The Rask Rebellion

"Hang on," Ben said, spotting something odd on one of Mizi's viewports. "What's that strange coloration on the rock face to our right? You guys see that?"

Lozka swung her turret in that direction, giving them a closer look. Where the sloping sand met the exposed face of the massif, there were uniform discolorations in the rock a good ten feet high, noticeably lighter than the surrounded granite. Ben blinked his eyes, not understanding what he was seeing for a moment, then it dawned on him.

"Those are petroglyphs!" he exclaimed, "look at that!"

"What are petroglyphs?" Mizi asked, her feathers flashing yellow as she examined the display.

"Someone has picked away at the rock, carved it out to expose the lighter layers beneath it. It's a form of primitive artwork, someone climbed up there and chiseled it into the cliff by hand. Looks like...humanoid figures, some kind of four-legged animals, I can't tell. What do you make of that, Lozka?"

"Those are crude representations of Borealans," she began, "but I do not recognize their quarry. It appears to be some manner of hunting scene, not unlike those that we carve into wood or weave into tapestries back in my home territory."

"How old do you reckon they are?" Ben asked, making sure to take some screengrabs as they passed by.

"Impossible to say," she replied. "My people know little of the lands beyond our jungles save for what others have told us."

"With no water erosion, they may have been there for millennia," Mizi chimed in. "Just like the dead trees, the dryness of the environment could have preserved them for a great deal of time."

"Damn, I wish we could stop and get a proper look," Ben grumbled. "I bet there are caves up in those hills chock full of artifacts and paintings that haven't been seen by living eyes for thousands of years. A Borealan Lascaux."

"Maybe they lived here when the rivers were still fertile," Mizi suggested, the truck bouncing on its suspension as it cleared a rocky area. "My planet is so lush, it's hard to imagine people living in these conditions. Every day must be a struggle to secure the most basic necessities."

"Do you miss the trees as I do?" Lozka asked. It seemed like a strange thing to say at that moment, but the flush of pink and green in Mizi's headdress suggested that the Araxie's words had touched her.

"All the time," she sighed, her feathers slowly collapsing back down into their sheaths. "Everywhere you go on Val'ba'ra, there's water. Pools, streams, artificial lakes. We tend gardens of flowers, our walkways are lined with trees that provide shade, there are insects and birds everywhere. There's so much humidity in the air, everything is always wonderfully wet. Perhaps I'll follow your example and take a swim in the next oasis we come across," she said as she steered them around a fallen boulder. "That's how we bathe back home. Each dwelling has its own private pool that's designed to look like it's a part of the natural scenery, hidden from view by landscaping and strategically placed patches of forest."

"That does sound appealing," Lozka sighed, leaning back in her seat as she turned the turret's view away from the carvings. "Based on what you have told me, I admire your people, Mizi'pal'otl. I am encouraged by the thought of a race achieving such an advanced level of technology, while still retaining their connection to nature."

"Thank you, Lozka," Mizi replied with a flustered flush of pink.

"When we made our pact with the Coalition, our greatest fear was that our culture, our way of life would be eroded. But you give me hope that we can retain what makes us Araxie, even as we adopt alien practices."

"What's it like where you live?" Mizi asked.

"My village lies in the depths of an ancient jungle," she began, seeming wistful as she reminisced. "The canopy protects us from the daylight, provides us cover, shelter. I feel so...exposed in its absence. We are shielded by the old growths, a ring of trees and vines that were raised by our ancestors, carefully tended over generations to create an impenetrable wall. It is so masterfully camouflaged that it would be impossible to stumble upon, the only way inside is to be guided by one who already knows its secrets. To be invited into an Araxie stronghold is a sign of great trust."

"We have walls too!" Mizi said with another flash of pink feathers. "They protect our cities from large predators and let us regulate the climate within them. We strive to minimize our impact on the environment outside of their bounds. What's it like inside your village?"

"We Araxie build our homes in the roots of the giant trees," Lozka explained. "Their lives are intertwined with our own. We erect guard posts in their branches, we hollow out their felled trunks to serve as dining halls, we run to them for shelter in times of danger. I would like very much for you to see it one day."

"Maybe I can," Mizi replied cheerfully. "Perhaps I'll bring it up with my flock next time we're debating where to spend our shore leave. What about you, Commander?" she asked. "What's your people's relationship with nature?"

