Chapter 5: Personal Space

When the pack had warmed up, they ate again, sitting around the fire pits in groups of three or four and sharing meat. This was more casual than the feast had been, less organized. Schaffer found himself in the company of the two identical males that he had seen at the table during the previous night’s event. Their height, coloration, and markings were all exactly the same. Apparently, these aliens could produce twins like many animals on Earth. They seemed overly curious, borderline mischievous as they examined him up close for the first time. They sat on either side of him, plucking and prodding at his suit with their clawed fingers, perhaps testing if it was real fur or just clothing.

He tried to bat them away as he chewed on a hunk of smoked meat, but they were insistent, making a game of harassing him like a pair of little monkeys. Well, little by their standards, the two juveniles were still skirting eight feet. Schaffer wondered who their mother was, the pack was so promiscuous that it could be any of the adult females, or maybe none of them. Life was harsh out here, perhaps they had lost pack members to hostile fauna or the merciless elements.

Eventually, he grew tired of their play and decided to engage with them instead, in the hopes that it might entertain them. He patted his chest, and they stopped to watch him, heads cocked curiously.

“Schaffer,” he said, their round ears tracking him like furry radar dishes. Then he pointed to one of the aliens. It grinned and batted its chest with a closed fist, enthusiastic.

“Yuka,” he declared proudly. The second twin, apparently feeling left out, chimed in too.

“Yura.”

“Yuka and Yura,” Schaffer repeated, pointing to them in turn. They clapped their large hands together happily. One of them tackled the human to the ground suddenly, pouncing on him like a tiger. The alien dug its claws into his fur, chewing at the hide around his shoulders in a mock attack. The second twin joined in, rolling around and kicking with its feet like a kitten playfighting. They were strong and heavy, yet they were fairly gentle with him. He joined in, grabbing handfuls of their soft fur and pretending to scratch at them with his dull fingers. They eventually grew rougher, shifting their attention to each other. They rolled away across the floor, little more than a blur of claws, mock growling and alien laughter.

After a minute of this, Osha loped over to the fire pit and chased the two juveniles away, scolding them. Their laughter continued as they disappeared into the gloom, perhaps in search of more food or uninterrupted play. She sat heavily beside Schaffer, nudging him with her furry elbow.

“Yeah they’re a handful,” he confirmed, offering her a portion of his meal. She hesitated for a moment, then accepted, plucking it in her claws and dropping it into her mouth. She chewed as they gazed at the fire. It wasn’t quite the Pinwheel’s entertainment channel, but there was something mesmerizing about the flickering flames that never ceased to draw his attention. He liked Osha, he decided. He felt as if he had the most in common with her, and perhaps Runt. He didn’t always understand what Zagza was thinking, his motivations were alien, but Osha’s motherly desire to keep everyone fed and happy was immediately relatable. Besides, she was always nice to him.

She seemed to want to ask him something, but their lack of shared vocabulary was proving a hindrance. She nudged him again, struggling to find the words.

“Shoofa...” They didn’t come to her, and so she took him in her arms and pressed him against her warm, furry body. She muttered something that he couldn’t understand, and frustration welled in him. He wanted to be social with the aliens, he was trying to be, but he just couldn’t teach them enough English to carry a conversation. Perhaps he should try to learn some of their words, too. He had no hope of pronouncing most of them, but he could at least learn to recognize certain phrases.

“What’s up Osha? What are you trying to tell me?”

She gestured towards a cot, taking his hand in hers and pulling him to his feet. He followed her over to the bed, and she sat down on it, the mattress sagging under her weight as the bulk of her copious butt and thighs spread like a melting candle. They were far from the fires, cast in shadow, the cold beginning to prick at him. She patted the bed beside her, and he struggled up to sit next to her.

“What is it that you want?”

She shuffled closer to him, wrapping her furry arm around his waist, her hand resting on his thigh. The side of her ample bust brushed against his cheek, spilling out of her sling as the garment struggled to contain it, sagging over his shoulder as she pushed closer to him. Even sat down, she was so large that her chest and shoulders were almost above his head. The air was cold over here, and so he naturally gravitated towards her warmth, letting her hug him against her massive body. Did she want to sleep? She usually just piled on top of him with little regard for his opinion on the matter, why was she being so gentle now?

“Shoofa,” she crooned softly, her breath ruffling his hair. “Come.”

