Fuzzy Nation

Chapter Eight

They were fuzzy, and it seemed like they were family, so for lack of a better description, Holloway called his five visitors “the Fuzzy Family.” And over the next couple of days he got to know them very well, because the Fuzzys decided they were moving in. There were five of them in total, and Holloway gave them names based on what they did and how they reacted to one another.

His original visitor was Papa Fuzzy, because it was obvious he was the leader of the little clan, the one who did the initial foraging and exploring and who had given the rest of the family the “all clear” to come down out of the trees and meet the human and the dog.

Holloway knew that if Isabel were already there, she would gently upbraid him about his patriarchal assumptions, starting with the assumption that Papa Fuzzy was in fact male. Holloway admitted to himself that Papa Fuzzy could very well be female, or something else entirely. Not every life system or life-form tracked precisely with the sexual divisions humans were used to. Hell, they didn’t even on Earth; Holloway recalled Isabel lecturing him about sea horses, and how the males had a “brood pouch” which female sea horses deposited eggs into, which the male then fertilized and carried around until birth.

It was informative in its way, but fundamentally Holloway hadn’t cared much about sea horses and brood pouches and whatever. He feigned interest because it had been early on in his relationship with Isabel, and he was hoping that after the lecture, there might be study hall. Eventually Isabel would figure out his I’m not actually listening look. That was one of their earlier problems, which never did get resolved satisfactorily. Which was, Holloway supposed, why he was now alone.

Well, alone with a dog and five little creatures he was now willy-nilly assigning gender and social roles. Holloway figured there was a way to check to see who was male and who was female, but he didn’t figure that was actually his job. A biologist would be on-site in a few days. He could wait. And if he had guessed wrong, he could change his mind. Just ask Carl about that. He’d originally been named Carla, after Holloway’s aunt, until someone pointed out his new puppy’s plumbing in greater detail. Carl had been Holloway’s first dog. This was the excuse he gave when people pointed and laughed.

So: Papa (for now) Fuzzy, leader and patriarch. Holloway watched him interact with the other fuzzys and wondered again at the thing’s intelligence. He was damn smart, as far as animals went. Definitely smarter than Carl, whom he had apparently entirely coopted, given that the dog had now taken to following Papa around the treetop compound, tail wagging. It takes a certain kind of dog to willingly demote himself from alpha dog, and that dog was Carl. Holloway would have to speak to him about it, for what little good it would do, Carl being a dog and all.

Holloway rummaged through his brain to find an equivalently smart animal. If he had to guess, he’d say that Papa Fuzzy was about as smart as a capuchin monkey, a comparison Holloway was qualified to make because he had an acquaintance with one when he’d first landed on Zara XXIII. A “cap” had been the pet of Sam Hamilton, another surveyor, who worked the territory directly next to Holloway’s. The rumor was the monkey might have been smarter than Hamilton, who was rumored to have children’s reading primers on his infopanel so as to catch up for a lifetime of functional illiteracy.

Whether that was true or not, the monkey was clever as hell and also a little thief; Sam was repeatedly and apologetically handing back people’s keys and wallets, although the latter were often missing the printed ZaraCorp credit scrip that surveyors used to buy supplies and to gamble with. Credit cards were also occasionally found to have balances lightened. No one believed the monkey was responsible for that. Holloway had had to have a talk with Sam about it at one point.

Now Sam and the monkey were gone: Sam hadn’t taken care of his skimmer very well and had made an unscheduled hard landing on the jungle floor after one of his rotors flamed out. Sam had never bothered to get himself an emergency perimeter fence; by the time a neighboring surveyor had gotten to his location, the only thing left of Sam and his monkey had been a trail of blood leading into the jungle. Sales of emergency perimeter fences doubled in the next week.

The more Holloway thought about it, the more he figured that Papa Fuzzy might actually be smarter than that monkey. For one thing, he and his family were still alive in the same jungle that ate that monkey whole. He was also smart enough to realize that hanging out with Holloway might be an easier life than avoiding the predators in the trees and down on the jungle floor.

Next in the Fuzzy Family hierarchy had been the fuzzy who had first come down out of the trees to greet Papa. This fuzzy was slightly smaller than Papa, and lighter—golden-haired where Papa Fuzzy was more of a deep tortoiseshell coloring, but with a darker face. She (another assumption, Holloway realized) reminded Holloway of a Siamese or Himalayan breed of cat. This fuzzy was clearly Papa Fuzzy’s companion; the two of them were often close together and seemed openly affectionate, petting and nuzzling each other frequently. Holloway was mildly concerned that it might go further than that and then he would be an unwilling witness to fuzzy sex, or something. But the two kept it in their metaphorical pants, at least when he was around.

