Windfall

The meat would not last another day, so they ate all they could, and made sure Bob the cat had his fill. Cassie noticed right away that flower child wasn't very eager to continue work on the shelter, but she'd just have to suck it up. She seemed alright, but she'd have to pull her weight, they couldn't afford to be lazy or turn their noses up at some jobs. If the weather conspired against them, they could easily die of hypothermia or exposure without decent protection, and even the long-term plans couldn't wait. Sure, the seeds she'd sown would start popping their first green stalks out of the ground in a day or two, if the instructions on the seed packet were to be believed, but it'd still take a week or two for the plants to actually bear anything resembling edible produce.

As the two others worked – one with more enthusiasm than the other – Cassie took another look at the prisoner. Her ankles and wrists had been tied to the board of the shelter with the climbing rope they'd found in one of the survival kits. As she began changing the woman's bandage, the patient's eyelids fluttered.

"Hey… you awake?" Cassie said quietly. "Can you hear me?" Then she realized she was probably talking gibberish to this woman, who doubtless spoke some kind of strange language.

"W… water…"

Cassie needed a minute for her brain to process the word and realize it was Terran. How was this even possible? The chances of a civilization, or even lone human beings, living here for so many years and actually having a language even remotely similar to Terran was astronomically small. Then how did she –

Of course. Cassie only realized it now. They must not have been the only people who'd crashed. More longsleepers would have hit the planet surface, not just theirs. This was probably another passenger on the same ship they'd been on. They'd never known each other, after all, just packed on board a ship, most because they'd been selected in some kind of raffle or lottery. Others, like herself, purposely selected in gratitude for services rendered to their home nation.

That also meant there were others. Others who might be hostile – and unlike this one, actually capable. Maybe even organized. If Cassie had learned one thing from the old movies she'd watched during her free evenings on the ship, it was that in the case of a world-ending calamity, or a brave new world scenario, some people tried to rebuild their old civilization, while others let their selfish instincts, previously restricted by authority, run free and form raider groups. It might be a bit fanciful to think there were enough people on this planet to form an actual raider group, but it wouldn't hurt to be prepared either. Or at least keep the possibility in mind.

"I'll get you some water, hold on," she said, and went to fill a tin of the water they'd boiled during breakfast.

"She's awake," she briefly let the others know as they worked on the new barrack, Larisa precariously and rather ineptly holding a wooden plank in the air as Chef tried to stabilize it and slide it into place. The barrack they were building was bigger than the first shelter, and work was progressing nicely. Chef had clearly learned from the first building. Larisa, well, maybe she had too, although it didn't look like it.

"Ah, right," Chef grunted, trying to keep the plank in place. "Need a hand? Is she violent?"

Cass chuckled. "She's too mangled and too tied-up to be violent. I'm gonna see if I can talk to her, see if she's reasonable."

"Sure, just… well, be careful."

"Absolutely."

Larisa further endangered the balance of the already-wobbling plank by briefly giving Cass a thumbs-up, and Cass couldn't help but grin and realize flower child could be adorable when she had her moments.

She sat down next to the prisoner and set the water tin to her lips, carefully letting a bit of liquid leak onto the prisoner's lips. Most of it just ran back out of the side of the girl's mouth, down her cheek, but still she swallowed in greedy gulps. "Not too much," Cassie said, moving the tin away and setting it down beside her. Not only was it dangerous to let a dehydrated person drink too much at once, but it might also be useful to make it very clear to this girl that she was alive only because they'd allowed it.

"Th… thanks," the prisoner rasped. "What… happened?"

She'd taken a pretty hard blow to the head from Chef's plank, so it wasn't surprising she didn't remember much. "You sneaked into our camp, traded punches with one of our people until we… neutralized you."

"Ow m… my hand, it… it hurts so much."

"Yeah, not surprising. We had to shoot you."

The girl's eyes briefly flared open, "You sh-shot me?" After this short burst of panic energy, her eyelids fluttered again and she slowly slumped back into her semi-conscious state, though she clearly tried to fight it.

