Chapter 5: Round Table
Schaffer sat at the kitchen table, a dozen Polars crowding around it as they dug into their supper, Osha doling out portions to the other aliens as they waited patiently for their share. Runt sat beside him, the mischievous twins were present too, along with a few of the hunters and some of the larger females. Tonight they were feasting on a large native animal that had been brought down the night before, its meat seared and served with some canned vegetables than the pack had taken a liking to. Despite his attempt to teach the Polars to use plates, they preferred their meat served on the metal table and they ate with their claws, hooking the slabs of dripping meat that the pack’s matriarch passed them and tearing into it with abandon.
The base was built to human spec, and so there wasn’t room for the entire pack to eat at one table as they had done in their longhouse, so they usually alternated by splitting the pack into two groups and having one forage and hunt while the other was on downtime. Schaffer ate with a knife and fork, lacking the hooked claws of the Polars, he had to stay pretty active these days lest Osha overfeed him in her endless quest to ensure that everyone ate their fill. For them it was a matter of survival, or at least it had been before they had moved into the outpost with him, their insulating fat could mean the difference between life or death out in the frozen wastes. They still had to range quite far to find game, and with no environment suits that would fit them, it was still a good idea to stay plump.
Schaffer looked up from his plate to see Zagza enter with the newcomer alongside him, Riya, that was her name. Her hair was damp, she must have just returned from a shower, and she waited hesitantly in the doorway as Zagza lumbered over and selected a large cut of meat for himself. Sensing that she expected some help, Schaffer rose from his seat and walked over to her.
“You’re surely hungry, come sit with us, the large female over there will give you a share of the food.”
She seemed ... happier than she had been when she had arrived, that was good, she must have gown accustomed to the Polars by now. She eyed the table apprehensively, the giant, furry aliens bustling and brushing shoulders as they chewed hunks of steak and shared side dishes between their neighbors. Though they had human cooking utensils, the Polars still preferred to cook their food in the traditional manner, the appetizing scent of food roasted over an open flame hanging in the air.
“I’m uh ... I’m a vegetarian, I don’t eat meat.”
“Oh, well we have some vegetables too, I’m sure I can find you something that you’ll like.”
He returned to the table, Riya trailing behind him, the Polars making room for her as she pulled up a chair and sat down. The aliens simply sat on the floor with their legs crossed, tall enough that it put them at chest-height to the human-sized furniture, only the smallest members of the pack were seated in the same manner as their human counterparts.
Osha seemed delighted that their guest had decided to join in on the feast, immediately selecting a sizable hunk of flesh and dropping it heavily on the surface in front of her. Riya turned her nose up at it, looking to Schaffer for help, and he attempted to signal to Osha that their new visitor didn’t eat meat. She seemed perplexed, but she got the picture when Schaffer reached across the table and handed Riya some canned vegetables, humans were still an oddity to Osha and she seemed to just accept all of Schaffer’s comparatively strange habits rather than attempt to understand them.
Riya was able to secure some red beans and rice from a can, along with some tomatoes that Schaffer had roasted over the fire to supplement his own diet. The beans were popular with the Polars, they had the texture of meat and tasted similar when seasoned, and so there were always ample supplies in the store room.
Their guest seemed to relax a little more as she ate, unperturbed by the curious stares of the younger pack members, it occurred to Schaffer that they would not have been aware that humans could come in so many different skin colors. He felt as if he should strike up conversation with her, but he had spent so long alone with the aliens that he couldn’t remember human social conventions anymore. Maybe he really was going native, he’d better make an effort now that a chance to refresh his social skills had presented itself to him. Perhaps some alcohol would loosen both of their tongues.
“You know,” he said as he leaned over the table, “the Polars don’t take to alcohol very well and I have quite a large stockpile left over from the previous occupants of the base. It’s good stuff, but I’ve not found a reason to drink it until now. You in?”
Riya considered for a moment, then nodded.
“I’ve had a very ... weird day, I could do with a pick-me-up.”
Schaffer left the kitchen and made his way down to the store room, locating a bottle of bourbon whiskey that he had spied a few weeks prior, retrieving the copper colored liquid from a shelf and dusting off the glass bottle to examine the label. Kentucky origin, aged in genuine oak barrels, about twelve years old if his math was right. He didn’t even know what month it was half of the time, there were fewer hours in a day here and the Borealan calendar was all screwy. If it wasn’t for the status updates he sent back to the UNN he might have completely lost track of Earth-standard time.
