X
When the air grew colder and her numbed hands became as ice, she tucked them into the hollows beneath her arms. It helped a little. The winds had not ceased howling; abruptly they changed direction, driving snow around and into her, and not for the first time Ineseu regretted leaving her cloak behind. Of light material its purpose was to stave off spitting sand and preserve cleanliness, not warmth, so she could not have foreseen its usefulness. The flakes spun and arced with the winds' encouragement; where they met mesh, hot white sparked the air and cold spots dotted her skin before warming again.
Her little one was bittersweet company. Once in a while, he or she- Ineseu did not know- planted a swift kick into the walls of her stomach. She was glad of this, glad the small life thrived, but its tiniest movement was a stabbing reminder of her circumstances...and her failure. Oftener there were no kicks and her stomach was still. Then even pain eased its assault and she was glad of this too.
Soon the apices of stunted vegetation straggled into view, the dying and dead stalks a gloomy addition to the bleak landscape. She found the monochromatic landscape disorienting and looked back to the ship; already it was dwarfed with distance. The hills on the other hand yielded not an inch.
She estimated that no more than an hour had passed since she had set forth, but in any case it was not long before she made the welcome discovery. The land was not so barren after all. The winds brought the scents of life astir and muzzles bobbed from the snow, dark eyes peering above, but always they were gone in a flick of scattered flakes before she could sight a clear target. She watched them burrow into the snow, frustrated. They were so small. When an area looked likely she diverted to range for food in that direction, but finding nothing turned back with head bowed before the wind, towards the hunched shape that summoned her as a beacon.
Once a line of several, clawed prints marred the snow and she turned aside to follow the winding trail for several yards. A circle of broken snow and half-frozen shreds of skin and bones were all that remained. She -her shame- fell to her knees to uncover and finish the predator's meal. What little it was. When nothing was left she moved on, trying to ignore the torment of a hunger fanned and unsatisfied.
She came to it almost in a haze, having observed only that the hunched shape was growing in size, appropriating new dimensions to itself. Hard planes appeared through even the reaching shadows- then she was there. She looked on it from a guarded distance, her relief mingling with wariness and disappointment. No wall defined its boundaries, no stela trumpeted victories. She had not known what to expect, but surely there should have been more—something that spoke of a greater significance she hadn't been able to help attaching to it. She saw now how foolishly optimistic she had been.
It was a building, flanked on either side by smaller versions of itself. Squat and ugly, they seemed torn from an uncivilized time, before her kind had set to raising skyscrapers of metal and stone. Nothing about them suggested how they had gotten there or why. Yet for all that they were a stamp of intelligent life on the desolate landscape and she crouched though the action was largely reflex; there was nothing to give cover.
A metallic covering folded over the jutting trusses of the largest building. Where its two halves did not rejoin to peak, the covering lay ridged and flat. The four opaque windows embedded in the facing wall were smaller and cruder than what she knew, but their purpose was unmistakable. This was a dwelling. Drift piled everywhere, but here the snow was scraped away to make a crude path to the low door and her eyes narrowed. Whoever had built this had been here, perhaps not so recently—already the path lay partly under new snow- but she glanced around suspiciously. Was she seen? Were eyes unseen upon her even now? At any moment, surely she would be beset.
She waited. Leaning with an arm propped lightly on one knee, she feigned interest in the buildings that had so disappointed her. Did not betray that inwardly she had tensed. Better that they not suspect she knew...
But the minutes ticked by without incident.
She let her eyes wander the area a second, third time, and still nothing came rushing out in the attack. Gradually, she began to relax. The snow in which she knelt made a surprisingly comfortable cushion. During her time with the females she had skimmed treatises on off-planet worlds out of boredom; none had remarked on the softness of snow. And it would be so easy to remain there, to turn to sleep as she had before...
Ineseu stiffened. Where had that thought come from? That was a mistake befitting an untested Warrior. Not she. And a fool she would be to simply sit and let herself starve, waiting docilely for an enemy that might never come. She took her feet, trying not to sway though the sudden movement made her blood surge strangely.