In any event, this fuzzy seemed friendly and trusting of Holloway and Carl, mostly, Holloway assumed, because Papa Fuzzy was friendly and trusting with them. Holloway, in a burst of no creativity whatsoever, called this one Mama Fuzzy.

Next up in the fuzzy hierarchy was the gray fuzzy who was as large as Papa Fuzzy, but was a bit more stout and perhaps a step or two slower, both in speed and, it seemed to Holloway, in the brains department. This fuzzy was affectionate toward Mama Fuzzy but in a different way from Papa Fuzzy. If Holloway had to guess, he’d say that this fuzzy was Mama Fuzzy’s own father, given how they acted and responded to each other. Again, a complete supposition on Holloway’s part; it might be that he used to be Mama Fuzzy’s mate before Papa Fuzzy came around, and now he was accepting some sort of secondary role. The ways of fuzzy society were a blank to Holloway, truth be told. Regardless, he found himself tagging this third animal as Grandpa Fuzzy.

Part of the reason Holloway found himself referring to Grandpa Fuzzy that way revolved around what appeared to be Grandpa’s primary job, which was herding the final two fuzzys and keeping them in line. These two fuzzys were smaller and acted younger—more impulsive and heedless, as exemplified by the tendency of one of them to go up to Carl and jump on his back, attempting to ride the dog like a noble steed. Carl did not appreciate this and at one point nipped the fuzzy. The fuzzy batted the dog on the nose and then ran squealing, thrilled, as Carl tried to eat him. Holloway figured this one had to be the fuzzy equivalent of a teenage boy. His fur was blotchy patches of gray and black on white. Holloway called him Pinto.

The final fuzzy, golden and color-pointed like Mama Fuzzy, was as high spirited as Pinto but less obnoxious about it. Rather than trying to ride Carl, she would pet him and groom him and try to hug him whenever possible. Carl was a good sport about this but found it only slightly less trying than being ridden; it appeared that even this most gregarious of dogs eventually needed his own space. When that happened, Carl would gently shake off this last fuzzy and retreat to the cabin; his dog door was still keyed to his radio transmitter, so the fuzzys couldn’t get through without his permission. He’d slip through the door and hide for an hour or two.

This littlest fuzzy did not seem offended or upset by the abandonment. She would simply turn her attentions to Holloway and whatever it was he was doing at the moment. She was not as affectionate to Holloway as she was to Carl but would stand close to him and pick up the objects he was working on or with. Holloway made a note to himself never to try to do a jigsaw puzzle with this particular creature around. For all that, he found her pleasant company and, frankly, adorable. He started to call her Baby Fuzzy.

Papa, Mama, Grandpa, Pinto, and Baby—they made a cozy little family unit. Holloway couldn’t decide whether he had adopted them or whether it was the other way around. Actually he suspected that the family had adopted Carl, and that he was just sort of a bonus: the best darn butler a little fuzzy ever had. Holloway found this idea unaccountably amusing, which was perhaps one of the reasons he had accepted the invasion of his home and life by the little creatures in the first place.

Which was not to say there were not adjustments.

Holloway experienced the first of these the morning after the Fuzzys had climbed down out of the trees. Holloway had woken up with a monumental backache; after a few seconds he realized it was because he was twisted like a pretzel in his cot.

The cause for this was four of the five fuzzys unequally distributed across his blanket, including one Grandpa, much to his consternation, hogging his pillow and snoring lightly in his face. While he was asleep, Carl had let the Fuzzys into the house and they had climbed into bed with him, and Holloway shifted in his sleep to give them room, resulting in his current contortionist position.

Holloway raised his head off the pillow and saw Carl lying on the floor next to the cot. Baby Fuzzy had nuzzled into his side and was sighing contentedly in her sleep. Carl didn’t look terribly comfortable, either. He noticed Holloway looking at him and gave him a look with his eyebrows that said, Sorry, man. I didn’t know.

“Idiot,” Holloway said, and then dropped his head back down on the pillow.

