Fineprint Pt. 02: Republic

"Got it, how long do you think it will take?"

Ursi shrugged, a human mannerism she had amusingly picked up from Dennis.

"I cannot say, it is not uncommon for a hunt to take several days, and we do not know this land well, nor the prey that we track. We will take enough provisions to last us maybe three days, after that, if we have not succeeded, we will return and request advice from local humans."

Dennis nodded.

"Hurry back, ok? Watch out for predators, see, here..."

He gestured for the tablet and she handed it to him, then scrolled to the predators section.

"Black bear, and Siberian tiger." He pointed to the animals, and her eyes lingered on the tiger.

"It looks...like me."

"It's a big cat species, similar to your evolutionary ancestors. It's an apex predator, skilled in ambush tactics, very big, very strong. Even a Borealan shouldn't take any chances, if you meet one, kill it on sight. Bears aren't too bad, they'll mostly just run away unless their young are nearby. Just be careful, remember, this is an alien planet."

"You don't need to remind me."

Ursi retrieved traditional Borealan rifles and ammunition from one of the wooden crates that had been moved inside the longhouse, of the same kind Dennis had seen the Rangers use when he attended a hunt on Borealis. Long, large bore rifles that used black powder projectiles. It reminded him that although weapons and technology were being shipped en masse to Borealis, very few of them actually found their way out of Elysia. She took five of her pack members with her, setting off towards the distant mountains, laden with heavy backpacks that contained their supplies and equipment.

They marched through the snow, passing between the tall, straight trunks of the coniferous trees that made up the Siberian forests. The ground was uneven, dark rocks protruding from the snow, steep hills and inclines making the way treacherous, but to a Borealan in low gravity, the going was easy. Ursi led the pack, hopping deftly over the terrain, her rifle oddly light in her hands. The handling would be a little different, she would need to compensate. She swiveled her ears, keeping alert for any unfamiliar sounds that Earth animals might make. The smells were strange, alien, her nose would not be of much use in its untrained state.

They had been walking for most of the day, and the sun was getting low in the sky when one the pack members spied movement on a hillside, maybe a quarter mile away. He called Ursi over, crouching in the deep snow, trying to keep a low profile lest their prey spot him. They had no way to know how far or how well these animals could see. There was something moving on the hillside, something very large, it had four long legs, which supported a bulky, furry body, and there appeared to be branches growing from its head that split into prongs. It was hard to tell just how large it was due to the distance, but Ursi wasn't too interested in getting closer, not while it was alive, at least.

She rummaged for her tablet in her pack, and turned it on, scrolling through the list of animals trying to find a match. There, that was it.

"M-moose..." She mouthed, struggling with the pronunciation of the alien text.

"Good to eat?" Her scout hissed under his breath, the Polar dialect rolling off his tongue.

"Yes, I want to make the kill."

He bowed his head as the rest of the pack crawled up a short distance behind them, keeping low and observing the strange alien creature.

Ursi shouldered her rifle, rising to her knees get a better view. The animal was just wandering along the side of the hill, it didn't seem to be grazing, or doing much of anything at all. Where could it be going in this wasteland?

She dialed her telescopic scope, adjusting for range and bullet drop. The gravity was lower here, so the bullet should travel further, with less of a curve. She wasn't sure by exactly how much, she would have to eyeball it. She tapped her scout with her fluffy tail, getting his attention.

"Prepare a follow up, if I miss, take the shot."

He nodded and lay prone, resting his rifle in the snowdrift. It took him a moment to prepare, tweaking the range on the sight and shifting his weight.

"I am ready, my Queen."

Ursi fired, the impact rocking her shoulder back. The chemically propelled round flew from the barrel, the crack ringing out and echoing across the valley. The massive slug hit the moose below the shoulder, where she assumed the lungs would be, and it seemed that she was correct. The great animal lurched, staggering for a moment as it tried to flee, red blood poured from its mouth and nose, and then it fell, rolling a short distance down the hill. The pack whooped and yipped their praises, running forward to inspect the alien. They covered the distance quickly, leaping and bounding, reveling in the floaty gravity, then came to a stop around the felled animal.

