he did not wish to share.

He climbed up and buried himself in the sheets, hoping that the stubborn creatures would not simply disgorge from their pile and smother him again. They left him alone this time, seemingly content to stay where they were, and Schaffer eventually drifted off to sleep.

He awoke to a face full of fur, tickling his nose and sticking to his lips. He groaned with frustration, trying to find his way out of the furry prison. He managed to flop out of the pile, then tumbled to the floor, landing on his back. There were two piles now, one on the first bed, and a new one had formed on top of him sometime during the night on the second.

These looked like Zagza and the aliens that he had seen the day before, the ones who had been wearing the leather slings. He could see the massive male’s abnormally huge tail hanging off the side of the bed, a cleaner white than the coats of the aliens that encircled it. They might be communal animals, but the phrase when in Rome, do as the Romans do did not apply to risking being crushed to death beneath half a dozen giant aliens.

He was sweaty and sticky, it felt gross inside the rubbery suit. He wished that he had worn the clothes that he had retrieved from the outpost over the tighter fitting garment, it wouldn’t have hurt. He wanted to bathe, but besides from rolling around in the freezing snow, he didn’t see how he could manage it.

He wandered the hall now that he was free of the ever-watchful aliens, examining its contents. There were massive dining tables pushed against the walls, it looked as if they had been frequently dragged to and from the center of the room, judging by the marks in the soil. They seemed to fit between the fire pits, and their wooden surfaces were stained with juices and what might be blood.

The fires still roared, they must keep them going all the time, practically bonfires in comparison to a human-sized campfire. It made sense, the space was enormous, it must be hard to heat. There were small openings way up in the straw roof where the smoke could escape.

There were massive cauldrons too, fashioned from some kind of heavy metal like iron, and they were full of what looked like fresh water. Schaffer dunked his cupped hands into one of the pots and withdrew them, taking a tentative sip. Must be melted snow. He didn’t want to bathe in their drinking water, even though he certainly could have, the cauldron was large enough. Instead, he simply washed his face, letting the water fall to the dirt floor.

There was food everywhere, a huge stockpile that would easily feed a hundred humans for weeks. Smoked meat hung from hooks above every fire in massive, weighty hunks, and some of the tables had slabs of flesh and half-butchered carcasses on them. There was the ribcage and spine of a truly enormous creature, it must have been as large as a caribou in life. Now it was spread out on one of the wooden surfaces, surrounded by knives and implements. It had not been entirely stripped yet, but it seemed as though little had been wasted. It was a grisly sight, and proof that these creatures were not teddy bears. They were bloodthirsty, dangerous carnivores.

There were also stocks of what looked like tools, furs that were hanging on drying racks, piles of discarded bones. There was a weapon rack with long, ornate rifles that Schaffer didn’t recognize, along with a few other objects and pieces of furniture that meant little to him. The aliens seemed to prefer stools to chairs, perhaps because of their tails, as there were plenty of those strewn about the hall. This was definitely their sole abode, they had accumulated everything required for their survival into this one building.

Schaffer a took seat beside one of the fire pits, examining the heavy stones that marked its boundaries as he pondered. He was out of immediate danger, but he couldn’t stay here indefinitely. His first priority should be getting into that locked computer room inside the outpost and reactivating the generator, then sending a distress call. He didn’t have any idea of how he would bypass the lock, but where there was a will, there would be a way. Perhaps he could enlist the help of these aliens somehow. First, he would have to learn to communicate well enough to request that they take him back to the base, but not before finding a way to survive the trip now that his suit was next to useless.

He didn’t yet trust them, however. Their motivations were unclear. The desire to simply drape himself in furs and leave with one of the slabs of meat over his shoulder was strong. He decided that he would wait and see if he could figure these snow beasts out. He wouldn’t even know which direction the outpost was in without their aid.