Her long, serpentine tail coiled around him as she delved her nose into his hair, nuzzling his scalp. She began to knead his thigh with her massive hand, applying a gentle pressure. It was warm, pleasant. He liked Osha, after all, she was kind to him. She moved her nose down to the nape of his neck, rubbing her gigantic face on the bare skin beneath his pelts and playing her claws through his hair, grooming him. Maybe she just wanted to be social, was she teaching him how to do it? Memories of chimps at a zoo came to mind, sitting in a line as they cleaned and groomed each other as a form of bonding. Perhaps this was similar, and he would be expected to participate in a communal brushing?

He breathed in her musky scent as her claws ran through his hair, her fluff tickling his nose, her breast weighing down on him. The damned aliens were so touchable. Their fur was thick and plush, as soft as velvet. It was like pushing his face into a bearskin rug. Their blubbery fat begged for questing fingers, wobbling enticingly with their every subtle movement, their breasts fuller and heavier than anything that he had seen before. Then there was the warmth that radiated from their bodies, penetrating him to the bone, inviting him to draw ever closer. He was starting to feel sleepy, Osha’s embrace relieving his aching muscles and her body heat slowing his mind. She was so strong and pushy, at this point he had learned that it was easier to let Osha have her way, the result was never too unpleasant.

He felt her hand brush his cheek, the fleshy pads on her thick fingers cool against his skin, and he realized that his face was flushed red. The hand on his thigh had moved down, grazing his growing bulge through his layered clothing. His heartbeat had quickened, his breathing growing ragged now as the creature gazed down at him from her considerable height with her icy, blue eyes.

“What are you ... doing?”

She didn’t understand, nor could she reply, but his tone of voice and his dazed expression must have conveyed something to her. His heart fluttered, a gasp escaping his lips as her grip on his hair tightened. She pressed her puffy lips against his shoulder, hooking the fabric of his clothing in her claw and pulling it aside. The brief sensation of cold air was replaced by heat and wetness as her long, bumpy tongue left her mouth to trace the line of his clavicle, leaving a slimy trail of warm saliva. It was the length of his damned forearm. Stars danced before his eyes and his erection flared, meeting her waiting hand. She gripped it softly, her touch exploratory. Her other hand rested on his chest, her splayed fingers almost large enough to cover it, the alien pushing him down onto the mattress to lie prone. Osha loomed over him in the near darkness, her white fur bleached orange by the flickering firelight. Her eyes glowed in the dark shadows, leering at him hungrily.

He had never felt like this before. His mind was foggy, butterflies swarmed in his belly, and he felt pleasant shivers dance up and down his spine as Osha explored his neck with her roving organ. She mouthed and kissed with her soft lips, tasting him, mapping his alien body. She fumbled with the seals on his suit, trying to open it. If he were to let her continue, where else might that long, slippery tongue find itself? He bit his lip at the thought, but something nagged at him. This was ... wrong. Osha was an alien, an animal. An intelligent, sapient animal with remarkably human features, but never the less...

Did this make him some kind of xenophile? A deviant? What would someone say if they saw him now, lying on this bed and letting an alien creature ravish him? Conflict roiled in his brain. Nobody would ever find out, but he would know. His lack of self-control, of basic decency, might haunt him if he allowed this encounter to progress any further.

It felt so good, though. His body responded to her as if it had a mind of its own, his thighs rubbing together, his spine arching off the mattress as her hot breath tickled his skin. She nibbled his ear in her pointed teeth, the wet, obscene sounds filling his head.

If she kissed him with that serpentine tongue, as he had seen the aliens do to each other when they retired to the gloom for their indecent activities, it would be over. That had always been his weakness in his youth, before he had joined the Navy and alone time with women became more sparse and difficult to achieve. A good kiss would always weaken his knees, sap his will. If he was going to stop this, if he was going to obey his conscience, then he had to do it now. Before it was too late...

“Osha ... stop,” he muttered, but she didn’t respond. He lifted his arms, pressing his hands against her furry body and trying to push her away. She seemed confused, relenting and cocking her head at him.

“Shoofa?”

His face burning and erection still conspicuous, even beneath the furry pelts, he rolled out from underneath her. This was the second time that the aliens had tried to involve him in their sex lives. Was sex in itself a social act to them? Part of their everyday interactions with other members of the pack? Zagza had seemed confused too when Schaffer had refused his invitation, maybe he assumed that Schaffer didn’t understand what sex was or how to do it, and had charged Osha with showing him? He sat on the edge of the bed, catching his breath, trying to banish the seething arousal that yet threatened to take hold of him. The giant alien sat beside him, perplexed but obviously concerned.