"Uh...my neighbor had a rooftop garden, does that count?"

"Commander!" Lozka exclaimed, Ben snapping to attention. "We are being observed."

He switched one of his monitors to her turret view, his heart skipping a beat as he spotted a handful of shadowy figures who were watching them from atop the canyon wall. As she zoomed in, he noted that their skin had the reddish-brown hue of ochre, seeming to shine as it reflected the sun. The long hair of the females and the wild manes of the males were matted with what looked like red clay, and they were clothed in animal skins rather than the signature leather of the Rask. Clasped in their furry hands were not rifles, but wooden spears tipped with points of sharpened flint. A handful of their number were brandishing stone knives and axes that had been fashioned in much the same way, their handles made from carved wood that had been wrapped with strips of tanned leather.

"Those don't look like Rask," Mizi mused.

"Bring us to a stop," Ben said, the Valbaran hitting the brakes. "Lozka, should we be worried?"

"Mizi is correct," she replied. "These are not Rask, they are Lakeless, desert nomads who roam the dune seas. They are primitives, their weapons cannot harm us."

"What do you think they make of us?" Ben wondered, the aliens craning their necks as they perched on the edge of the cliff. "We must look like some kind of giant, strange animal to them."

"The Elysians and the Rask often speak of their kind," Lozka replied, "they likely understand the concept of vehicles from their interactions with sandships. I sympathize. In my lifetime, I have seen the introduction of alien technology, of railguns and spacecraft. It is surprising how quickly one adapts."

"Do you think they're responsible for the petroglyphs that we saw?"

"Maybe," Mizi interjected, "but those looked pretty old."

"I suppose it's possible that people have been frequenting this area for a very long time. I guess we should just...leave them alone. I'll make sure to let the LT know that they're hanging around so they don't get mulched by accident. Hopefully, they're smart enough to stay out of the way when the tanks roll through."

They continued on, leaving the watchful natives behind them.

***

The terrain grew harsher as they climbed the massif, the Timberwolf tackling the steep inclines and rocky paths, Ben using the satellite images to guide them. The sun was cooking the black stone, it seemed even hotter here than it had been in the desert, the vehicle's cooling system struggling to keep up. Mizi and Lozka liked it humid, meaning that his sweat was having more trouble evaporating than it should, making a wet sheen cling to his skin. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, watching it drip.

"I feel like I'm sitting in an oven," he muttered, hopping out of his seat and crawling into the troop bay. Mizi looked back at him, but he waved her off. "Keep going, don't mind me. I gotta get out of this fucking pressure suit, or I'm gonna get heatstroke."

"Should I change the climate control?" she asked.

"Nah, we'll run down the fuel cells," he replied as he began to unzip his suit. "I can deal."

There was no reason to stay in uniform when he was the ranking officer, and they were in a breathable atmosphere. He wouldn't pop like a ripe cherry if the hull was breached. The material clung to his damp skin as he struggled out of the garment, stripping down to his shorts and tank top, gripping a handhold in the ceiling as the vehicle's suspension bounced. His underclothes were stained with sweat, but he couldn't do much about that. After a moment, he decided to take off his top, too. It wasn't doing him any good.

"Remember to stay hydrated," he added, "I want to see you both drinking more. We've got plenty of water to go around, the engine exhausts pure H20 into the holding tanks, no reason to ration it."

He retrieved his canteen from the belt of his discarded suit, upending it into his mouth, not stopping until it was completely empty. The heat of the vehicle had warmed the water, but it was still cooler than the soupy air around him. Ben loosed a satisfied gasp as he fastened the cap, feeling the comparatively cool liquid slide all the way down into his stomach. When he turned to face the cab again, he saw that his companions were both watching him, their alien eyes quickly snapping back to their monitors. It seemed that there was some mutual curiosity going on.

"Guess I must look like a naked mole rat to you guys," he chuckled. "Sorry, but living in a ten-foot box with two other people doesn't leave a lot of room for privacy."

"It is of no concern to me," Lozka replied as he climbed back into his chair, slotting his helmet on. As stifling as it was, he needed it for the comms. "Solitude is a human desire that my people do not share."