He took the bottle back to the kitchen and brought out a couple of shot glasses from a cabinet, the Polars watching curiously as he poured the drinks and passed one to Riya. She sipped at it daintily, the whiskey warming her belly, and sighed happily.
“Yep, that’s what I needed, they’re so stingy with their booze on the carrier.”
“Yeah I hear that,” Schaffer replied with a chuckle, “back when I used to work in customs on the Pinwheel the alcohol was always the first thing to go missing whenever we took inventory.”
He swilled his beverage around in his mouth, enjoying the flavor, this really was a good bottle. He wondered briefly who it had originally belonged to, had the owner been transferred off-planet, or had he been lost to the tundra or the cabin fever like so many others before him?
“So, where are you from originally?” Schaffer asked. “Before I was stationed on the Pinwheel, and before I came here of course, I lived in Michigan back on Earth. I joined the UNN when I was able, though I quickly found out that I was better suited to managerial positions than infantry.”
“Mangala,” she replied. “I grew up there before becoming a pilot.”
“Really?” Schaffer asked, intrigued. “That’s an Indian colony on Mars, right? That’s quite a pedigree, I’ve never met anyone from Mars before.”
Mars was humanity’s first colony, established long before the UNN had united the world’s feuding countries into a single organization. With their population ballooning in the 2200s, India had laid claim to large swathes of the planet and had settled the plains of Utopia Planitia and Arcadia, establishing extensive habitats and cities there. Mars was rich in minerals, and before long the planet had become a gigantic shipyard, the low gravity and thin atmosphere facilitating the production of large spacecraft that had greatly extended the reach of human exploration. If she was born on Mars, Riya must have belonged to a wealthy merchant family, it was uncommon to see Martians abandon that lifestyle and venture out into space.
“Everyone who finds out where I’m from inevitably asks why I left, so I’ll save you the trouble,” she said as she poured herself another glass of bourbon. “Mangala is a wasteland, sure the parks and gardens beneath the domes make a pretty picture for tourism pamphlets, but you take one step out into the big red and it makes the Sahara look like a more desirable vacation spot.”
“Big red?” Schaffer asked as he cocked his head, a habit he had picked up from the Polars.
“The planet-spanning desert, thousands of miles of dust and sand that’s ten times colder than the tundra beyond these walls. You have to wear special environment suits to venture outside, because the sand is so fine that it gets into everything, it’ll mess up the joints on a standard issue.”
“Surely that isn’t a problem if you’re inside the domes?”
“Not if you don’t mind living in a snow globe,” she scoffed. “The planet is dead, inert, has been for millions of years. My ancestors started a new life there to get away from the crowded cities of Earth, but ironically Mars is even more restrictive and confining. People are stacked shoulder to shoulder like sardines these days, I couldn’t wait to get out of there. They act like it’s normal, but I don’t understand how they can spend all day looking out of the windows at miles of emptiness and still think everything is perfectly fine. Sure the standard of living is high, and the habitats are designed to trick your brain into thinking you’re taking a stroll through a forest rather than living in a glass blister on a corpse of a planet, but you can’t walk ten feet without running into someone.”
“I didn’t serve on many ships,” Schaffer replied. “The Pinwheel is very spacious, never had any feelings of claustrophobia or overcrowding while I worked there. So you’re saying life on a jump carrier is more tolerable than life in Mangala? I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true,” she said, waving her half-empty glass to punctuate her statement. “Don’t judge the colony based on beauty shots of the domes, I have larger quarters on the carrier than I did back home. I’ll always resent that my ancestors never claimed a planet during the great expansion, they thought their little slice of Mars was so desirable, but now look at us. Did you know that the damned Amish have an entire planet to themselves, and we don’t?”
“So I’ve heard.”
Runt watched them drink as he sat beside Schaffer, perhaps feeling left out as the two humans chatted, his claws drumming on the table impatiently as he glanced between them. He was used to getting his friend’s undivided attention, and now this newcomer was getting in his way. Schaffer poured another glass of bourbon for himself, and Runt tugged at the sleeve of his jacket, giving him his best puppy dog eyes. He pointed at the drink, but Schaffer pulled it out of his reach.
“You won’t like this, buddy, it’ll probably shut down your kidneys.”
The little Polar pouted, tugging more insistently, it was probably Schaffer’s own fault for encouraging him to be more assertive. Oh well, one sip would probably send Runt scurrying across the kitchen to wash his tongue under the faucet, a small amount wouldn’t do him any harm. He drank from his glass, downing the amber liquid within until scarcely a mouthful remained, then slid it across the table towards Runt. The alien examined it, tapping the glass with a sharp claw, then lifted it to his lips and took a sip.