Ursi prodded it with the butt of her rifle, it was indeed dead. What did such a massive animal eat out in this wilderness? What could sustain it? She would have to ask Dennis to read her more of the text when she returned with her prize.

"How do we carry it back?" One of the pack members asked, tugging at the horns experimentally, rolling the creature's giant head limply on its long neck.

"Try lifting it," Ursi replied. He hooked his claws under the animal and heaved, and was indeed able to lift it. It was awkward to carry, but not prohibitively heavy, and so two of the Borealans elected to drag it along between them. It was a good kill, but not enough to feed the pack, and so they continued on in search of the 'sheep' Dennis had told Ursi about. They definitely sounded more portable than this moose creature, though the smell of its blood pleased her.

Dennis stood in the center of the longhouse as the Borealans finished bringing in the furniture. The Russians had dropped it off by cargo shuttle, dozens of massive chairs, tables and assorted effects. The pilots had seemed quite frightened by the Borealans, despite Dennis' attempts to reassure them that they were quite tame and harmless in his limited Russian. They wouldn't stop muttering 'tigr' under their breath, it required no translation. When all of the plastic furniture had been discarded in the snow, the shuttle had left, hurrying back in the direction it had come.

He appraised the new furnishings that now decorated the space, the gaudy, brightly colored plastic in shades of yellows and blues clashing horribly with the rustic, traditional timber design of the building. It would eventually be replaced, but for now it would provide the seating and work spaces they needed to get the fledgling colony off the ground.

Now the Borealans could sit on stools, and lie down on bed frames, they could store equipment and objects on shelving units and tables. The longhouse was finally livable, and Dennis had added one last item to the list that Ursi had given him, a communications suite, not dissimilar to the one he had taken to Borealis, along with the solar panels and portable battery required to power it. All they needed now was a steady supply of food, and the Navarin could finally leave.

The Borealan diet consisted mostly of meat, with a smattering of cereals and gourds here and there. Based on his time on the homeworld, he knew from experience that there was nothing they ate that he could not, but he might need to ship in some dietary supplements if he intended to live with them indefinitely. Hell, a bottle of barbecue sauce would go a long way to making their diet not just palatable, but downright tasty. The aliens favored savory, oily meats, unlike humans they had no sweet tooth and their condiments consisted of their favorite oil, refined from meats, fish or plants carried around in little spray bottles.

There was no sign of Ursi yet, she must still be hunting, and so as the Borealans broke open some more of their crates that had been scattered around the longhouse, retrieving mattresses and blankets for use on their new beds, Dennis elected to return to his cabin on the Navarin to sleep.

Dennis lowered the heavy axe he was using to chop firewood, and shielded his eyes from the sun, looking out over the snow at the advancing figures. Ursi's hunting party was returning, they were carrying what looked like a whole damned herd of sheep, and one gigantic moose. He lay the axe down against the log pile and waded through the snow to meet her. Ursi was carrying two sheep, one over each arm, and a third was strapped to her pack. The other five Borealans were each carrying two or three more, and two were dragging a moose carcass between them. Dennis couldn't believe the size of the thing. He had never seen one up close before, it looked to be about seven feet tall at the shoulder, and had to weigh at least fifteen hundred pounds.

"The victorious hunter returns!"

Ursi smiled at him, adjusting one of the dead sheep on her shoulder, its head hanging limply from its neck.

"Did the Russians deliver the furniture?"

"Yes, it's all set up and ready to go, the longhouse is fully operational."

"Good, we can start preparing the meat right away."

Dennis trailed after them as they entered the longhouse through the main door, and after a moment of searching for a suitable surface, piled their prizes on some of the tall, Borealan sized tables. The pack members who had remained behind crowded around on all sides, getting a look at the strange, alien animals they would be dining on.

Ursi and a few of her people got to work immediately, retrieving massive, sharp knives from storage and beginning to gut the animals. She had Dennis hold her tablet and stand nearby, giving instructions concerning the anatomy of the creatures and how best to prepare them for cooking. The smell was foul, and a couple of unlucky Borealans were tasked with attempting to carry out the masses of gelatinous, stinking guts and dumping them outside, their white fur stained crimson. They were meticulous, keeping the tongues, the hearts, livers and kidneys, and even piling some of the thicker bones in order to make use of the marrow. They diced most of the organs, forming them into patties, then bagged them and packed them in snow for later use.