"It's alright, it's um… just your hand. It'll heal." She felt herself make a doubtful face. "We hope."

"Why… shot me?" she slurred. "Can't… remember."

"You were attacking one of us and very likely stealing supplies," Cassie scolded. "Stuff we desperately need."

"Sorry… just… so hungry."

"Yes, well, maybe if you'd just asked – " Cassie began, but she stopped talking when she noticed the girl had slipped into sleep – or unconsciousness – again. She took advantage of the moment to undo the bandages on her hand for a quick look, but she didn't like what she saw. The remains of her thumb and forefinger looked like raw hamburger, the surrounding skin bright red, and yellow fluid oozing out of several places. The bandages were sticky, and as Cassie pulled them, strings of slimy gunk made translucent rope bridges. She only knew basic first aid, but she recognized an infection when she saw one. On her home world, an infection was a mere nuisance, but here, without proper medical care, this could very well be lethal. She'd have to consult the others about this, but for now, there was nothing more she could do except giving it time and seeing how it evolved.

Flower child came in, took a seed packet and left again, but before she went outside, she gestured in Chef's direction and stuck up a thumb. Right, he could handle the rest on his own. Better to sow things as early as possible.

There was little she could do for their patient, so she took her rifle and set out to patrol the perimeter again. The girl had shown no signs of being part of a group or even having friends nearby, but that didn't mean there weren't any. She picked some berries during her walk, greedily gobbling them down – the taste was divine, as was the feeling of the juice slowly trickling down her throat – but there were so many she could stuff her pockets full of them and still leave half of them hanging on the bush. It was reassuring to know there were berry bushes nearby. In emergencies, they could always resort to these for a quick boost of energy and for the quieting of grumbling stomachs.

As she swallowed the last of the sweet fruit, she looked up and saw another one of the animals she'd shot the day before. But then, she'd approached it carelessly, perhaps if she slowly moved up to it, making herself a bit smaller, the beast wouldn't bolt. Quickly, she tied one of the ropes into a lasso, then approached, very carefully without making any sudden movements. When she was a metre or ten away, the animal looked up at her, its jaw moving as it kept right on chewing the grass. Slowly, Cassie extended her arm, showing the animal the berries in her hand. She had no idea if these things like them, but it was worth a try. At the very least, the offering of a gift of any form might put the creature less on the defensive.

Slowly, she came nearer. Every time she moved a bit more quickly, the animal tensed up, preparing to run. "Shhhh," she said quietly. "That's it, I just want to say 'hi'."

Just two metres away. The animal tensed up again and Cassie knew it had to be now or never. Just as the muffalo made to run, she threw the lasso, its loop catching the animal perfectly around the neck. With a loud horf!, the bovine pulled at the rope, jerking Cassie forward several times before it abruptly stopped, just standing there, looking at her. Keeping the rope in one hand, Cassie again held out the handful of berries. The muffalo's head came closer, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed the berries. A few sniffs and the head turned away. Alright, no berries for you. Fine. She stuffed the fruit back into her pocket and pulled a few handfuls of grass from the ground, trying again. This time, the muffalo did approve, again after a fair bit of sniffing. Cassie felt a modest surge of triumph when the beast took the grass between its lips, worked it inside its mouth, and began chomping.

She risked coming a bit closer, her fingers carefully touching the animal's muzzle. It felt coarse, but not unpleasant. It reminded her of the horses she'd petted when she was a child. "Shhh, that's right. Nothing to be afraid of. What do you say about coming to live with us?"

The animal didn't reply, obviously, but when Cassie gently pulled the rope, it didn't resist. All she had to do now was lead it back to the shelter and Chef's dream of drinking hot milk in the morning would be one step closer.

Agh, dammit! Every time Chef tried to fix the boards on top of the new, larger shelter, one of the side planks fell off because the supports in the corners weren't stable enough. If he had someone to help hold the structure more steady, he'd be able to get the roof done, but Cassie was gone to God-knew-where, while Larisa was once again scratching in the dirt a ways further, with Bob the cat intently watching her. He wasn't sure how much help she'd be, anyway. She had a sort of grudging good will, but her capabilities clearly lay elsewhere than building. So did his, for that matter, but unlike the two ladies, his skills were currently mostly useless.