To Schaffer’s surprise he didn’t spit it out, closing his eyes and hissing at the unpleasant taste, the fur on his tail standing on end to make it look like a black and white feather duster. The Polars were primarily carnivorous and they couldn’t metabolize alcohol nearly as well as humans, they’d get black out drunk on beer alone and drinking human-sized portions risked poisoning them.
“Good?” Schaffer asked.
Runt shook his head, returning the glass to his human companion, who reached over to scratch him between the ears apologetically.
“That one seems to like you a lot,” Riya said as she poured herself another helping, they had downed almost half the bottle already. “Is he like your pet or something?”
“He’s the runt of the litter,” Schaffer replied as the alien rubbed his head against his shoulder, “so I named him ... Runt. I guess he gravitated towards me because we’re about the same size. If he has a name of his own he’s never tried to correct me, when I first arrived here I couldn’t even communicate as little as we do now.”
“I wanted to ask about that,” Riya said as she started on her next glass, “but I wasn’t sure if I had the clearance. Just what the hell are you doing out here, and why are these Polars living with you? If you’re even allowed to talk about it that is, I don’t need some Naval Intelligence spooks breathing down my neck because the bourbon gave you a loose tongue.”
“No, I can tell you most of the story. I got stranded here a while back, I’m under obligation not to reveal how or why to anyone as part of my agreement with the UNN, but I ended up alone in the outpost without food or heat. With my options running out, I walked into the tundra to try to find help, my environment suit’s charge depleted and I ended up passed out in a snow drift. I should have died, but these guys found me and nursed me back to health. They fed me, took me in as one of their own, and eventually we came back to the outpost and repaired it. The UNN needed someone to man the base and I had nothing to go back to, so we came to an arrangement whereby I would operate the equipment here, and my pack would be allowed to live with me. Most of their kind had already been relocated to a refugee colony in Siberia, this group had been left behind, and they had been eking out a living in the wastes before they ran into me. I might have called it fate were I a more superstitious man.”
“You don’t miss living with your own kind?” Riya asked. Schaffer shook his head, swirling his drink in his hand and watching the liquid as it formed a small whirlpool. “You don’t miss living on the Pinwheel? I’ve been there on shore leave, that place is more like a damned resort than a military installation. A lot of people would kill for a chance to be stationed there.”
“I don’t miss it, my old life ... my old colleagues, it very nearly got me killed.” He perked up suddenly, as if waking from a daydream, realizing that he might have said too much and taking a long draw from his glass. “Not that I mind a little refresher every so often, I’m almost glad you got stranded here, maybe I had gone too long without human contact. It’s nice to be able to dust off the old English language once in a while.”
“Along with the bourbon,” Riya added.
They heard something scraping along the deck in the hallway outside the kitchen, the two humans turning their heads to track the sound as a Polar appeared in the doorway. She was tall and far leaner than her counterparts, what insulating fat she had was tastefully distributed in a way that accentuated her feminine figure, giving her meaty thighs and an ample chest that was concealed beneath a leather sling. Bandoleers that held large bullets hung from her shoulders, and around her wide hips was slung a leather belt, a loincloth dangling from it to preserve her modesty along with pouches and sheaths made from tanned hide. She had a cruel scar running down her face from her forehead to her chin, pink, knitted tissue exposed between the dead follicles. Other such injuries were scattered across her body, a patchwork of pink lines that broke up her off-white coat, which was decorated with more of the coffee-stain markings than was common for her people. She wore the snow-white pelt of some native animal as a cloak, serving to better camouflage her when she was stalking the tundra for prey. She dragged a fresh kill behind her, some nameless beast that looked like an antelope, but with too many legs and a layer of blubber that filled out its body. In her free hand she carried a long, ornate rifle, a primitive but powerful weapon of Borealan design.
It was Scarface, the pack’s resident huntress, she was passing by on her way to drop off the take from her latest hunt in the store room no doubt. Schaffer waved to her, and she returned the gesture, the alien was surprisingly withdrawn for a Polar and seldom interacted with anyone besides him.
“She’s beastly,” Riya commented as Scarface walked away down the corridor. “Looks a lot more like the breed I’m accustomed to seeing in UNN space. What the hell was that thing she was dragging along behind her?”
“I never gave it a name,” Schaffer replied, “I could probably register a dozen newly discovered species if I could be bothered to take pictures and call them in.”
