The Rask Rebellion

"The sails!" Ben yelled, "go for the sails!"

She raised her crosshair, putting a barrage of rounds through the billowing fabric, but it was like sticking holes in a sheet with a pin. The slugs passed through it without doing any real damage.

"No, try to sever the masts!" he added, gripping a handhold in the ceiling as Mizi ramped them over another crest. They came down hard, the vehicle bouncing on its suspension, the sandship temporarily out of view.

"We're gonna be bingo on ammo at this rate," Ben warned, "we need to stop that damned thing!"

The ship came barreling over the dune behind them, the prows of its twin hulls suspended in the air for a moment before they came crashing down to the sand below, its alien crew clinging to the rigging as it began to descend. Another shot rang out, this one hitting its mark. The Timberwolf's hull reverberated as though someone had struck it with a giant hammer, the sand around them erupting as whatever had hit them was deflected.

"Mizi!" Ben yelled, the Valbaran's headdress flashing yellow and purple in alarm. "Damage report!"

"No hull breaches," she replied hurriedly in her tinny voice, "not seeing any damage."

"What the fuck are they hitting us with?" he wondered aloud, watching as Lozka loosed another hail of bullets. She caught a couple of the Rask who were clustered on the deck, sending them slumping to the floor. One of them slid off the front of the ship due to its forward inclination, disappearing beneath it as it cut through the sand. The vessel was close enough now that the crew could take potshots with their rifles, the more familiar ding of XMR fire echoing through the cab.

As Lozka zoomed in for another burst, Ben spotted the weapon. One of the aliens was hunched over a metal tube that was mounted on a gimbal on the leftmost prow, like a fixed emplacement, slamming something into what could only be a breech. It was maybe six feet long, with a wide bore, made from what looked to be cast iron. He aimed it, a flash of flame erupting from the muzzle, another salvo impacting their hull.

"What the...are they firing naval artillery at us?" Ben marveled. "They are! That's like some kind of...Napoleonic cannon! That's not getting through our armor, no fucking way."

"That term doesn't mean anything to me!" Mizi protested, keeping her eyes on her displays as she zigzagged to throw off their aim. "Do I have to do anything differently?"

"No, no," he continued. "I mean it's Rask technology, archaic. They're shooting what are probably balls of lead using a black powder charge, they might as well be throwing rocks at us."

"They may have other weapons yet, more explosives," Lozka warned. "Do not become complacent."

"Why would they buy MASTs on the black market, but then equip their soldiers with cannons?" Ben wondered. "It doesn't make any sense. The Rask aren't stupid, many of them have served in the Coalition. They had to have known what they were getting into..."

"Would you rather they were firing laser batteries at us?" Mizi protested. "Just shoot the damned thing!"

"I'm trying!" Lozka snarled, tearing more holes in the sandship's hull. Ben spotted a second gunner through the Araxie's feed. He was aiming another iron tube at them from the adjacent hull, a burst of smoke erupting from its barrel, quickly carried away by the rushing wind. There was a thud as something hit them, but it sounded different this time. The Timberwolf swerved, Mizi fighting the wheel as the tires skidded in the sand.

"Did they take out our wheels?" he demanded.

"N-no!" she replied, trying to get the vehicle back under control. "It's something else!"

Ben switched back to his drone camera, zooming in on their vehicle. There was a long line linking them to the sandship. Was it a rope? No, it was a chain, he could see the links glinting in what sunlight made it through the haze above them. It was some kind of tether, there was a grappling hook gripping the camouflaged mesh on their chassis, tangled in the netting.

"They've fucking hooked us," he said. "They have a lot more mass than we do, this could be bad!"

Lozka finally managed to hit the forward mast, the spray of slugs chewing through the wood like a chainsaw, the wind tearing it down as soon as its structural integrity was compromised. It came crashing to the deck like a felled tree, severed ropes and rigging flailing through the air, crushing the structure that bridged the two hulls. The torn sail draped itself over the vessel, the wind still tugging at it, throwing them off-course.

"Nice shot!" Ben exclaimed.

The sandship swerved, the ruined mast sliding off the side of the craft, digging a furrow in the dune. It caused enough drag to spin the ship around, grinding it to a halt, a wave of sand sliding down the incline as it lost all of its momentum. The second mast fell too, the force of the wind snapping it, creating more chaos as it toppled onto the central structure to cave in its sloping roof.