He tried again, standing on a wooden block to get the board high enough, but again, the structure wobbled and he had to let the plank drop. He also didn't have enough hands to hold both the plank, the hammer, and the nail to fix it.

"You're doing that all wrong, buddy."

Chef jumped at the voice, stumbling off his wooden block and almost crashing down to the ground, just barely keeping his footing. A man had stood behind him, his hands in his sides, looking at the worthless excuse for a shelter. As Chef's heart settled down, he realized the guy wasn't hostile, or at least didn't look it.

"You can't just build a structure that big by wingin' it." The man nodded at the small shelter. "Tiny cabins, sure, you can just throw them together, but the size you're attempting, just hammering nails into boards and hoping it turns out okay isn't the way."

Trying to keep his startled breathing under control, Chef managed to ask," Wh… what do you mean?"

The man danced his fingers at Chef's dubious attempt at building. "You need to keep the boards on the walls together with dovetails. Here, look." He took out a welder-cutter of his own and grabbed one of the boards, cutting two notches into the end. Then he took another one, cut the same notches in it, and set the two boards together so they formed a corner, but with the notches catching into each other. "See? Much more solid, uses less nails, and keeps the whole thing together."

"Oh." Chef had no idea where the man, or his friendly-sounding bits of advice came from. It might be best to ask. "Sorry, but uh… where, I mean, how did you…?"

"Crashed longsleeper, just like you." He nudged his chin at the wrecked sarcophagi a ways off. "Glad to see some people survived. Was afraid I'd be stuck on this planet all on my own." He held out his hand. "Name's Squires. Terry Squires."

Still not entirely certain of the man's good intentions, Chef slowly took the man's hand and shook it. "Karl Johnson. Everyone calls me Chef, though."

He grinned. "Everyone, huh? All these people?"

"Well. The other two people I crashed with."

He seemed friendly enough, but he could have simply been trying to gain Chef's trust. Yet, somehow, Chef felt that this wasn't the case, not with any bad intentions at least. The guy had a friendly and open face, with blond hair combed back. His physique suggested he was a man who'd worked hard in his life, even though he looked to be only around twenty-five years old. Older than Chef, but certainly still young in a general sense. The roughness of his hands confirmed what Chef thought. This was a working man. Or had been before the space program.

"You uh, seem to know more about building than I do?"

He chuckled. "Certainly seems so, from what you've cooked up so far." His grin became wider. "Not trying to insult you."

"Oh no," Chef said, making sure to keep the conversation friendly. "It's horrible, I'm perfectly aware. I've been following this survival booklet, but…"

"Pft. They're trash when it comes to building. Good for whipping up a shelter while you wait for rescue, but for long-term things, no, you need to really know what you're doing."

"And you know what you're doing?"

"I should hope so," he said cheerfully. "Been building for the corporate sector ever since I subcontracted my father's steelworking enterprise to a megaconglomerate."

"Uh… okay." Chef wasn't really knowledgeable when it came to such terminology, but he assumed it was a good thing.

"Course I usually built with concrete and steel, but we did a lot of stuff with wood as well, you know, prestige projects." He noticed Chef's bewildered expression, and added, "But yeah, I can build stuff." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked around. "So. How many are you? Just the two of you? I assume that girl in the distance lives here too?"

"Uh… yeah. That's Larisa. She's mute, by the way. And there's Cassie, too. She's out watching the perimeter. Which um, she hasn't been doing perfectly, it seems."

"Right. Well," he said, yawning. "I'm kinda tired from scrounging for berries and eating bugs. Mind if I stay here? You can use a builder and I can use… well, a place to live."

"I'd have to talk to the others," Chef said, "But… I mean, sure, why not, I guess?"