Later Holloway was trying to work out the kinks in his muscles with a hot shower in the cabin’s tiny lavatory when Baby Fuzzy pulled aside the curtain and got her first glimpse of naked, soap-covered man.

“Do you mind,” Holloway said, mildly. He was not an exhibitionist, but being watched by a fuzzy while he showered didn’t trigger any modesty concerns. It was like your cat watching you while you got dressed.

Baby turned her head and squeaked. Five seconds later, four other heads peeked into the shower, watching the funny hairless thing doing its incomprehensible water ritual. Now Holloway felt vaguely uncomfortable.

“Are you taking notes?” Holloway said, to his audience. “You could all use one of these, you know. You don’t smell as adorable as you look. Especially you,” he said, motioning to Grandpa. “I woke up smelling your furry ass. You need an intervention, my friend.”

Carl poked his head into the shower, as if to see what he was missing. Holloway turned the nozzle on the lot of them and smirked as they scattered.

Breakfast was likewise an experience. The Fuzzys, sitting on the kitchen table, appeared to be bored with their bindi and were far more interested in the massive sandwich Holloway was making for himself.

“Don’t even think it,” Holloway said to them, as he spread the mayo and mustard on his bread slices. He held up a slice to show them. “You see this? In a week it’ll be gone. Then I get no more bread until I go back into town a month from now. Therefore: My bread. Not yours.”

They all stared at the bread, entranced, including Carl.

“Besides, this is an all-Earth sandwich,” Holloway continued, not caring that they couldn’t understand him any more than Carl could when he spoke to him. “Wheat bread. Mayonnaise. Mustard. Smoked turkey.” He placed said turkey on the bread, and then reached for the cheese. “Swiss cheese. It would probably kill you or rupture your intestines or something else absolutely horrible. Trust me, I’m doing you a favor eating it myself. That’s the sort of selfless person I am.” He closed the sandwich on itself and turned to put the ingredients back into the storage cooler.

When he turned back, Pinto was standing in front of him, eyes imploring.

“Nice try,” Holloway said. “But you’re not the cute one.” He picked up the sandwich.

Baby got up, walked over next to Pinto, and employed that same look.

“Oh, come on,” Holloway said. “That’s completely not fair.”

Baby walked over to Holloway and lightly touched his arm, eyes wide and pleading.

“Stop that,” Holloway said. “Your evil mystic cuteness has no effect on me.”

Baby wrapped her tiny fuzzy arms around Holloway’s arm and sighed, piteously and hungrily.

Two minutes later the sandwich had been sliced into six equal pieces, and each of the Fuzzys was enjoying its first smoked turkey and Swiss on wheat, chittering in delight with each bite. Holloway glumly looked down at his drastically reduced sandwich segment.

“Well, this sucks,” he said after a minute.

Sensing weakness, Carl walked up to his master, eyes full of hope.

“Jesus,” Holloway said. “Fine. Here.” He handed over the miniature meal, which went down Carl’s gullet in a single gulp. “I hope you choke on it. You’re all fur-bearing pains in my ass, you know that.”

Carl looked up, wagged his tail, and licked his lips happily.

*

Three days later a small, familiar skimmer landed next to Holloway’s larger one, and an equally familiar person stepped out of it, bearing a netted bag full of fruit.

“Hello,” Isabel said, to Holloway.

“Hello,” Holloway said. “Is that a huge bag of bindi, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Quite obviously, it’s a huge bag of bindi,” Isabel said, unslinging the bag. “You said to bring a lot.”

“I did at that,” Holloway said, taking the bag.

“I also brought a week’s worth of personal supplies and a tent,” Isabel said. “To make good on the promise that you won’t know I’m here.”

“You are allowed to sleep in the cabin, you know,” Holloway said. “The rainy season is about to start around here.”

“Modern tents are often waterproof,” Isabel said.

“I’ve heard,” Holloway said. “The offer stands if you change your mind.”

Isabel looked at him levelly. “You know I’m seeing someone,” she said.

“I heard,” Holloway said. “A lawyer or some such.”

“Yes,” Isabel said. “Just so we’re clear about that.”

“I said you could sleep in the cabin, not that you could sleep in the cot,” Holloway said. “Anyway, we can set Carl up as a watchdog. You’d be perfectly safe.”

Isabel looked around. “Where is Carl?” she asked.

“He’s in the cabin,” Holloway said.

“Are you keeping him in there so he doesn’t scare away those creatures?” Isabel asked.