Their celebration was cut short as the chain was pulled taut, the three of them jolting in their seats, the Timberwolf lurching to an abrupt stop. The chain was made from stern stuff, but whatever it was connected to wasn't, an explosion of splintered wood tearing apart one of the sandship's prows as a spool of chain was torn from below the deck. The grapple must have snagged on an armor plate or something, or it would have simply torn through the mesh.

Ben adjusted his helmet, groaning as he prodded gingerly at the harness that had saved him from being flung into his monitor bank.

"That's gonna leave a mark," he wheezed, struggling to fill his lungs with air. "Everybody still in one piece?"

He glanced to his left to see Lozka stirring, rubbing the back of her neck as she looked herself over.

"I do not think...that I have been injured," she replied groggily.

"I'm okay," Mizi chirped. Perhaps her light weight had saved her from the worst of it.

"Get back on the gun, Lozka," Ben ordered. "Mizi, get us going again."

The Valbaran pressed her foot on the pedal, the engine sputtering to life. Something about it sounded wrong to Ben, he had grown accustomed to its droning over the course of their journey. They began to pull away from the wrecked ship, dragging the spool of chain behind them. Lozka manned the gun again, continuing to fire as they drove up the adjacent dune. The crash hadn't been too deadly for the Rask, it seemed. They were piling out of their sandship to take cover in the field of wreckage below, firing their XMRs. There were maybe a dozen of them that Ben could make out.

He soon realized that their ship was on fire. Dark smoke had begun to billow from the crushed structure, rising into the air in a growing plume, until it was carried away by the wind. One of Lozka's rounds must have hit something flammable in their cargo hold, or maybe the molten metal had simply ignited a blaze on its own.

The Timberwolf crested the dune, and then the sandship was gone, only the rising smoke giving away its position. Ben lay back in his seat, rubbing the bruises that were forming on his chest.

"Good job, team," he sighed. "Those guys won't be reporting in any time soon."

Lozka collapsed into her padded chair, releasing her death grip on the joystick.

"We have prevailed," she muttered, seeming just as relieved as he was. "To think that we bested a raiding party alone..."

"You can add slayer of sandships to your growing list of titles," Ben chuckled weakly. "What do you think will happen to its crew?"

"They are stranded," she replied, fixing him with her icy gaze. "Either a scout will spot the smoke, or the desert will reclaim them. With the storm rolling in, their odds are slim."

"Mizi," he said, switching his attention to their driver. "Is it just me, or does the engine sound...wonky?"

"We're losing engine power," she grumbled, tapping at the readouts that she had brought up on one of her three displays. "Something is wrong, fuel pressure is dropping fast. We must have taken damage during the fight."

"How bad is it?" he asked, sharing a concerned glance with Lozka. "I'm not too hot on the idea of being reclaimed by the desert."

"I'd have to take a look under the hood," she replied.

"Keep going for as long as you can," Ben said, switching back to a commanding tone. "We'll stop and take a look ASAP, but we need to put some distance between ourselves and the Rask first. Last thing we want is them following our tracks on foot and jumping us while we're exposed."

"Could be a ruptured fuel cell," she warned, her plumage brushing the ceiling as it flashed a worried shade of purple. "Leaking hydrogen fuel has a tendency to violently explode..."
"Get us as far as you can," he said.

***

The Timberwolf limped to a stop at the foot of a dune, Mizi locking the brakes as its engine petered out.

"Let's get outside and assess the damage," Ben said, beginning to climb out of his seat. Lozka stayed put as Mizi slipped past her, the little alien bobbing along behind him as he lowered the troop ramp and stepped outside. The blowing sand pounded his suit as he left the cover of the vehicle, Ben hastily reaching up to close the visor on his helmet.

"Better get your helmet on," he warned, Mizi turning to retrieve her own from the rack. She slipped her tentacle-like sheaths into the two dangling tubes, connecting it to her suit at the neck. The color panels flashed for a moment, perhaps in some kind of diagnostic mode, then she gave him a thumbs-up. He tapped the side of his helmet, and she nodded, a hiss of static coming through as they connected to a local ad-hoc network.