If this man really had bad intentions, he wouldn't have gone through all this trouble. He was half a head taller than Chef and while he wasn't a hulking figure, it was clear that his strength easily dwarfed Chef's meagre physical prowess. If he was the violent or dangerous type, nothing stopped him from overpowering Chef and then having his way with Larisa. The fact that he suggested to join, rather than just braining them and stealing their stuff meant he'd at least be non-violent. And even though this sounded too good to be true, to have a professional builder amongst them, refusing him simply on a vague 'too good to be true'-basis would be madness. The others would have to agree though.

"Cool. I mean, I'd prefer not to spend my life on this planet lonely and miserable, in a well-built cabin but hungry and bored."

"Makes sense. But like I said, I can't promise anything, I mean, I'm not the only one here."

"Sure. While we wait, I'll help you get this thing built. Free of charge."

Without hesitation, the guy tore down the entire structure in a matter of minutes, then started over. He clearly hadn't been putting his money anywhere else than his mouth was, because he began work immediately, and much more efficiently than Chef ever could have. He quickly arranged the boards, cut notches in them, 'dovetails' he'd called them, and started building a solid floor after first measuring everything up and marking corners and walls. "You see," he explained as he worked, "most people start building right away, and then they waste time correcting their mistakes. But if you spend a few more minutes thinking and organizing, you're gaining loads of time in the long run because you're anticipating problems rather than reacting to them."

Chef could only say, "Uh huh."

The other man continued to explain, but pretty soon, Chef couldn't follow his exposé on construction anymore, but he was too embarrassed to say so. After a while, the guy stopped, laughed and said, "Sorry, I've lost you, haven't I?"

"… maybe just a bit."

With a grin, he said, "Go on, I'll take care of this, you don't have to stay, it'll be fine."

If he said so. He let the probable new colony member build and walked on over to the old shelter, which looked laughable compared to the new building that was being set up. He might as well go check on the patient, but he could see very little change in her condition. She was still unconscious, slowly breathing. Not much they could do but wait for her to come to. Chef hoped the girl wouldn't suffer a brain haemorrhage, as could supposedly happen after a hard blow to the head. If that happened, it was curtains for the girl no matter what.

No point worrying about something he couldn't change. He might as well make himself useful, and he knew how. There was a lot of scrap that could be salvaged from the wrecks of the longsleepers, and if he welded some pieces together, he might be able to build some kind of wood burner. Set that into a table, and he'd have a stove to cook some decent food on. Roasting meat above a campfire was unhealthy and inefficient. They had their tins, and they could be used for cooking as well as eating.

He walked towards the first longsleeper – Cassie's – and cut off six square-ish plates of metal. He welded five of them into an awkward-looking but serviceable cube with one open side, then sliced several air intake holes into one of the sides. The last bit of metal he turned into a lid, using the joints of his own mess tin lid so it could open and close. It'd probably belch smoke, but it'd work. Then he built a small table, set the cube into it and made sure to fashion the top of the table into a metal grill so the heat came upward and heated the tins above it, while the smoke went out the back.

It wasn't a gas-burner, but it would get the job done much better than an open fire.

"Chef. Chef, look!"

It was Cassie's voice. He turned around, the welder-cutter still in his hand, and saw her approaching, and damn it if it wasn't one of those muffalos trotting lazily behind her. She'd actually caught one, bless her!

She smiled broadly and called out, "I can tell by your face that you're thinking the same thing I am."

"If it's hot milk for breakfast, then I am!"

"We don't know if it's safe to drink or not," she said, close enough now to talk on a normal volume, "but it can't be toxic if we boil it, right?"

Chef was so happy to see the animal that he just shrugged and said, "Even if it could be, I'm still risking it. But uh, it's female, right? Because…" He bent over and saw an udder hanging between the beast's legs, with six bluish-pink teats prominently visible. He sure hoped those dispensed milk and not some kind of horrible goo. "Right. Can you milk cows?"

"I've done it once or twice, but I'm pretty sure flower child will be happy to take that job." She looked around. "Where is she anyway?" It was then she noticed the newly-arrived prospective colony member. "Who's that?"