“It’s okay, Osha,” he said in an attempt to reassure her. He stood and gave her a thumbs up. “Humans just ... we don’t do that.” He returned to the safety of the nearest fire pit, leaving Osha scratching her head. He might have offended her, but he had to draw the line somewhere. If he didn’t establish boundaries, then who knew what might happen?

After some time had passed and Schaffer had composed himself, Osha slunk back over to sit with him by the fire. She seemed worried that she had done something wrong, her round ears drooping slightly and her tail limp, but he climbed into her lap voluntarily for the first time and handed her a morsel of meat in reconciliation. She took it, seeming relieved, and they relaxed for a while as they watched the flames lick at the stones that marked their border.

Schaffer felt oddly guilty. They had done so much for him, and participating in their ... activities was the only thing they had asked of him thus far, the one request that they had made of him. Perhaps it made him appear ungrateful or antisocial, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Hopefully, these aliens were advanced enough to understand that different cultures existed, with different morals and values. His own lack of self-control bothered him too, he had nearly gone off the rails in the cot with Osha. What would have happened if he had let her continue?

Better to not think about it. He should focus his energy on what mattered, getting back to the outpost.

The next day, Schaffer awoke without a pile of cats sitting on his face. He was confused at first, rubbing his bleary eyes as he rose to look around, then realized that they must have finally gotten the message that he wanted to be left alone. He was pleased, but also a little concerned that he might have given them the wrong impression. The language barrier was driving him nuts, it would be a simple matter to explain to the aliens that he liked them and he enjoyed their company, but that sex crossed the line. As it stood, he had to hope that their interpretation of his refusal to participate wasn’t too negative. He felt a little cold now, lonely...

Come on Schaffer get it together.

He dropped down from the tall cot, surveying the room to see what everyone was up to. A few of the chubby aliens were clustered around one of the fires, eating breakfast. Yuka and Yura were playing with Runt, and it looked as if a group was gearing up for a hunt.

He trotted over to them enthusiastically. He wasn’t going to spend another day cooped up in the longhouse, he wanted to get outside, stretch his legs. The group watched him curiously as they dressed, wrapping long fur cloaks around their necks and draping bandoleers over their shoulders. Some loaded massive brass bullets into pockets on the slings, only half a dozen per hunter. They must really need to make them count now that their stock was limited. Others were cleaning their long rifles with furry rods that they forced into the barrels. The weapons were fairly primitive by UNN standards, and Schaffer was certain that the freezing weather was not too kind to them. With a pang of shame, he remembered how all of the bullets in the revolver that he had found had all been damp, failing to fire.

Zagza walked over to meet him, leaning his own massive rifle against a wooden support pillar, pulling Schaffer aside with a heavy hand on his shoulder. The alien seemed oddly concerned, almost as if Schaffer had walked in on something that he shouldn’t have seen.

“Zagza, let me come with you. Schaffer come,” he said, gesturing to the group. Zagza looked back at them, then turned to Schaffer again, his expression dour.

“No, Shoofa,” he said. He had expanded his vocabulary recently, he was happy to learn, and Schaffer was eager to pass the time in any way that he could. They had spent many hours by the fireside together, attempting to push through the language barrier.

“Shoofa no come, Shoofa...” He struggled to find a word, seeming unhappy, conflicted. What the hell was he trying to say? Was he concerned that Schaffer would be offended if Zagza told him that he would be a liability? It kind of went without saying, he couldn’t shoulder one of those rifles and he couldn’t go more than an hour or so without needing to be carried around. What was the problem?

Then the alien did something that froze Schaffer’s heart.

He lifted his hand to his head, mimicking a pistol with his fingers and pressing them against his temple. He knew. He had seen Schaffer attempt to kill himself from a distance. He had seen the gun, he had understood what it was and what Schaffer had been trying to do. That was why he behaved so strangely around the rifles. Zagza thought that Schaffer was suicidal, that he might try to commit suicide again if he got his hands on one.

How could he even begin to explain the situation that he had found himself in, the reason that he had been sent to the base, the intricacies of the computer that had locked him out? How could Schaffer convey how he had felt in that moment, certain that he was going to die and wanting to bypass the slow agony of starvation?

