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Olimar knew he would end up on PNF 404 again, somehow.
Whether it was the universe where he worked for Hocotate Freight and went back in search of some treasure or this one, where his work with the Rescue Corps brought him back, this planet seemed unnaturally fond of him for whatever reason. Not fond enough to keep him from crashing, mind you, but that was an everybody problem.
He thought it was Moss when he first woke up to a space pup sniffing at him. What would be the odds that she would be the first to find him? But no, it was Oatchi, checking that he was alright. From his view down on the ground, Oatchi was about as big as Moss had been.
For the first few days, he kept trying to keep hope from bubbling up. This planet was huge and teeming with life, the odds of finding one space dog were-
“Olimar!! Olimar, you have to come outside!!” Pom was yelling, stopping herself from her full sprint by grabbing the doorway to Olimar’s quarters and letting her arm strength be the only thing that kept her up.
It wasn’t Moss, but it looked an awful lot like her. The only real difference Olimar could tell were the eyes being a pale yellow and there being more spots. Some of the pikmin in the onion they had found had, without being called, come out to stand around the mystery dog, one courageous blue even climbing onto the back. The dog did not react.
“I found him-or should I say, he found me-while we were checking that signal from the southeast. Doesn’t he look so much like Moss??” Pom gestured to the dog with excitement, as he sat at the edge of the clearing.
“He followed you back?”
“Yep! He’s friendly…ish. Just sorta hovers around.” Pom informed him, and Olimar just nodded. He’d known plenty of aloof sorts, this wasn’t anything new to him. Carefully, slowly, and making sure he wasn’t staring the pup right in the eye, he tried approaching. The dog watched him approach, sniffing him when he was about an arm’s length away, and then launching himself up, barking twice like a rescue pup after catching a scent. The dog reached forward and grabbed his outstretched arm in his mouth, turning and bounding away at full speed.
Olimar was vaguely aware of Oatchi and Pom yelling about following him, but his efforts were currently spent on trying his best not to break his helmet on the ground. He had to full-out sprint to keep his feet under him, and eventually hit something that knocked him off balance, setting him to uncomfortably drag along his back. Most of it was flat dirt, but every time he thought he could relax, another branch or rock would pop up along the trail, causing him to cry out in pain. The dog ignored him in favor of sprinting off to wherever it was going, only finally, finally stopping at a cave entrance, which it dropped him into.
When he stood up, the pup was landing next to him, grabbing at his arm again, but this time he pulled it back, taking a few steps away. The dog tilted his head, then barked at him, lowering down in a poor imitation of a “climb on'' gesture. This one was about as big as Oatchi the first time he had been to pnf-404, so Olimar would not call this a pleasant ride.
“I’m getting an awful sense of deja vu, keehee!” Russ called over his comm, and Olimar laughed back.
“I certainly hope this dog isn’t trying to turn me into a leafling! He seems adamant I come with him somewhere, though!”
“We are reading your signal loud and clear, Olimar; wherever he takes you, we won’t be far behind!”
“Thanks, Collin. Copy that.”
Three floors of a cave (rushed through, though Olimar didn’t spot any enemies) and then back up to the surface in another area, where the dog took off running yet again. This leg of the journey wasn’t as long, however; the pup finally slowed and then came to a stop at the bottom of what appeared to be a giant tree stump, collapsing into panting breaths.
Olimar didn’t need time to question anything; the moment they got close, a swarm of multi-color pikmin rushed from a hole in the side, immediately stealing him from the dog. They didn’t bother to let him walk, just carried him in a huge group inside, setting him down on a soft bit of grass. Inside it was almost like…a house. Berries had been splattered on the walls to make random bursts of color, sometimes dragged to make lines. An onion was nearby on the ground, with several “nests” built around it, some occupied by pikmin, some by other space pups. The pikmin chittered amongst themselves before one red came forward, carrying itself with an air of authority that made Olimar certain, somehow, that he had met this one before.
“Oli-mah,” it cooed at him, and held out a little pik-hand. He took it, and the red began leading him up a makeshift ramp leading to a “second level” of the house. It let go and rushed over to a hidden corner, speaking (speaking! Like, an actual sentence, it seemed, what an incredible discovery!) to something before looking back at him, gesturing him over.
She was older; a few grey hairs here and there, but still obviously the dog he knew before. She had also just clearly woken up, and was very groggily trying to get excited, wagging lazily and sniffing at him even more. She hauled herself up and stretched, and that’s when he noticed them.