"Oh yeah," Chef said. "Him. His name's uh, Squares or something. Just wandered in a few hours ago, said he was good at building but pretty terrible at finding food. Asked if he could say."

She put her hands in her sides and cocked her head. "And let me guess. You said yes?"

It was clear she was expecting an affirmative response, and Chef felt a bit insulted that she'd assume for him to be so naïve. "No, I said I'd discuss it with you two first. He said that was fine and that he'd keep himself busy in the meantime."

"Hm."

"I'm not an idiot, Cassie."

"Mm? Oh, no. No, sorry," she said hastily, realizing what she'd implied. "I didn't mean for it to sound like that, it's just… in my job, I learned not to trust anybody right away, and I've had some bad experiences with people who trusted others in my name." She didn't take her eyes off the new guy while she said it.

It was a sensible explanation, Chef supposed, but she'd still made it clear – consciously or not – what she thought of his decision-making capabilities. "Yeah, well, we're not at your job."

She hadn't even heard, looking at the man intently, gnawing at her lower lip. At length she said, "I'll go see what his deal is. If he's got bad intentions, I'll probably know within half an hour."

Chef didn't fail to notice that she took the rifle off her shoulder and held it ready as she walked down to the under-construction shelter. The new guy turned his head as she approached and raised his cutter-welder in a gesture of greeting, coming down from his roof framework. Chef observed them both for a bit. At first, Cassie kept a safe distance the rifle at the ready, but as the conversation progressed, she became less cautious, gradually lowering the rifle and closing the precautionary distance. Seemed she saw less reason to be distrustful as the conversation went on, so Chef went back to finalizing his stove design.

When he looked up again, Cass was walking back towards him. "He seems sincere. Couldn't catch him in any lies and his story was consistent. Too fluent and expansive to be rehearsed. I told him he could stay."

Chef had to stop himself from commenting on that last statement, and he merely stuck to, "Well, if you say it's alright, so do we, I s'pose."

"Yeah," Cassie said, missing the point of his remark entirely. "I think he's okay." She sighed. "So! Whatcha been making?"

In a way, he was glad to have something else to talk about. "Oh, right. Well, I figured, we can't keep cooking over an open fire like savages, so well… behold our cooking stove."

She laughed and said, "It looks functional, that's for sure."

"Hey, at least it's a step towards civilization. Now all we need is a functional dinner table and some chairs. Because eating without a table, that kind of discomfort can cause all sorts of destructive nervous breakdowns."

"Huh," Cassie noticed, looking towards the new shelter. "Seems flower child finally found someone she actually likes."

Chef followed her gaze and saw Larisa standing with Squires, laughing, at the door to the new shelter. Larisa bent over and threw something, then Squires pumped a victorious fist in the air and walked towards the wooden pin he'd driven into the ground, picking up the bent pieces of scrap iron they'd thrown at it. Bob the cat watched from the shelter doorstep with lazy curiosity.

"A game of horseshoes," Cassie remarked. "Some light entertainment to relieve the existential dismay of being marooned on a planet, an impossible amount of lightyears away, while we most likely slept through the day that the Sun expanded into a red giant and swallowed the Earth."

"Damn," Chef told her. "Way to make a harmless little game sound soul-crushingly awful."

She chuckled and said, "I'll play you when they're done. We should start a league or something." She walked down to the shelter, calling to Chef, "But for now, I'm going to build a horseshoe pin of my own, to keep this cow-beast from wandering off."

While Larisa stood intently petting the muffalo, Cassie held the long wooden pin in place for the new guy to hammer it in with a big chunk of granite. With the head sufficiently flattened, there was no risk of the rope sliding off the post, so the muffalo was secure in place, with plenty of slack on the rope to let it wander pretty much to its heart's content.

"Well, that's that," she said, looking up at the sky to estimate the hour. "Still time for me to go look for some food. I might still get lucky and find something to shoot."

The new guy grinned and said, "Can't say I'm not looking forward to a warm meal. A diet of bugs and roots gets old very fast."

Larisa pointed at the muffalo's udders and gave him two thumbs-up.

"Ah," he said to her, "hold on."