“Call it a Keshi,” Riya volunteered, “that’s a horse demon from Hindu mythology.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Schaffer said, leaning back reflexively to avoid a hunk of meat that Osha had decided to cast in his direction. It landed on the table in front of him, splashing him with juice, the enormous female smiling contentedly as he picked it up and began to eat without complaint. The pack was depleting the supply pretty quickly, soon they would set about cooking the kill that Scarface had brought back with her, preparing a meal for the next rotation when the other pack members returned from their foraging.
As they finished their feast, they started to wander off one by one, no doubt leaving to choose a comfortable pile to sleep in while they digested their meal. The kitchen steadily emptied until only Runt, Osha and Zagza remained along with the two humans. The pair of larger Polars bid them goodnight, Zagza paying special attention to Riya for reasons that weren’t obvious to Schaffer. While Zagza was the pack’s Alpha, Osha was their unofficial matriarch, and the two tended to sleep together most of the time.
Runt stuck close to Schaffer, both because he preferred to sleep with him, and because he was feeling neglected as the pair of humans shared a moment over their bourbon. They had drunk about two thirds of it, and they both seemed to silently agree that it was enough, setting aside their shot glasses and screwing the cap back onto the bottle.
“So where am I sleeping?” Riya asked, pleasantly tipsy. “I don’t suppose you have a guest bedroom?”
“Well the pack sleeps in a big pile, usually I just throw myself into the mix and hope that whatever I’m lying on doesn’t wake up and start moving before I do. There are couches in the common room that you can use if you don’t want to get too friendly with the Polars, I can find you a blanket if you need one, but the temperature in here stays pretty constant.”
“Sounds good, I think I’ll call it a night and turn in.” She stood up from her seat, walking over to the doorway and leaning against the frame for balance as she turned her head to look back at him. “You’re alright Schaffer, this blizzard could have been a real shit show, but you and your furry friends turned it around. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Night,” he replied as she vanished into the hallway. He turned to Runt when he was sure that she was out of earshot. “Ok, you have me to yourself now, happy?”
The alien buried his face in the nape of Schaffer’s neck, downy fur tickling his skin.
Schaffer heard Scarface returning, the alien pausing at the doorway as she passed by to look in on the pair, the kitchen now deserted save for Schaffer and Runt. She seemed to have been waiting for the other pack members to leave, and seeing that they had all gone to bed, she slinked into the room and made her way over to where Schaffer was sitting. The human was one of the few people that she interacted with, she had taken a liking to him and as far as he knew he was the only member of their pack that she chose to share a bed with. Scarface spent much of her time prowling the wastes, she had been the lead hunter of the pack and its main breadwinner before they had moved into the outpost, and she still liked to fish and hunt more than was really necessary now that the UNN was providing them with food and supplies. During her infrequent visits to the base, she usually found ways to get some alone time with Schaffer, and he had to admit that her unusually aggressive style of lovemaking made him look forward to those rare encounters. He was still unsure of her story, how she had earned all of her scars, and what the reason was for her silent and frankly un-Polar-like demeanor. At first her antisocial tendencies had worried him, but she always seemed happy when she was tracking some alien animal or sitting by a hole in the ice waiting for a fish to bite, and that was good enough for him.
She sauntered over to the table and leaned down beside Schaffer, rubbing her head against his cheek and nuzzling at the nape of his neck, pinching his skin gently with her sharp teeth. He knew the signals well enough, though she never spoke a word she could communicate what she wanted from him, his body responding on its own as he leaned into her.
Runt sat to his right, still clinging to Schaffer’s arm and alarmed that his alone time with his favorite human was again being intruded upon by a female, the little alien scowling as he clung to Schaffer’s sleeve and eyed the newcomer suspiciously. Scarface seemed indifferent to him, ignoring him completely as she urged Schaffer to follow her away from the table, to some private spot where they might go undisturbed for an hour or two no doubt.
As he rose from his seat, he felt Runt dig his claws into his sleeve, preventing him from leaving as Scarface cocked her head at the little Polar quizzically. He barked something at her in their rolling native language, and she seemed taken aback.
Schaffer had never seen anything of the like, were they fighting over him? Runt was usually so meek and passive, but perhaps a combination of factors had brought out this new passion in him. It was probably Schaffer’s own fault for encouraging him to be more assertive, along with his long chat with Riya and a little Dutch courage from the shot of bourbon that the young Polar had insisted on drinking.
Thankfully, Scarface seemed amused more than annoyed by his uncharacteristic outburst. Schaffer had never witnessed a real battle for status between pack members, any disagreements usually resolved themselves pretty quickly through a reconciliatory roll in the proverbial hay, but Scarface was a lot more selective of her mates than the other females of the group.