Feeling uncomfortably exposed, cloaked though she was, she approached and after some thought her hand moved to the gauntlet to command its deactivation. It was a powerful technology but unperfected, prone to shorting entirely when exposed to damp or firepower. Just as inconvenient a consequence was the marked corruption of invisibility after extended periods. A wise Warrior learned not to rely on it for stealth. Whether she was cloaked did not seem to matter anyway. She was alone. The land's disturbing aura of desertion was settled here as well and the only sounds were her own footsteps muffled in the snow. The silence fell uneasy on her because it was an unnatural one; the strange structures were proof of that. Who had built them- and where had they gone?
In circling she found what she would have otherwise missed. Behind the building a wire enclosure rose, some feet high. In the same moment that a musk carried on the air, dry and grimy -something uncurled from beneath the snow...
She pedalled back, wrist already flexing smoothly, exerting pressure enough to spring the blades from their guard. Ready, she watched to see what the snow would reveal.
An animal. Four-legged, lean, and grey. It regarded her briefly then its elongated mouth yawned agape, baring crooked teeth that flashed ivory. Food. Ineseu's breath stopped...then came quick and ragged. Its head did not come to knee level- her hunt would need continue- but for all she knew the unlikely looking beast was the largest of possible prey on this world. She should be cautious...wanted to...but her hand was reaching for it before she sucked in an angry breath and drew back, realizing what she had almost done. Bending to the snow she scooped up a handful and threw it against the wire. The animal scrambled away but nothing else happened and Ineseu tapped the wire with a wary nail. She smiled then. A sturdier barrier would not have kept her away and this one was not even electrified. She would feed. At last...
The animal regarded her uncertainly, a sentiment she mirrored when a second emerged, shaking the snow from its fur- then another, and another. The last materialized from a low tunnel at the enclosure's end. She looked at them with surprise. One pushed its muzzle into the wire and sniffed. She brought the blades up in a silent warning and it cocked its head inquisitively at the motion. It whined: the sound was not hostile or fearful and she rumbled, surprised again. The animal did not look capable of defending itself yet it was not afraid. None of them were. A second took a few tentative steps forward, its head and body lowered in submission. A slender chain snaked through the snow behind, pulling taut at full length. She realized then that it was tethered by the neck. The strange-looking animal was domesticated. Or captured.
Ineseu cocked her head. "Smart beast," she observed but frowned, her eagerness dying away and contemplation taking its place. She wanted them. But she was certain now that this was no deserted camp. A single animal she could dispatch, swiftly and silently, but six? It would take the cry of only one to draw their unknown caretaker. Such a battle she was eager to avoid. Its outcome she had no way of foreseeing, underpowered as she was in body and weapon, and unknowing of the enemy she faced. But what other choice did she have?
She moved to scale the head-high barrier, her hands wrapping into the wire for leverage- then a scent came, borne on the wind and faint over the animals' cloying musk, but instantly compelling. Puzzled she paused, struggled to decipher it. When understanding came she whipped her head to the source and drank it in hungrily. Blood. Not fresh, but meat. Meat already killed by hands other than her own. Meat that could not betray her with its death cry...
She strode away without a backward glance; the animals tumbled over each other to follow along the enclosure's length. The one tethered curled back into the snow, settling head to foreclaw with a huffing sigh. The scent emanated from a smaller building set on a low, rounded dune fifty feet away. The only way in was a metal door, set within a recess and secured to the frame by forged bits of metal. She studied the obstacle briefly, then with a swift downward slash of blade, severed frame and metal. The door's snub handle resisted her efforts and she took that off as well.
A hard kick opened the door inwards and she stepped through, surveying the single dark room warily. Three tiers of shelving ran around the crude walls, set with bottles and sealed jars, but she had no eyes for these, her attention locked onto strips of meat suspended mid-air on thick hooks from a ceiling she could not see. The meat was frozen solid, but at the sight the last vestiges of her control vanished. This close, she smelled traces of a slight chemical odor. A flavoring or preservative perhaps; no one in their right mind would poison their own food. The smell was not exactly pleasant, but neither was it disagreeable.