They skinned the animals, careful to keep the pelts intact, washing off the blood with handfuls of snow brought in from outside, the runoff draining into the dirt floor. It took them a while, but eventually all that was left of the moose and sheep were slabs of raw meat, the pelts hanging from hooks in the rafters, and the antlers of the moose, which Dennis had advised they keep. All of the inedible organs and bones had been discarded outside, to be disposed of later.

The moose meat was dry and lean, not very palatable to Borealans, and so they elected to make jerky out of it, cutting the veritable mountain of moose meat into strips and hanging it on metal hooks above the roaring fires, intending to smoke and dehydrate it for storage.

The mutton was ideally suited to the Borealan palate, fatty and oily, the pack crowded the table, licking their chops like hungry dogs at the prospect of eating such succulent, fresh meat after subsisting on dried rations for so many days. Before long all three fires were crowded with roasting mutton and drying moose meat, and the aliens had moved some of the long tables, spacing them between the fires along the center of the room to create a dining area.

When the meat was ready, the pack pulled up stools to the dining tables, and the food was served. Ursi got the first pick, and selected what meat she thought Dennis might like, then the pack dug in. Having no use for plates or cutlery, they hooked great slabs of meat with their claws and ate it off the table, tearing into the flesh with their sharp teeth. Dennis still carried the silverware with him that his secretary, Xhe, had given him as a gift during his stay on Borealis. He cut the mutton into edible chunks and chewed, the meat was fatty and juicy, and although Borealans rarely seasoned their meats in a way that a human would appreciate, he was becoming accustomed to the more savory flavors their cooking brought out. A few of the Borealans used their small, portable condiment bottles to spray the meat, coating it with their favorite oils to enhance the flavor.

It still shocked Dennis just how much the Borealans could pack away in one sitting, and the Polars were worse yet, the already husky aliens needed to maintain their insulating fat reserves, and their harsh environment of origin surely played a part in their apparent greed. He was sat next to Ursi, who was chewing happily, juices dripping from her lips and staining the fur around her mouth. She was a mess, the fur on her hands and forearms still stained with red blood from preparing the kills.

"I take it you like the mutton then?"

She nodded enthusiastically, her mouth too crammed with meat to articulate a reply. The sheep was a hit, the Borealans seemed to love it, the fifteen wild sheep they had brought back from their hunt had been almost completely demolished already. Ursi had eaten, at least by Dennis' estimates, almost two entire sheep herself. Her belly was distended now, her usual paunch filled out by the sheer mass of the food she had eaten. She looked like she was trying to smuggle a watermelon under her clothing.

"Don't fill up too fast, I have a surprise for you," Dennis said, rising from his seat. Ursi watched him with interest as he walked across the room and retrieved a large cardboard box. He dropped it heavily on the table before her, and some of the Borealans stopped eating to have a look, their ears flicking curiously. He opened the lid and pulled out some white styrofoam packages, placing them one by one before Ursi. "When I sent out the furniture request, I also asked for them to send us a sampling of traditional and modern Russian dishes. I thought you might like to try some human food."

Her eyes lit up as he opened one of the containers with a puff of vapor, the food within kept warm inside the insulated packet. She sniffed, drawing the rising steam into her feline nose.

"What is it!?"

"This one looks like," Dennis leaned over to read the packaging. "Beef Stroganoff. This is meat, in a sour cream based sauce, with pasta. That's made from refined grains. Should all be safe for you to eat, and the dish is savory. Please use cutlery though, don't get this sauce all over your fur."

He handed her a plastic fork, and she took it clumsily in her giant hand. She prodded experimentally, skewering a piece of beef, dripping with white, creamy sauce, and brought it to her mouth. She chewed, careful to savor the taste, then swallowed. After a brief delay she picked up the container and dropped the rest unceremoniously into her mouth, chewing enthusiastically, the human sized portion little more than a mouthful to her.

