The Rask Rebellion

"I see a disturbance in the sand," she said, "it looks as though something is buried there."

"Guess we'd better take a look," he said, giving Mizi a nod as she turned to glance back at him. "It can't be a mine or an IED or anything like that, or it wouldn't be moving around and tripping the sensor. Get a little closer, maybe twenty meters, let's see if we can figure this thing out."

Mizi edged the truck towards it, Lozka peering out of the hatch as they approached. Ben took control of the blister, sighting a mound in the sand on one of the dunes. It had recently been disturbed, he could make out where the particles had cascaded down the slope. Through the feed, he watched it shift. There was something alive under there...

"Roll us a little nearer," he said. "Go slow, let's see if it reacts to our presence."

Mizi maneuvered the truck closer, bringing one of its front tires to within a few feet the shifting mound. Ben couldn't get a look at it with the camera feed from the blister anymore, the angle was too low, so he switched to the driver's wrap-around view. There was a sudden flurry of movement that hurled a cloud of sand into the air, partially obscuring the cameras as something shot out of the dune. It moved so fast that he could scarcely get a look at it, all he could see were flailing, insect-like legs. Lozka slammed her hatch shut in alarm, Mizi yelping in surprise. As the dust cleared, they were treated to a grotesque sight.

Clinging to the wheel was some kind of alien critter, probably about the size of a large dog. Its bulbous body was split into segments like a spider, with a fat, fleshy abdomen towards its rear. It had way too many legs, Ben would have guessed ten at a glance, maybe a dozen. Its segmented limbs were covered in long hairs, while its body had a wiry covering that almost looked like coarse fur. Where one would have expected its head to be, there was a trio of giant, hooked pincers arranged in a triangle pattern that were digging into the polymer of the tire. It was biting and twisting, perhaps mistaking the rubbery material for flesh. Its body was colored to match the sand that it had been burrowing in, save for a pair of black, beady eyes situated just above its muscular jaws.

"What the fuck!" Ben exclaimed, recoiling in horror as the forward cameras gave him a far closer view than he would have liked.

"W-what should I do?" Mizi asked, gripping the steering wheel tightly. "I can't reverse, I could hurt it!"

"Who cares about hurting it?" Ben demanded. "Firstly, it's trying to chew the tire off our Wolf. Secondly, it's the ugliest fucking thing I've ever seen!"

"We are intruders in its territory," Mizi shot back, the color panels on her suit flashing a distinctly angry shade of red as she turned to glare at him. "It would be unacceptable to intentionally cause this creature harm."

"It must cover itself with sand, then wait to ambush passing prey," Lozka mused as she watched the feed. "I wonder what there is to prey on all the way out here? We have come across no plants or animals thus far."

"As much as I'm fascinated by desert ecology," Ben complained, "the more pressing issue is how we're going to get this fucking thing off the wheel. If Mizi won't squash it, then we need to find a way to pry it off. Any volunteers to go out there and give it a little encouragement with one of the shovels?"

"Wait," Mizi said, gesturing to her video feed. "Look, it's letting go."

The horrible thing released the tire from its serrated jaws, perhaps realizing that it wasn't alive. After a momentary pause, its spindly legs whirred into action again, the spider shooting beneath the Timberwolf and out of view far faster than anything of that size should have been able to move.

"Now what's it doing?" Ben wondered, checking the different feeds from the cameras that were spaced out around the hull. There was no sign of the thing now.

"Perhaps it seeks the shade beneath our vehicle?" Lozka suggested. "We forced it to uncover itself, after all. It may be nocturnal, I can certainly sympathize."

"Mizi, will you just run the fucker over?" Ben complained.

"Are you ordering me to kill the animal, Commander?" she asked.

"No," he sighed after a momentary pause. He couldn't make her squash the thing, he didn't want to spend the rest of the mission sharing a vehicle with a pissed off Valbaran. Besides, she might have cultural or religious reasons for objecting. "I'd order you out there to dislodge the thing since you seem to care about its welfare so much, but I'm pretty sure it's big enough to eat you."