Holloway smiled. “Not exactly,” he said. “Come on.”

He walked her over to the cabin window. “Look inside,” he said. “But move slowly and as quietly as possible.”

Isabel looked at him quizzically and peered through the window to see the Fuzzy Family on the floor, looking at an infopanel propped up by the books on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. Carl was lying next to Baby, dozing.

She drew back quickly, putting her hand to her mouth to muffle a gasp. Then she turned to Holloway. “Oh my god,” she said. “There’s an entire family of them.”

“Yeah,” Holloway said.

“Well, it might be a family,” Isabel said. “It could be some other sort of social structure.… What are you smirking about?”

“Nothing,” Holloway said.

Isabel carefully peered into the cabin again and frowned. “What are they doing?” she asked.

“I put on a movie to keep them occupied,” Holloway said.

“Do I want to know which one?” Isabel asked.

“An old science fiction movie called Return of the Jedi,” Holloway said, and shrugged. “It’s got some little furry creatures in it. Ewoks. I figured, what the heck.”

“Uh-huh,” Isabel said.

A small flurry of noises came from the cabin. The Fuzzys were hopping about excitedly.

“What’s that about?” Isabel asked.

“They like the scene where the Ewoks drop rocks on the bad guys,” Holloway said.

“You’re not at all concerned about teaching them bad habits, are you?” Isabel asked.

“They’re animals, Isabel,” Holloway said. “Really smart animals, but animals. I don’t think they’re going to make the leap from watching movement on an infopanel to dropping rocks on me from above.”

“It’s probably not a great idea for you to be domesticating them like this, either,” Isabel said. “You’re not going to be here forever, Jack. When you go, it’s not like you’re going to be taking them with you.”

“You say that as if you think I had a choice,” Holloway said. “I’d like for them to be a little less domesticated, actually. Then I might get a good night’s sleep.”

“They’re sleeping on the cot?” Isabel asked.

“Now you know why I’m not inviting you to it,” Holloway said. “It’s crowded enough. Last night I actually got up and slept in the skimmer. Anyway, they might be domesticating themselves, but at least this way you won’t have to wait to make their acquaintance.”

“How do you suggest we do that, incidentally?” Isabel said. “Have me meet them, I mean. I don’t want to frighten them or scare them off.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Holloway said. “They’re awfully friendly.”

“That’s not necessarily a good thing either,” Isabel said. “Animals that have no fear of humans have a very sad tendency to go extinct. Ask the dodo about that.”

“I understand that,” Holloway said. “But it’s not like I made them that way.”

“But what you’re doing isn’t helping them either, Jack,” Isabel said. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Tell them that,” Holloway said, and pointed to the window. Baby was there, looking out.

“God, that’s cute,” Isabel said.

Baby turned her head and opened her mouth. A few seconds later the entire Fuzzy Family was peeking out the cabin window.

“It’s like they were evolutionarily designed for adorability, isn’t it?” Holloway said.

“It really is,” Isabel said.

The dog door opened and Carl walked halfway through. Isabel called to him, but he stayed put.

“Is he stuck?” Isabel asked, puzzled.

“Wait for it,” Holloway said.

The Fuzzy Family piled through the door. When the last of them were out, Carl walked the rest of the way through and started toward Isabel, tail wagging furiously.

Isabel turned and looked at Holloway curiously. He shrugged. “I didn’t teach him that,” he said. Then Carl and the Fuzzy Family reached Isabel, and she was distracted by cute.

Holloway smiled and took the opportunity to head to the cabin for a beer. As he went in, he noticed the infopanel was still showing the movie. The Fuzzys might be smart, but apparently they hadn’t figured out how to turn the thing off. Holloway picked up the panel, paused the movie, and then cleared it off the screen, returning the infopanel to the default screen. It noted a voice message from Chad Bourne. Holloway opened it.

“Hi, Jack,” the message said. “Before I say anything else, I want to say this was not my idea. We have our problems, but I think you know I wouldn’t try to hold up what’s yours. All right?”

What the hell? Holloway thought.

“That said, I’ve been ordered to suspend payments to your contractor account,” the message continued. “The order came from Wheaton Aubrey the Seventh himself. I told him that suspending your payments was a violation of our contract with you, but he said before you received any initial payment on the sunstone seam, he wanted to talk to you. He said he’s got a business proposition for you. He says he needs to discuss it with you personally.”