"I want you to stay close to me," Ben said, Mizi hopping down onto the sandy incline. "The storm is really picking up, and I wasn't joking when I said that I was worried about you being blown away. I think the old Siberian Husky I used to have weighed more than you do."

"Don't know what that is," she replied, bracing herself against the wind as she followed him around the side of the vehicle.

"Tires look alright," he said. He whistled, appraising the grappling hook that was still attached to the top of the vehicle, the heavy links of the long chain trailing behind them. It hadn't just snagged on the camouflaged mesh, it had almost ripped one of the armored panels loose, bending it upwards. That was how it had gotten such a good grip. He pressed his gloved finger into one of the many small craters that the XMR slugs had left. The rear and side armor was starting to look like the surface of the Moon...

"The only way to destroy those tires is to melt them," Mizi said, making her way around to the front of the vehicle. "I need to check the engine, figure out why we're losing pressure. Go fetch me the powered socket wrench."

"Alright," he replied. He returned a moment later with the tool, which was comically large in her tiny hands, but she seemed to have no problem lifting it. She pressed it into a recess in the hull armor and hit the switch on the handle, the head spinning.

The protective armor that covered the canopy began to rise. It exposed the reinforced glass of the cockpit beneath, revealing the backs of the three monitors that enclosed Mizi's seat, Ben chuckling as he watched Lozka lean down to peer at them in confusion from the interior. The cab armor was usually opened using a switch on the driver's console, but it could also be opened manually from the outside if the need arose.

Mizi slotted the wrench into another recess beside the engine compartment, the tool whirring as the armored panel lifted to one side, Ben peering at the engine block within. It was all contained within a shaped polymer housing, leaving very little of the machinery exposed save for a few electronics and cables.

"No visible damage to the engine housing," Mizi said. "Gotta be a broken fuel line. Fetch me the scanner."

Ben retrieved the device from the troop bay, returning to hand it to her. It was a small, handheld device with a built-in screen, designed to detect various gasses and environmental oddities. She waved it over the engine block, waiting a moment for the scan to complete before the results were displayed.

"Got a cold spot," she muttered, "and there's hydrogen gas escaping. That means one of the fuel lines has ruptured. Hydrogen only stays in a liquid state as long as it's being kept at a low enough temperature. Good job we caught it before there was an explosion."

"Should I put up a no smoking sign?" Ben joked, watching as Mizi began to climb inside the compartment. "H-hey, what are you doing?"

"Repair protocol states that this line needs to be patched," she replied, "or we'll keep losing pressure and fuel until our cells are bone dry. We can't pull out the engine block without a service bay, and I'm the only one small enough to reach inside. Unless you want to be stranded out here, go get me some insulating tape."

"Yes, Ma'am," he muttered. When he returned with the tape, she had already wriggled halfway inside, squeezing herself into the narrow space between the engine's housing and the reinforced hull that contained it. Only her lower half was still visible, her round butt and her strong thighs straining against the tight material of her pressure suit as she wriggled deeper. Ben announced himself by clearing his throat over the radio, Mizi's long, prehensile tail waving around blindly for a moment until it batted against his leg. She crawled it up his body, feeling her way along until she found the reel of tape, hooking it. One of her hands emerged, and she passed it off, Ben leaning around the side of the cab as he watched her work.

"Got it," she grunted, fighting to get a little deeper. "The impact when the grapple stopped us dead must have cracked one of the lines. If I can just...reach it...then I can...seal it..."

"Anything I can do to help?" Ben asked.

"Go get me a variable pipe wrench," she grumbled, "I need to tighten this connection. And pray to whatever guardian deities your people have that I don't make a spark, or this entire compartment is going to burn out with me inside it."

After he returned with the tool, it took her a few minutes longer to finish her work. There was hydrogen gas leaking the entire time, which could have been a suffocation risk, but all of their suits had a built-oxygen supply that could protect them from environmental hazards for a limited time. When she was done, she tossed out her tools one by one, Ben watching her start to wriggle again.

"That should do it," she grunted. "I've fixed the leak, and I've tightened the line's connection to the fuel intake. It should hold, as long as we don't suffer any more sudden, violent shocks." She squirmed, kicking her legs, her tail whipping back and forth. "I'm...stuck," she admitted.

"Stuck?" Ben asked, walking around behind her. "You want me to pull you out?"

"I...I suppose," she mumbled. Ben couldn't see it, but he could imagine that her color panels were probably flashing with embarrassed patterns right about now.