"We must reach consensus and formulate a plan," she insisted, turning to face them as she leaned over the back of her chair. "What do you propose, Lozka?"

"Me?" the Araxie asked, glancing between the two. "I would attempt to lure the beast out from beneath the vehicle by baiting it with something. It appears to be attracted to movement. If it hides itself in the sand, perhaps the creature senses disturbances upon its surface."

"Commander?" Mizi continued.

"I'd go out there and poke it with a stick."

"I would have suggested frightening it with a loud sound, but Lozka's idea is the best. On my planet, we have a beast called a Teth'rak that will attack anything that enters its territory, including flocks and vehicles. We try to draw them away using lures that mimic the scent of their urine, making them believe that their hunting grounds are being claimed by another. Perhaps this animal is similar. Is everyone in agreement with Lozka's plan?"

"Uh, sure," Ben replied with a shrug. Was this how the Valbarans made every decision? He felt like they were huddling before a football game.

"I concur," Lozka added, seeming pleased that her idea had been chosen.

"We need a plan of action," the little alien continued. "What shall we throw?"

"It must be something of sufficient weight to disturb the sand," Lozka said.

"What about an MRE?" Ben suggested. "We can spare one of those. Lozka can pop the hatch and toss it near the truck, then Mizi can gun it and get us clear before the little bastard can scurry back under."

The Valbaran nodded her head, her panels flashing a shade of pleased green.

"Alright," Ben said, clapping his hands together. "Let's do it."

He climbed out of his seat and made his way into the bay, retrieving an MRE packet from one the storage shelves, pulling it out from behind its protective netting. It was a flexible, plastic packet colored in Navy blue, weighing a couple of pounds. He tossed it to Lozka, who adjusted her protective goggles before opening the hatch, her upper body rising out of the vehicle. Ben hurried back to his seat, watching on the video feed as it landed a short distance away, creating a splash in the sand.

As quick as a flash, the little monster darted out from the shadow of the vehicle, setting upon the ration pack with the same fury that it had their tire. Its trio of sharp mandibles tore into the plastic packaging, its legs sending sand spraying as it flung the contents all over the place.

Mizi put her foot down, the Timberwolf's engine rumbling as it pulled away. Ben watched the critter from the rear camera, it was completely occupied with tearing up the plastic wrapper. It was a small, inconsequential victory, but it made him feel a lot better about his crew. They had worked well together.

"Nice job, guys," he said. "One problem at a time."

CHAPTER 4: CONTACT

Korbaz gazed out of the slatted window of the conning tower, her furry hands clasped behind her back as she watched the windblown sand tear at the deck of the Wildfire. The command crawler was a little more luxurious than the battleship that she had previously toured. The majority of its deck was taken up by hab modules that practically formed a small settlement atop the vehicle, providing housing for her and her crew. There were barracks, officer's quarters, even a small banquet hall where they could dine. The Matriarch had spared no expense when it came to ensuring that the lead vehicle was befitting of an Admiral's station. The crawler was protected by four CIWS guns, their machine intelligence always scanning for threats, along with a few smaller defensive guns.

The storm was in full swing now, she could scarcely see beyond the limits of the crawler, the air filled with an orange haze. She could just make out the shadow of the two crawlers that were flanking them, the glow from their windows and floodlights barely making it through the swirling sand. They were rolling out in formation, the East Gate a good few hours behind them now.

The control room was similar to that of the Landslide, albeit with more comms equipment. There was a driver at the forward controls by the window, watching a monitor that showed camera feeds from the front of the vehicle, its mammoth treads churning up the dunes. There was a comms operator sitting at their own console, along with a Crewmaster, and a few other attendants. Much of the conning tower's floor space was taken up by a large tactical map that had been salvaged from an old UNN derelict. It was shaped like a table, its surface covered in projectors that would create a holographic image of their surroundings, along with icons for friendly and enemy contacts. At its head was a lavish, padded chair, serving as Korbaz's throne.

She made her way back over to it, sinking into the plush leather, an attendant walking over to offer her a drink. After waving him away, she leaned forward to tap at a touch screen that was embedded in the table, finding it awkward to manage with her sharp claws. The humans had not designed this technology with her people in mind, so she had to use her pads, and be careful not to scratch the glass.