"Humans have odd social practices," Mizi added, bouncing in her seat as they cleared another bed of uneven rocks. "When my flock was traveling on the assault carrier, we noted that although they bathed in a communal shower room, they wouldn't groom one another. They slept in bunks stacked one on top of the other, dozens to a cabin, yet they refused to share a bed. Humans are at once social and cooperative, yet oddly solitary. It's strange."

"We live in those conditions because we're forced to," Ben explained as he fastened his harness. The fabric of the chair was uncomfortable against his bare skin, but it was still better than being stewed alive in his suit. "There's no room for everyone to have the space that they'd like on a carrier. Even families don't generally share the same bedroom or bathe together if they have a choice. Back home, I lived alone in a six-hundred square foot apartment."

"Odd," Lozka said, scratching her furry chin with one of her curved claws. "The human warriors who were sent to protect my territory from the Rask...Marines, they were called, were organized into social groups that they referred to as squads. They behaved very much like a pack, living and working together, deferring to one member who had authority over the rest. They shared a dwelling, though I cannot say how they slept. I assumed together."

"In that case, it's part of the job," Ben explained. "A squad is like our crew, it's just a group of people who have been arbitrarily assigned to a unit as part of their occupation. They don't get to choose who they bunk with."

"Yet, they seemed to enjoy the company of their fellows," she added. "They showed one another a great deal of respect, they joked and played in ways that suggested familiarity."

"The longer you spend with a group of people, the more you'll develop a camaraderie," he replied. "Even if you start out thinking a guy's an asshole, spend enough time in the field together, and you're gonna develop some kind of mutual respect. You have to watch each other's backs, rely on each other to stay alive. They become your family."

"I am still confused," Lozka admitted, her tail flicking back and forth behind her seat with what was probably frustration. "In what situations do humans share a bed?"

"Well," he began, thinking for a moment. "If they had no other option, like if they were crammed into a ship or a vehicle, or if they were involved romantically. Partners usually sleep together."

"He means mates," Mizi explained as she glanced over her shoulder at her feline companion. "Humans are only supposed to take one mate each."

"One?" Lozka asked skeptically. "All the members of an Araxie pack mate with the Alpha, and each other based on their social standing. We all bathe together and groom one another, we share a bed for warmth and comfort."

"That's not strictly true, about humans only taking one mate," Ben interjected. "Most humans are serial monogamists. We have a series of relationships with different individuals until we find one that we like enough to formalize the arrangement."

"Val'ba'ra'nay take one mate per flock," Mizi added, "but a flock is usually between five and seven females. We sleep and bathe together like the Araxie, and we don't make the same distinctions between individual members that humans do. Our flocks are treated as one unit, one person, by your standards. Each of us is one part of a whole, responsible for the actions of the rest."

"One male per seven females?" Ben asked with a whistle. "Poor little guys, they must get tuckered out."

"Does that mean that Araxie packs can have more than one male?" Mizi asked gleefully, Lozka nodding her head. "How decadent," she chuckled, her feathers flashing pink. "Sounds to me like you humans need to bite the bullet and accept that our social systems just make more sense," the Valbaran added with a mischievous glance at Ben. "What you have going right now is just a half-measure. You have all the responsibilities of a pack or a flock, but with none of the benefits."

"We've done just fine with our half-measures, thank you very much," Ben replied. "Being adaptable is the key. Besides, sharing a bunk with a pile of sweaty dudes isn't my bag, I don't swing that way."

"Swing?" Lozka asked, her brow furrowing with confusion.

Ben began to answer her, then thought better of it.

"Hey, Mizi," he said. "I'm sending you new coordinates. I want you to follow this route here, down into the canyon. We'll probably have to camp out in the massif for the night, then in the morning, we can send our report to Charlie."

"Roger," she replied, examining the satellite image on her readout. Lozka didn't press the issue, perhaps sensing that he didn't want to talk about it any further.

***

Night was upon them once again as they descended the massif, the rolling dunes on the far side visible in the distance. They were past the halfway point, and in another day, they would clear the rocks. The cold had slowly sapped the Timberwolf of all its heat, Ben shivering in his chair. He was covered in cold sweat, and he was starting to miss his pressure suit. What he wouldn't give for a hot shower right about now...

"Let's call it here," he said, Mizi's feathers flashing green in what could be relief. "Find an outcrop and park us beneath it, try to keep us out of view of any roving Rask or curious natives."