The one outside had been hers, too, then, because right underneath where she had been lying lay four more puppies, barely a few days old, whining immediately at the loss of warmth as Moss got up. Moss came forward and licked at his helmet, nuzzling him so hard she almost knocked him over, and Olimar laughed, completely overjoyed as he hugged her.
Moss had a female mate. Well, Olimar didn’t like thinking of things in such simple terms, he knew that he was just using his own conceptions of situations to explain in his own mind. He certainly wasn’t going to use that awful alpha-omega theory of canines, which tried to explain packs of wild dogs and wolves as power dynamics with only one leader rather than a family, which was usually the case. It was the case here, too; the brown and orange dog that Olimar was assuming was a mate received a special, full body rub greeting, and then, to his surprise, took over for Moss, settling into the little nest and soothing the four whining puppies, their little cries turning into the suckling noises of drinking milk. From what he knew of space pup biology, being able to lactate meant (9 times out of 10) that the dog was female, so he just assumed Moss had herself a girlfriend. Good for her!
His own curiosity led to him asking Shepherd not to come for him until the next morning; none of the pups seemed nervous as the sun started going down, after all, and the pikmin barely seemed that affected. He needed to know what they were doing to protect themselves from any predators, because whatever it was, they had been doing it well!
When the sun hit a certain point on the horizon, the pikmin seemed to gather in the central room, staring up at a group of forty winged pikmin hovering above the opening. The pikmin called down, someone from the crowd called back up, and the rest of the crowd repeated the cry of…whatever it was, signaling to the winged pikmin to swarm around a big flat rock, held above the opening by a shallow makeshift shelf. They pulled it up and then out, away from the natural ledge, and then brought it down, a few purple pikmin stepping forward to push it flush against the hole in the trunk and effectively seal it as a door.
Olimar didn’t think he’d sleep, he was so excited with documenting every little detail of this burgeoning society. His koppad was the only light, apart from a few glowing mushrooms here and there, and he sat leaned against Moss while he took notes. After the door had been put into place, the pikmin had retreated to their onion, which remained on the ground, and the various dogs settled into the little grass nests to go to sleep. He counted nine-wait, the brown dog was guarding four more-thirteen. Moss, her mate, and what looked like an older litter of hers (and maybe an older litter of the brown one’s, seven was a lot of pups to have in one go!). If the “father” wasn’t the brown one, Olimar assumed he was a light shade of blue, due to the way a couple of the pups were colored. His personal favorite, apart from Moss herself, was an inverted version of her, with dark teal on most of her and green for spots. Two were sky blue with one with dark blue spots and the other with dark green stripes. The one that had dragged him here was in the middle of the room, kicking in his sleep, a wide berth between him and the set of two more snuggled together in one nest, one a vibrant red and the other brown with green spots. The final pup (that wasn’t under Moss’s mate, he couldn’t see those) had full albinism, white fur practically glowing with the subtle mushroom luminescence. He’d been momentarily startled by the bright blue eyes with a subtle red undertone; when the eyes caught light, they would reflect back red, which is what proved it to him. Now, the white one was over by the rock, faced towards it as if guarding the entrance in their sleep.
He turned off his koppad for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. Hocotations had pretty good dark vision; it was why they were known for their iconic squint, as everything else was always too bright. Desert life does that to you. He sighed, allowing himself to imagine a world where Moss and her young could meet his own. His son wouldn’t even hesitate to try and pet her, though his daughter would hold back a little, probably scared by their size. His son and the little rascal that dragged him would be perfect roughhouse partners, and he would love to take his daughter up for a ride on Moss, let her get comfortable with it, before letting her loose to ride on any of the puppies. He and his wife could relax, watching them all play, Moss and her mate lounging with them, Bulbie looking especially tiny when he’d curl up by the brown one’s feet. He was an overly sentimental man; his wife had often teased him about how easy it was to make him cry happy tears, and he especially regretted it now knowing they would pool in the bowl of his helmet. He leaned back so it would pool in the back, at least.
He didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep, but he woke up when Moss moved. She gave him an apology lick for the rude awakening, and then walked out into the main room, whistling sharply. Pikmin rushed out of their onion to join her, more than Olimar had thought possible out at once. The winged pikmin rushed to the stone, swarming it in a ring of pink fluttering and lifting it out and up, over the natural edge of the ledge, and pushing it back into the place it had been the day before. The sun was rising outside, a scene Olimar had seen so many times, but never from down here, never from on the surface.
Stars, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.