Runt spoke to her, and she seemed to shrug her furry shoulders, taking up a seat on the floor at the table opposite them. He heard her assortment of tools and knives that hung from her many belts and bandoleers clatter on the deck as she sat cross-legged, resting her large hands on the table and appearing to wait for something. Runt’s claws clinked on the glass bottle of bourbon as he slid it across the table towards her, and she examined it suspiciously, eyeing the amber liquid as it settled in the transparent container. Runt took one of the shot glasses and upended the bottle, filling it and gesturing to the drink as Scarface looked on.
What on Earth was he doing? Had Schaffer just witnessed the invention of an alien drinking competition? Runt seemed indecisive, his tail was flicking back and forth behind his chair in a way that Schaffer knew communicated embarrassment or internal conflict, but he was putting on a stalwart front for Scarface’s benefit apparently. Still amused, the giant hunter examined his face, then lifted the shot glass from the table and sniffed it experimentally before bringing it to her lips and taking a tentative sip. Her blue eyes widened as the liquid met her tongue, and she sputtered, clearly not enjoying the taste but not willing to set the glass down either.
She seemed almost playful with Runt, humoring him in a way that Schaffer had never seen her afford the more senior members of the pack. She was respectful of Zagza and his position, presenting her catches to him as if he were her employer, but beyond that she stayed out of the way of the older Polars. She took another drink, her piercing gaze fixed on Runt as the little alien fumed and watched her.
Runt spoke again, Schaffer wishing that he had some resource available for learning their alien language so that he might have been able to follow this bizarre exchange, and this time the Polar filled his own glass and drank from it as Scarface watched. He already seemed a little tipsy, and now he was swaying gently as he downed his second helping and grimaced. Schaffer patted him on the shoulder, shaking his head at the alien in an attempt to convey that he should stop before his liver shut down, but the alien pushed him away and looked back to Scarface.
She refused to drink more, pushing her glass away, and Runt rose to his feet as his chair legs scraped against the floor. He marched around the edge of the table as Schaffer watched with alarm, coming to a stop beside Scarface, at head height to her as she sat on the deck due to their difference in stature. He seemed more nervous now, his tail flicking indecisively again, but then he appeared to steel himself and his brow furrowed. She cocked her head at him, then he reached out and took her face in his hands, Scarface tensing as a look of drunken determination crossed his face and he pressed his lips against hers. Schaffer waited for her to swipe at him with her claws and reward him with some scars of his own, but the blow never came, instead she leaned into the smaller male and Schaffer watched as their oversized, pink tongues entwined. He had never seen her kiss anyone besides him before, and he felt a pang of jealousy as the two aliens pressed together, Scarface wrapping an arm around Runt’s lower body and pulling the smaller male into her. His excitement was obvious, unable to contain himself as the huntress explored his mouth with her long, winding organ. She squeezed him against her plush body, letting his hands roam over her furred face, Runt’s eyes closing as he lost himself in her forceful embrace.
Their union lasted for a few more moments, Runt seeming to relax as it dragged on, then finally Scarface broke away and rose to her feet. She scruffed him by the back of the neck, like a mother cat catching an unruly kitten, and lifted him off the floor to let his feet dangle in the air. She planted her other hand on her wide hip, scowling at the little alien as he hung there impotently, his tail limp and his demeanor now submissive again. She didn’t seem angry, just annoyed, but Schaffer could see that the whiskey was doing its work on her too. Even one glass was enough to intoxicate her despite her impressive size and weight, Borealan biology being completely unsuited to such strong spirits.
She placed Runt back on his feet, and he went scurrying over to Schaffer once he was free of her hold, shivering and burying his face in his human friend’s jacket. Schaffer scratched his head apologetically, trying to calm him.
Did Runt have a thing for Scarface, then? Once the alcohol had stripped him of his inhibitions he had gone straight to her, conflicted about what he was doing, but obviously determined none the less. Maybe it wasn’t only that the little alien wanted Schaffer all to himself, maybe he was jealous of the relationship his peers shared as well. Scarface watched them both, her eyes narrowing as she schemed, then she lifted her shot glass from the table and downed the last of her bourbon. She marched around the table and snatched Runt out from beneath the safety of Schaffer’s jacket, taking him by the scruff again and lifting him off the floor with one hand. Her other hand found Schaffer’s arm, taking a firm grip and guiding him out of his seat, steering him towards the door.