Before long, the rest of the aliens stirred to life, yawning and stretching as they uncoiled from their piles and set off to begin their daily chores. Some retrieved great armfuls of what looked like gelatin from a stockpile near the huge main entrance, sealed by two heavy wooden doors, and tended to the fire pits. The blubbery material burned hot when they tossed it into the roaring flames. Others began work on the animal carcass, carving off what meat they could glean from the pale bones and setting it to one side, while a small group of five or six donned leather straps that they draped over their shoulders and hefted rifles. They looked like they were setting out into the snow, probably going on a hunting expedition.

Zagza did not join them this time, Schaffer guessed that he had been returning from one such hunt the previous day when he had run into him. Instead, the great beast lumbered over to Schaffer, standing beside the fire next to him.

“Shoofa,” he rumbled, struggling to pronounce the name. He followed with a string of hisses and growls that Schaffer couldn’t understand.

“Good morning to you too,” he replied sarcastically. Zagza nudged him with his heavy hand, then pointed to the meat that hung from the hooks. Breakfast? He wouldn’t mind it. “Yes,” he replied with a nod, giving the creature a thumbs up. Zagza seemed to have grasped the meaning of the gesture, and smiled.

“Yesh,” he repeated, slurring the S slightly. He stood and pulled down a morsel of meat. He seemed to have paid attention to how much Schaffer had eaten the last time, and why shouldn’t he? Food management was probably central to their survival. He tore loose a strip with his claws this time, then handed it to Schaffer. It approximated the quantity he had eaten the night before. Zagza was perceptive, and oddly considerate.

Why did these things care about him? Why were they feeding him, rather than eating him? It didn’t make sense for them to share their obviously limited resources with a complete stranger, an alien at that. Were they just fattening him up for future consumption? Either way, he needed to eat, and so he dug in. It was like a foot-long strip of fatty bacon, not half bad.

Zagza stayed by his side, and Schaffer started to feel as if he was being chaperoned. Were they worried that he might try to flee? Did that make him a prisoner? So many questions could be easily cleared up through some basic communication, but neither spoke the other’s language. Zagza seemed receptive to learning, but Schaffer could hardly be expected to teach him, he didn’t know anything about language.

Well, they had to start somewhere.

“Food,” Schaffer proclaimed, holding the half-eaten strip of meat above his head. Zagza looked at him with a puzzled expression, so he repeated the gesture, pointing to the smoked meat.

“Fud,” Zagza repeated, and Schaffer shook his head.

“Foooooood,” he emphasized, prolonging the vowel.

Zagza’s second attempt was more accurate, and so Schaffer gave him the thumbs up, which Zagza returned. The alien pointed to the fire and loosed a string of undecipherable hisses and warbles. Schaffer wasn’t even going to try, he doubted whether his vocal apparatus could even approximate those sounds, the creatures seemed to have a far wider range than he did.

“Fire,” he stated, pointing to the dancing flames.

“Fie-yur,” the alien attempted, receiving another thumbs up for his trouble. At least he understood that gesture well enough, and he seemed to be picking up on what a shaking head meant, so Schaffer had a means to communicate yes and no.

He entertained himself for a while, playing a game with the alien, getting him to repeat words like suit or stone or fur. He wasn’t sure if the alien was memorizing the terms or simply humoring him. After a while, the alien tired of play and rose to his feet, beckoning for Schaffer to follow him.

They ended up at the massive double door of the hall, a huge mass of solid wood that was secured with a long wooden beam resting in grooves. The alien removed it, hefting the huge log easily in his strong arms, and placed it upright against an adjacent support beam. The entrance was at a ninety-degree angle relative to the large room, perhaps so that wind or snow would not blow inside and put out the fires or lower the ambient temperature. Zagza pushed them open, and Schaffer was immediately assaulted by a wall of freezing air, penetrating his unheated suit like icy fingers. He crossed his arms over his chest, beginning to shiver almost immediately. Zagza watched him with concern for a moment, then closed the doors, replacing the log barricade.