She had borne much, Ineseu thought breathing hard; she could bear this as well. Already her hands were moving to her face, removing the mask that permitted her to breathe the noxious air. It was the last thing remaining between her and this small mercy.
She fell upon the meat.
X
The house was still, the level calm undisturbed by the soft dripping of perking coffee and low hum of the fridge. The other appliances slept, unplugged to shield against lightning strike. The weakened sun poured its light through the den windows, the only ones not yet shuttered.
Stretched out on the too-short couch, Michael Whisler shifted without noticing that he was uncomfortable; his attention focused on the screen perched precariously on his stomach. His face lighted in the machine's artificial glow, his brow pinched in concentration. Only when the percolator's distinctive spurting ceased and the silence increased twofold did he finally drag his eyes away. Setting the laptop down he padded across the section of the lower level that functioned as a living area. In the darkened kitchen he flicked on the light over the stove and set the ancient coffee maker aside.
It was too late for caffeine, already past four in the afternoon. But that significance blurred in the face of a compromised circadian rhythm. Perpetual twilight made it easy to pass most of the day hours in drowsing sleep—which in fact he had the day before. With one hand Michael poured himself a mug; with the other he scribbled a note to himself to add coffee to the rotation of supplies he picked up on quarterly trips into town. He moved back to the couch, blowing perfunctorily on the hot liquid and his face twisted into a grimace with the first sip. The brew was stale and bitter; he found it difficult to keep coffee fresh. There was no one but himself to drink it, and some inevitably turned rancid before he could go through the formidable quantities he felt obliged to buy to make it worth his time and gas. Vaguely he thought about scratching the addition off but shrugged after a moment. He liked his coffee.
Setting the mug down he turned back to the aerial map depicted in spider fine detail on the NOAA site. The agency's projection was that the storm would sweep in from the Bering Sea sometime around five, battering the coastal communities as it worked its way inland: Kotzebue -at a few thousand residents the largest town for several miles- then many of the smaller villages scattered to the north and east, including Noatak, the nearest village of any size. It would not be too long after that before the storm crossed the thirty-five miles from Noatak and headed his way.
Mentally he skimmed through the preparations he'd made. They weren't many. This was the bush, and even on a good winter's day he kept the house stocked and battened down. Wrapped cuts of hare, ptarmigan, ground squirrel and sealed bags of fruit and vegetables crammed the top freezer. Most of the last migrating caribou had been tucked into the garage's stand-alone deep freezer since October. The remainder took space in the smokehouse because there was nowhere else to put it. The computer suddenly kicked into hibernation, plunging the room into grey shadows and Michael caught a glimpse of his reflection in the abruptly blank screen. He raked his fingers through his hair. He was overdue for a haircut; he'd have to squeeze one in somewhere among his January errands or cut it himself somehow.
Bringing the dogs in to hunker down was the only thing left to do, and was the one task to which he was least looking forward. They hated being inside. He wasn't too fond of the idea either. When a January ice storm had been bad enough to bring them in, they'd damn near sent him up the wall; clawing at the door, chewing whatever they could lay teeth on, shedding in prodigious amounts everywhere, and peeing and shitting indiscriminately- all the while howling miserably as if someone had died.
But, Michael thought, in a way something had. Friendly as the six huskies were they were working dogs, bred and raised to run. They'd lived all their lives outdoors. To be so unexpectedly confined must have been as a slow suffocation.
So despite the oaths he'd hurled at them throughout those two peaceless days and nights, he had sympathized.
What would he possibly have done with a life that mandated nine to five and bed at twelve?
X
How long had she starved, that eating could move her so strongly? How long? Ineseu tore away another sliver of the meat clenched in her hands. Her teeth met bone and after stripping it clean she tossed it away. The meat went down as a hardened lump in her throat but her eyes slitted in the warm trance of feeding; in the darkened room it made no difference.