"What should I..."

"Grip my tail," she replied. "It's sturdy, it can take my weight. Just...don't lift it."

"Lift your tail?" he asked, confused by the odd request. "Why?"

"Just don't!" she protested.

"Alright! I'll try not to," Ben muttered as he took hold of her appendage about halfway down its length. It felt like he was gripping a boa constrictor or some other kind of large snake. Her scales were as smooth as glass beneath her suit, and there was a layer of soft puppy fat that made it remarkably squishy. As he gripped it, he felt it shift in hands, what felt like liquid muscle flowing between his fingers. He lifted a boot and planted it on the hull, giving her a gentle tug.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked.

"N-no," she replied, "but move your hands a little closer to the base. Don't touch the underside."

"Alright, alright," he grumbled. He felt her shiver as his gloved hands slid up its length, stopping just short of the thick, muscular base. Maybe it was an erogenous zone to the aliens, like touching a person's inner thigh. "Ready?"

He gave her another tug, finally succeeding in dislodging her. The little Valbaran fell to the sand below, rising to brush herself off, her tail quickly snaking out of his reach.

"Thanks," she said sheepishly, her panels flashing pink and purple as she stooped to collect her tools.

"Nice work," he added. "I don't know how we would have fixed that if you hadn't been around. You're a real grease monkey. Or...maybe a grease lizard is more apt."

"I'll assume that's a compliment," she replied. "I'm going to climb up onto the hull and see what I can do about that panel."

"Alright, keep your tail hooked into the mesh or something so you don't fly off."

"I'll refrain from extending my feathers," she said sarcastically, beginning to close the armored panels on the engine. Ben made his way back into the troop bay, finding Lozka waiting for him. She still had a hand on the back of her neck, rubbing it slowly as she crouched by the entrance to the cab.

"Is the vehicle intact?" she asked.

"Fortunately for us, Mizi knows the manual from back to front," he replied as he opened his visor with a hiss. "We'll be up and running again soon. Are you alright?" he asked, frowning at her. "You've been rubbing your neck ever since the crash, is it sore?"

"It is nothing," she replied dismissively, lowering her hand.

"As much as I appreciate Borealan stoicism, a neck injury is not something to ignore," he chided. "You probably have whiplash, an injury caused when the head is violently snapped forward. It often occurs during car accidents. Come here," he said, beckoning to her.

She walked over to him reluctantly, and he lowered one of the benches, instructing her to sit on the deck in front of it. After rummaging inside the medpack for a medical scanner, he sat down behind her, Lozka's eight-foot stature putting her shoulders about level with his chest. He reached out and ran the device across her furry neck, feeling her muscles tense at his touch. Data flashed on the readout, showing a scan of her bones and tissue.

"No damage to your discs or ligaments," he said, "just looks like some strained muscles. Turn your head to the left, and tell me if it hurts."

She did as he asked, wincing.

"It feels stiff," she complained.

"Any dizziness? Headaches?"

"No," she replied, Ben beginning to remove his gloves. He set them on the bench beside him, bringing his hands to her shoulders. "Wait, what are you doing?" she asked suspiciously. She attempted to turn her head to look behind her, but the pain prevented it.

"I'm going to loosen them up," he replied. "It might hurt a little at first, but it'll make you feel better, get rid of some of the stiffness. After that, if it still hurts, I'll give you a painkiller."

He put his hands on her black coat, finding it just as silky as it had looked. It felt more like smooth velvet than fur, it was so thin and shiny, its surface oddly moist. Was that sweat, or was it a product of the humidity that the two aliens had imposed upon him? She had mentioned not wanting to let it dry out. He had half expected her to flinch away from him, but she sat there obediently, her furry tail whipping against his legs as he pressed his thumbs into her muscles.

To his surprise, she leaned into him, rolling her head back.

"That...feels good," she mumbled, her breathy voice almost inaudible. He began to make slow circles, seeking out the knots in the muscles around her shoulders, loosening her up. She was so rigid, but she almost seemed to melt as he worked up to her neck, a pleasant shiver rolling over her every time he located a problem area.

"No claws," she sighed.

"Oh, that's right," he realized. "Borealans have claws, you'd never be able to give someone a massage without slicing them up like a Thanksgiving turkey."