With the waste of the wood he had from the shelter-building, he quickly whittled three legs and a seat, hammering the whole thing together with nails, then holding it out to Larisa. "For successful milking."

With a smile, the girl took the stool and trotted off towards the muffalo.

What the Hell had just happened? Cassie found herself on her back, her eyes staring at the sky and her ears ringing. She felt several painful spots on her back and arms, bruises made when she hit the stony ground. Her head spun and thinking was difficult.

After a few moments, her vision slowly sharpened again and her brain began untying itself. She'd shot something… what had it been again? Some kind of… animal?

There was a smacking sound somewhere, but she didn't know where it came from.

She was still too numb to move, and just getting her thoughts in order was a challenge already. It was difficult to breathe, her lungs still sore from whatever it was that had buffeted her backwards. Her hands clawed for her rifle, her training kicking in and telling her to think about her safety first. Using it as a crutch, she got back to her feet, her head still spinning.

The smacking sound continued.

Focusing her vision, she saw a rather gruesome vista. Some kind of creature had been torn apart, seemingly from the inside out, torn meat and shattered bones radiating out in a grisly red sunburst on the dirt, the grass still smouldering. Her thoughts slowly clicked back into place. She'd shot the thing, a large furry mammal (probably?) with strange yellow growths on its back. And this had happened. Were these things explosive? It seemed so, unless her rifle had somehow loaded itself with HE rounds when she wasn't looking.

Wait, but… that wasn't all. She'd shot the thing in the torso, but it hadn't died right away. It had staggered and wobbled for a few more moments before falling over, while she approached. So that meant the bullet hadn't caused the explosion – it couldn't have. So how had the thing just blown into pieces right then and there?

Incomprehensible. Perhaps the yellow growths were laden with some kind of substance that reacted with the enzymes that came free in the animal's blood when it died. Was that even possible? Anything was, apparently, on this world.

It was only then that she became aware of the constant smacking sound. She turned her head to see where it came from, and a little further stood a four-legged creature, its head bent low, tearing strips of meat of the fragmented animal carcass, seemingly oblivious to her.

It sure looked like one of those dogs they used to keep in the colder climes back on Earth, a husky. When Cassie clicked her tongue to draw its attention (rifle raised, because you never knew), its head came up, its ears perked. Good sign, she'd learned in training. Ears flat, that was the opposite of a good sign. "Hey boy," she said to it, taking care to keep her voice soft and gentle.

The husky cocked its head, letting out a short, low-whine, which sounded inquisitive. The creature itself didn't look feral, either. It wasn't as groomed as domesticated dogs on Earth were, but its eyes were intelligent and expectant. Its tongue flicked out, lashed over its muzzle, and went back in.

It usually helped to appear less threatening, so Cassie went to one knee and slowly extended her hand. "C'mere boy, come closer."

The dog kept watching her, seemingly determining if she was dangerous or not.

Eventually it slowly took a step forward, then another.

"That's it, come on." Domesticating a dog would be immensely valuable, because unlike a cat, which really just served as company and caught small pests, a dog could actually be practically useful, guarding the shelter at night and keeping predators and the smaller varieties of four-legged thieves away from the camp.

The dog seemed to have determined that she wasn't a threat for now, so it came trotting towards her and pushed its shout against the back of her hand. She let it, knowing that in order to put animals at ease, you had to let them experience your scent. It was like reading the newspaper for them.

After giving it a few moments to sniff, she tried petting the dog's head, but it immediately recoiled and bared its teeth. "Whoa, easy boy," she said to it, extending her hand again. It came back to sniff, and this time she tried stroking the underside of its head rather than the top of its skull. That did the trick, the dog closing its eyes in contentment as Cassie's fingers scratched its chin. The animal permitted itself to enjoy Cassie's affections, and it didn't take long before Cassie knew she could stand up and let it follow her home.

Evening was falling, and she looked forward to a good night's sleep. She imagined, so did the others. She took a few scraps of torn and half-broiled meat along to make sure the dog would have every reason to stay with them, and began the hike back.