A flare of anger joined the shame that was twisting a knot in his belly. He felt as if his privacy had been violated, that he had been spied on in his private moment of weakness. The aliens had saved his life as a result, and he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them, but his roiling emotions were not bound by cold logic.

Was this savage judging him? By what standards?

“You don’t know me, you great fleabag,” he snapped. Zagza had no idea what he was saying, but his tone and expression conveyed the venom in his voice. “Who are you to judge me? You don’t know what I’ve been through, why I’m here.”

Zagza seemed taken aback, not knowing how to respond. Schaffer’s outrage faded rapidly as he saw Zagza’s hurt expression. The hunting group was watching him with concern, their furry ears fixed on the exchange.

“I didn’t ... I didn’t mean to...”

Zagza turned away, walking back over to the group. He hadn’t returned an insult, he hadn’t tried to put Schaffer in his place, he just left him standing there feeling small and ashamed. He didn’t deserve Schaffer’s misplaced anger, he was just trying to protect him. All the alien had done up to now was protect him.

Zagza lurched as Schaffer grabbed him from behind, wrapping his arms around the alien’s thick waist as best he could. He hugged the creature, burying his face in the small of his back. He was furry and warm, though a little more lean than Osha had been. The paunch of his belly was mostly muscle. His tail flicked, perhaps indicating surprise or indecision, bumping against Schaffer’s chest.

“Sorry, big guy. I was just ... going through some stuff.”

Zagza pried Schaffer’s arms away, then turned to run his claws through his hair. It seemed to be a common show of affection for the aliens. His sharp talons tickled Schaffer’s scalp, making him shiver happily. Apology accepted, then.

“Come, Shoofa,” Zagza rumbled, gesturing to the group of hunters.

“I can come with you?”

The alien gave him a thumbs up. He didn’t understand the words, but the inquiry was obvious enough. Schaffer followed Zagza back to the rack where they kept their cloaks, raising his arms to let the alien outfit him for the cold tundra.

Schaffer had no trouble keeping pace with the aliens this time. They were moving slowly, tracking an animal. They crouched low to the ground, their furry, paw-like feet silent in the snow. Schaffer did his best to stay quiet, his furry boots did a fair job of it. They were in a forest, or at least what had once been a forest. There was less snow on the ground here, and he was able to walk without sinking. The trees looked gnarled and dead to him, their bare branches creating a tightly knit canopy above their heads like a mesh of bony fingers.

There were six hunters, not including Zagza who headed the pack, four males and two females. He had seen them before during his wanderings in the longhouse, or during their communal feasts, all besides for one. She was tall and lean, with less fat than the other members of the pack. It was there, distributed attractively to her hips, butt, and chest. But she was lithe and agile in comparison to her fellows. She had a wicked scar almost down the center of her face, running from her forehead to her chin, deep and long. It seemed to have killed the fur around it, damaging the hair follicles so that they couldn’t grow anymore, leaving her with a pink trail of knitted flesh. He wondered if it was some alien beast that had given her that scar, or perhaps someone from a rival tribe. It wasn’t her only scar, he realized. Upon closer inspection, she had a few of them scattered around her body, though none were so obvious and disfiguring as the one on her face. She wasn’t ugly, however. He thought that it made her look tough. She reminded him of the security chief back on the Pinwheel, a gnarled, gruff man with robotic limbs who looked as if he had been through a garbage disposal and come out swinging.

Her coat was grey, with fairly substantial markings, but she wore a beautiful cloak made from the snow-white pelt of some animal that served to better camouflage her. She walked a short distance away from the rest of the pack, conspicuously doing her own thing. She didn’t look too talkative, Scarface would be a suitable name for the time being.

Zagza raised his fist, indicating for the group to stop as Scarface crept forward to run her claws down the trunk of a tree. One of them was broken, he noticed, snapped off about halfway down its length. She seemed to be examining the bark, and he realized that there were markings on the trunk. Something had pulled away the layers of bark, exposing the smooth wood beneath. That must be what they were tracking, something that obtained its sustenance from the bark. It made sense, there wasn’t much else to eat out here.

Zagza waited for her response, his sapphire eyes fixed on her. Despite being the leader of the group, he obviously deferred to Scarface where hunting was concerned. She waved them forward after a moment, and he lowered his fist, resuming the hunt. A few of them began to unholster their rifles, they must be close to their target.