The orange hologram flickered to life, showing a grainy representation of the desert that surrounded them, along with the nearby vehicles. She could see all six crawlers, as well as a couple of scout vehicles that had been deployed ahead of the fleet. Vitza had hooked the system up to the radar bulb, giving her a real-time feed. The Chief Engineer was a wizard when it came to alien technology. Korbaz could read the English text, and navigate the menus, but that was about as far as her expertise went.

Another crew member approached her seat from the right, Korbaz keeping her eyes fixed on the hologram as he started to speak.

"Admiral," he began, lowering his gaze to the carpet. "Our spies in Elysia have reported that the Coalition battalion has begun its journey across the dune sea. They number more than a hundred vehicles, and they are led by a machine of immense size that none of our contacts had ever seen before."

"We knew going into this conflict that we would be outnumbered and outgunned," Korbaz replied, picking at her sharp teeth with one of her claws as she examined the readout. "It changes nothing. The element of surprise is still on our side, and we have the cover of the storm. Are we in contact with any of our raiding parties? What about the group out near the Araxie territory?"

"Aye, Admiral," he replied. "We have sporadic radio contact with them, enough to transmit new orders. The storm is interfering with our long-range comms."

"Order them to divert," she said as she leaned back into her chair, the leather creaking. "I want them to intercept the aliens. They can reach them sooner than us. It will both slow the Coalition's advance, and perhaps dupe them into believing that our forces are far weaker and more poorly equipped than they truly are. It may give them a complacency in future engagements that would cost them dearly."

"Aye, Admiral."
"Warn them to strike and fade," she added. "Favor soft targets, do not engage the main formation. There is little they can do besides pester them like sand fleas, it is not worth their lives if they can keep them."

"It will be as you command, Admiral."

"Crewmaster!" Korbaz snapped, her attendant bowing out as his superior made his way over to her side. He was dressed in the usual style, his purple sash, and his leather jacket adorned with accolades and decorative gold. He had a disfiguring scar on his cheek that she found rather attractive. Borealans healed quickly, but this wound had gone deep, likely a product of a bayonet rather than another Rask's claws. She hadn't assembled a new pack yet, she was too tired from her journey for bouts, but perhaps she would have him later.

"At your service, Admiral," he replied as he stood to attention.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Crewmaster Lortz, Admiral," he replied.

"Take command for a while," she muttered with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Send someone to fetch me if anything should happen. I must rest, my journey has been long and arduous."

"As you wish, Admiral," he replied. "Do you require anything? Food? Wine? Perhaps a consort?"

"No," she said, rising to her feet. "A bed will suffice for now."

The Crewmaster took over as she made her way to the ladder, taking her previous place at the window. Just like on the battleship, the conning tower was fashioned from another modular prefab that had been placed atop of the first. Most of the buildings on the deck were all joined together, letting the crew travel the length of the crawler without being exposed to the elements. She could still hear the sand hammering on the exterior, it was like being inside a giant rainstick.

The prefabs were so much more spacious than any vessel that she had traveled on before. She could hold her head high, she didn't brush both walls when she extended her arms. As the Matriarch was wont to do, she had furnished everything lavishly, it was as much luxury as one could find outside of the palace walls. The floor was always carpeted in regal purple, and the walls were adorned with traditional drapes and curtains, the warm lighting creating a very mellow atmosphere. The furniture was all wood and leather, and the pantries were well stocked with fine meats and delicacies from the territory that she had sorely missed during her time away.

The rewards for carrying the Matriarch's favor were numerous indeed.

The crew greeted her by bowing their heads nervously as she passed, clearing the way as she strode through the complex. It felt good to be respected again, to be shown the proper courtesies. The humans on their lauded space station didn't understand the meaning of those words, and despite their insistence to the contrary, her authority meant nothing to them. Even Korbaz's remarkable patience was often strained by her interactions with the station's personnel. Still, she would miss the Security Chief, if nothing else. His stubbornness had taught her that even a Vice Admiral of the Rask cannot get everything that she wants, a valuable lesson, to be sure...