Raging in the empty ship that had become a prison, she had recalled this pleasure with a clarity that ached. Tortured, she had relived a once feast- a great hall of tables, heavy with the weight of good things to eat. All washed down with good, strong drink that left her heady. Or had it been the lingering pride of a first Kill? That had been a great day, one to celebrate. That had also been a long time ago.
Frozen and unpalatable as the flesh was, it was better than even that fond memory because it was now. Raw meat was not her preference but under the circumstances it was a more than acceptable alternative. Eating it so would not sicken her -a hardy digestive system saw to that. But the single meal, gluttonous as it was, was not enough. She needed more, Ineseu thought. More of everything. More food. More time...The enormity of her need was staggering and she forced another mouthful down, though her stomach queasily protested the fullness. She did not know when she would eat this well again. Or at all. Well, time enough later to ponder the future, and what had gone wrong. To find blame where it belonged if she wished. Even if it lay with her.
How she had suffered -she who had never known hunger could be so merciless.
X
The dogs listened to the movements of the tall...human?...ears pricking higher with each sound.
Loyal to the trail, they knew the land as their own but staked claim on no part. So the thought of hindering its way had never entered their minds. They too loved freedom. It was none of their concern that its scent was as wild as theirs...
But their large leader -he of the white coat and blue eyes- was perplexed. He had been Good all day. He had not even tried to dig out to explore his kingdom, which he vaguely remembered being told was the reason he had been tied up. Yet he had been passed by without even a friendly word of acknowledgment.
He sniffed the ground to soothe his wounded feelings. When he could no longer bear being ignored he lifted muzzle and yowled, reminding all within the sound of his voice that he was there.
Catching on to the new game at once, his teammates joined in.
X
Receipts...bills...
Michael rifled through the haphazard stack of papers, pausing over a creased yellow slip though he was reasonably sure it wasn't what he was looking for. He unfolded it anyway. It wasn't. What it was turned out to be a receipt for the oil delivery he'd received a couple of weeks before. Just over sixteen hundred dollars for 250 gallons. He flinched although, really, he hadn't forgotten and knew better anyway. It would last the winter and a short time into spring but seeing the figure on paper all at once was a shock. Solar tiling—expensive to install but cheaper in the long run- supplied much of the house's energy during the summer months, but when summer passed into the cooler fall months and the hours of full daylight narrowed to as few as five, output understandably dipped. At full capacity the battery bank was good for ten days, but two generators made sure of it: an Arctic winter without heat was a miserable death sentence. The matter of riding it out was a predictable, cyclical crisis. Each year, families in the several nearby towns felt its pinch on their pockets-and hard.
Money was not something Michael lacked. Putting it that way sounded crass, he thought frowning, but there it was. He never bothered to tell himself he didn't deserve it. The fact was no one, sainted or damned, deserved money so tainted. There were worse things to feel guilty about anyway.
But still he had not been able to help feeling inexplicably melancholy the day he ran into town, and watched a woman bite her lip before a grocery shelf before sighing and moving away. On a whim he'd offered to buy the peanut butter for the kid -it was only eight bucks. He'd regretted the impulse instantly, sure that she would take offense. Startled, but she'd smiled at him nicely enough with a quick glance at the toddler in her shopping cart despite herself -he could not help but see that fleeting glance. Her wistful expression had stayed with him on the long ride home.
He had still not found the elusive invoice when the silence was broken by a single, undulating howl. After a beat, it was joined in discordant union by five more. Michael bared his own teeth in a grimace and tried to ignore it but failed. Swearing he slapped the papers down and went to the back door. His first impulse was to attribute the dogs' unrest to an animal prowling nearby except oddly, they didn't sound distressed -only demanding.