Before long, they found a suitable overhang of rock, Mizi locking the wheels after steering them into its shadow. She looked even colder than he was as she crawled out of her seat, her form-fitting suit providing little protection. Ben watched her breath condensate in the air as she exhaled through her nose, bobbing her way into the bay and onto the mattresses that still carpeted the deck.

"It's your turn on watch, Lozka," he said as he followed the little reptile into the rear. "Wake me up in three hours. We haven't seen any Rask yet, but we know they're out there somewhere, and the Lakeless might want to try to figure out if recon vehicles are edible. Stay alert."

"You forget that my people are nocturnal, Commander," she replied confidently. "The night is my domain."

"If you like the night so much, then feel free to take my watch too," he joked. She frowned at him, her tail beginning to flick, and he raised his hands apologetically. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Here, take your cloak," he added as he leaned over to pull the garment from its rack. He tossed it to her, and she snatched it out of the air, draping it over herself like a blanket. "You're furry, but not that furry. Don't want you catching whatever the Araxie equivalent of a cold is."

Mizi sniffed loudly, Ben turning to see her fumbling with her sleeping bag as he pulled his stale pressure suit back on, her fingers stiff and clumsy from the cold.

"Actually," he began, getting their attention as he zipped up his suit. "Let's warm up a little before we turn in. We'll get some hot food in our bellies, some warm drinks, raise our spirits a little."

That seemed to cheer Mizi up, Lozka peeking her head into the bay.

"You're still on watch, Lozka," he warned. "But I'll cook you something up. Call it bed and breakfast at hotel Timberwolf."

He fished for some MREs in the netting that covered the shelves, pulling out three respective packets. After filling his canteen from a port on the wall that hooked into the holding tanks, he poured some of it into a sealable bag, then slipped that bag into a flameless ration heater. It soon began to boil, the chemicals warming the contents of the pouch.

The human MRE had a chocolate powder mix that went great with hot water, and also coffee, but that was a bad idea before bed. He knew from experience that fruit juice powders could actually be pretty damn good when mixed with warm water, too. After retrieving another ration heater, he set his main course of chicken and rice cooking along with it.

"I guess I can just warm up any of the meat in your MRE that'll fit in the heater, right, Lozka?" he asked. The Araxie poked her head into the troop bay again, her feline nose twitching as the smells of cooking wafted over to her.

"Any will do," she replied. "It is all Elysian food. I know not how it is intended to be prepared."

"Gotcha," he said, stuffing what looked like a pouch full of cubed steak into the oversized heater that had come with her MRE. "Any preferences for drinks? You guys like sweet flavors?"

"No," she replied. "Araxie prefer savory dishes."

"I got it," he said, delighted by his own creativity. "There's some beef stew in my MRE. It's supposed to be an entree, but you could drink that."

"As you wish," she said, returning to her watch.

"What about you, Mizi?" he continued. "Do the Valbaran rations have anything like this?"

"Most of our rations are in bar form," she grumbled, locking her legs as she sat across from him in the strange way that her people did. "Evidently, the Ensi have much to learn from the UNN when it comes to feeding their troops."

The cold was really hitting her hard, she looked downright miserable. Then again, she was so much smaller than her companions, on top of being a reptile. She might have a far harder time retaining her body heat than they did.

Ben thought for a moment, then rose to his feet, stooping to retrieve one of the sleeping bags. He draped it over her shoulders, cocooning her in the insulating material so that only her head was peeking out. Her feathers flashed pink, their soft tips tickling his nose as he stood behind her. Had he surprised her?

"How about you?" he asked, "do you like sweet drinks?"

"I think so," she replied. She watched him curiously with her violet eyes as he returned to his seat on the mattress in front of her, crossing his legs as he began to fish inside one of the flameless heaters for the bag of boiling water. Gingerly, so as not to scald his fingers, he upended it into a collapsible cup along with a packet of instant cranberry juice. After stirring the mixture for a few moments with a plastic spoon, he handed the cup to her, her gloved hands emerging from the depths of the sleeping bag to take it from him. It looked comically large in her grasp, closer to the size of a soup bowl. A wisp of steam rose from the crimson liquid as she brought it to her scaly lips, Mizi sniffing it curiously.