"It's good!" She growled, licking her lips with her long tongue and eyeing the waiting containers greedily.

"There are MREs in the box back there," Dennis said, gesturing behind him. "Enough for your pack to each try one it looks like. I don't think I really conveyed what I wanted them to send very well, they might have assumed we were having trouble finding food."

Ursi relayed this information to her pack, and several left their seats to rummage through the box, coming back with armfuls of Russian military MREs and distributing them between the aliens. They used their claws to pry open the camouflaged plastic packaging, some of them tipping open the boxes contained within, small packets of salt, sugar, water purification tablets, matches and all manner of things spilling across the table.

"Hey, tell them to keep that stuff," Dennis said to Ursi, "I can use a lot of that."

Ursi barked an order and the aliens began to pile the packets in the middle of the table indiscriminately.

"Oh damn it, they're never going to figure out what half of this stuff is, hell, I can't read Russian, I don't know myself. Ursi tell them to wait, let me identify what they can eat first."

One of the Borealans bit into a salt packet, and spat unhappily. Ursi translated for Dennis, and so they stopped, watching him as he searched through one of the boxes. It wasn't just food, there was all kinds of survival gear, plastic spoons, dry fuel for starting fires, seasonings like pepper and salt, coffee packets, energy bars, enough to last Dennis, as the solitary human inhabitant of the colony, months or even years.

He identified some food the Borealans could eat, and demonstrated how to open the tin containers. Goose liver paté, cheese, canned grits, processed meatloaf, and even some potato salad. Dennis opened the next container for Ursi while the pack explored the MREs, struggling with the packaging and pulling out blobs of paté and processed meat with their fingers. This one was Pelmeni, dumplings filled with minced meat, it could be lamb or beef, he couldn't tell. He made sure she ate them individually, rather than dropping the entire container into her mouth. She was enjoying herself, chewing noisily and cleaning the residue from her fur with her long, textured tongue. Next up were chocolate covered prunes, a Russian delicacy, but they didn't appeal to Ursi at all. She sniffed them warily, then declared that she wouldn't eat them. She tried a sip of Borscht from a styrofoam cup, a sour soup made from beetroot, but spat it out onto the dirt floor.

The Russians had even sent them fast food, probably ordered from restaurants near the ministry, and Ursi's eyes rolled back into her head as she ate an especially greasy, unpleasant looking cheeseburger whole. She licked out the box it had come in, raking at the oil and melted cheese that stuck to the cardboard with her tongue.

"Good meat..." She exclaimed, exhaling as she patted her belly.

"You ought to be careful what you eat," Dennis mused, chewing on a piece of roasted mutton as he looked her over. "Keep in mind that you're in a low gravity environment, you're going to be burning about thirty percent fewer calories compared to what you're used to, and it's not as cold as the polar territory so you'll be burning fewer calories keeping warm, and on top of that you're going to be losing muscle tone. If you keep eating as if nothing has changed, you're going to have problems."

"Worried your Queen will get fat?" Ursi teased, sinking her hand into the soft meat of her breast. Dennis blushed and looked away. "Funny, you can't seem to keep your hands off me when we're alone."

"I didn't say I didn't find you attractive, just that it might not be healthy."

She reached across the table and hooked another shank of mutton in her curved claws, dragging it across the plastic surface and sinking her teeth into it. She grinned at him through a mouthful of sheep, the juices wetting the fur on her chin. Dennis rolled his eyes and forked another piece into his mouth.

A few of the Borealans were chewing on some of the larger bones now, cracking them in their strong jaws in order to suck out the nutritious marrow within, surrounded by discarded MRE packets. There were still piles of meat to go around, Dennis felt as if the damned aliens could polish off a beached whale given large enough knives.

As the fires crackled and cast their orange glow around the longhouse, Dennis heard the crack of another crate being opened, and soon a Borealan was distributing small, fabric pouches and long, wooden pipes between many of the diners. Ursi took a pipe and one of the small satin pouches, opening the drawstring and emptying some kind of dried plant matter into the bowl at the tip. She struck a match, dipping the burning head inside and puffing as she lit it, exhaling grey smoke.