He'd had good reason to indelibly learn the difference the previous summer, after what he thought of as the "grizzly incident". The half-ton bear had wandered near the house and after sniffing the dogs' pen for ten minutes hadn't made up its mind to leave, its attention fixated on the worried animals. When the bear eventually began to shake and pull at the wire Michael had taken quick aim from the garage window where he'd been watching. The bear took three shots to the chest and flank from the 12-gauge before going down. He had cautiously approached and looked at the huge carcass with wonder and pride. It had been his first bear.
He twisted his wrist now to check the time. Just a little after five. Well, he'd put off the hated task as long as he could. In the hallway he added a heavy parka to his blue sweater and running pants, and pulled on snow boots over his socked feet, all the while keeping an ear out for the dogs. Better that they stop on their own accord before he went to them; he didn't want to inadvertently teach them to howl when they wanted attention. His forehead creased. Why they demanded it now was a mystery. They'd already eaten their one meal earlier that day and had long learned to be content with their own company when he wasn't around.
He moved into the kitchen and cracked open the shutters to look onto the enclosure. Only a silent, gray world met his eyes. The dogs were clustered near the south wall, unusual, but the yard was empty. Nothing. As he'd thought. Still, from habit so engrained he no longer needed try to remember, he grabbed the rifle propped by the door. The bush was equal parts wild and beautiful, and a firearm on hand had saved the life of more than one dweller before. In this land where wild creatures reigned as they had for thousands of years, it was a simple truth that one could be mauled in one's own backyard—the grizzly was proof of that old bush claim. If he hadn't learned that truth over the last three years then he'd learned nothing at all.
Three years...
Three years since he'd been first shown around the house by the eager realtor while its then owner -a retired chemical engineer of all things- looked on with barely a word. Stooped by the years but still wiry, Stephen Greene had looked askance at the tall blond outsider who'd seen his listing and chartered a plane out to have a look before anyone else did. Another bewitched transplant no doubt, with starry dreams of conquering the bush.
But Michael had asked the right questions, struck the right balance between independence and deference to the answers, and Greene's skepticism had faded enough for his conscience to let him make the sale. He hadn't wearied of the hardy life, Greene (call me Steve) explained. Who could? But sadly he was too old. After eleven years of the bush he was returning to civilization to finish retirement in relative comfort with his son and daughter-in-law in Anchorage. The house itself was splendidly outfitted; solar panel tiling, two generators, indoor plumbing and sunk well, a sizeable greenhouse -and satellite hookup.
A rich man's simplicity had been Michael's uncharitable thought when he first saw the plain two-story and thirty-three acres for himself. But he too wanted its reassuring solidness—and isolation. Steve drove a stiff bargain for the house but asked no price for the dogs. He could have adopted them separately into town families he said, but wanted them to remain together as the team that they were -to live the lives they were meant to have. Growing more emotional by degrees, Steve praised the dogs' stamina, intelligence and speed on the trail. And unnerved by the dampening eyes of a man old enough to be his father Michael had hastily agreed.
That May the ice on the frozen Sound broke up, and a barge anchoring in the Kotzebue harbor brought with it the snowmachine Michael had ordered three weeks before. It came to the house towed behind one of the loudest ATVs he had ever heard.
Though Michael had not really wanted them, the dogs came in genuine use during summer and fall months for hauling back the occasional large game. More often than not he harnessed them up simply to give them exercise, and for the secret pleasure of watching them run in the traces as the land rushed by.
He went to bring the dogs inside.
X
A/N: Ok, I glitched somewhere. I'll leave off the author's note until I figure out what I did.
Edit: So- after some months I present the gist of the note I originally intended, which was to acknowledge the inadvertent assistance of authoress syverasazyn in navigating a tricky (for me) point. Her Jack -the stalwart canine companion of Lex- helped inspire my 'guess' of what might go through the head of a dog making the acquaintance of the alien, humanoid kind.
Also didn't hurt that I found out huskies are notorious for making poor watch dogs...
And! I discovered post chapt-posting, that 'Nature of the Beast' is the title of a 1995 thriller starring...(drumroll) Lance Henriksen! Kismet!