She arrived at the door that led to her personal prefab, the panel sliding open automatically at her approach. It was about the same size as her suite had been back on the station, a little small by an Admiral's standards. But considering that she had almost an entire building to herself, she couldn't complain. It was furnished much like the Matriarch's audience chamber, all flowing drapes, and soft cushions. The bed was a nest of luxuriant fabrics and pillows, large enough to accommodate a whole pack of five or six. There was a bathroom with a shower cubicle separated behind a dividing wall, and she made a beeline for it, eager to wash off the day's sweat and sand.

Korbaz began to remove the collection of holsters and belts from around her waist, tossing her heavy jacket onto the bed as she passed by it. She pulled off her sweat-stained tank top, then paused to tug off her tight pants, dancing on the spot as she dragged them past her muscular thighs.

She stepped into the cubicle, reveling in the feeling of the cool water carrying the sweat and dust from her tanned skin, using her furry hands like makeshift loofahs. She matted her palms with soap, then slid them across her muscular body, combing her clawed fingers through her hair.

Everything had happened so quickly. One minute, she had been relaxing in her suite on the Pinwheel, planning for the next Security Council meeting. The next, she had been hand-picked by the Matriarch herself to command a fleet against a vastly superior force. Things had been moving along at such a breakneck pace that she had scarcely had time to process it yet.

She leaned against the wall, feeling the cool metal against her back, letting the water carry away the suds. The Matriarch had entrusted her with winning a war that could not be won through conventional means. Crushing their enemies would not earn them victory when the humans could be endlessly resupplied, their dead replaced by the millions. There weren't enough bullets in the whole world to kill every human who could be sent to Borealis. It would have to be a war of attrition, a war that would make the aliens fear the desert such that they would never dare enter it again, no matter what it cost them. Korbaz had never doubted herself before, she had never doubted the wisdom of the Matriarch, but she now found herself second-guessing her. The mere idea of questioning her sent a pang of fear straight through her heart, as though the Matriarch could somehow know her thoughts, sense her doubt.

Contrary to what the humans often assumed after seeing Borealans interact, to submit to one's Alpha was not merely a product of fear, it was not compelled only through the threat of violence. An Alpha was a protector, a provider, someone with the strength and wisdom to lead. An Alpha who met those criteria was beloved by their pack, obeyed without question, while one that failed in their responsibilities never kept their position for long. The Matriarch was the Alpha of Alphas, the highest authority in Borealan society. She was entrusted with the welfare and protection of all Rask, but did this war really benefit her people? Yes, the spoils would be beyond imagining if they should accomplish their goal, and Korbaz certainly thought that it was possible. They would enter a new age of prosperity and freedom. Yet, the price of failure was potentially even greater.

She lifted her face into the stream of water from the showerhead, trying to clear her mind. Perhaps she was merely tired from her journey. Her mood would improve after a good few hours of sleep and a hot meal to fill her belly. Maybe she would invite the Crewmaster to her quarters once she regained her vitality, a little recreational packmaking would do her good. She had spent so much time restraining herself around her fragile human colleagues, she would relish the feeling of drawing blood again.

***

"Mizi," Ben said, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "I got what looks like an oasis due North of us. We've been driving for a long time, let's pull over and stretch our legs, get some fresh air. This damned cab is like an oven."

"I think it's rather comfortable," she replied, keeping her eyes on the dunes ahead of them. "It's not too much warmer than my home planet."

"Yeah, well you have your suit to keep you moist," he complained.

"Why not turn up the climate control?" she suggested. "The vehicle can even be completely pressurized for operation in hostile environments if need be. It has humidity control, temperature, air pressure."

"Yeah, I know, you don't need to quote the manual to me. If we turn up the thermostat, it's only going to drain the fuel cells faster and reduce our range. The system is struggling with the heat as it is. Better to just take a break every now and then."

"If you say so," she replied, changing course.

"The heat does not disturb me," Lozka added, "but the jungles of Araxie are far more humid. It would not do to let my fur dry out. If the Commander will allow it, I believe that more humidity would benefit us both."