Chapter 2: Alpha and Omega

As the tractor neared the work site, Ramos spotted the fleet of six dozers. They had covered some decent ground already and were well into the process of flattening the dunes. Working together in a grid pattern, they could turn a sizeable area of land into a parking lot without much trouble, and there were no drivers who needed breaks or sleep. He couldn’t see the two Rask, but as Kozi turned towards the nearby jungle where they had parked the trailers, they both emerged from the shade of the canopy.

“Why are you wet?” Rashka asked skeptically as Kozi hopped down from the cab.

“We dug our own spring,” Kozi replied breathlessly, slinging her jacket over her shoulder. “He can make water well up from the ground anywhere!”

“Not quite,” Ramos chuckled. “It looks like you two have been doing well.”

“The machines work by themselves,” Zhura replied tersely, one of her ears flicking in what might be irritation. “There is little for us to do other than program instructions.”

“Here,” Rashka added, thrusting a giant canteen that must have contained three or four liters of water into his arms. Ramos had to grip it with both hands, feeling the liquid slosh around inside. It was of Rask design, made from steel, and attached to a leather sling that was embossed with decorative patterns. “You are a newcomer to this desert and still ignorant of its dangers. Drink.”

She fixed him with her steely gaze, and he felt compelled to do as she asked, spilling a little from the heavy container as he drank.

“More,” she commanded.

“Hang on, I gotta take a breath,” he grumbled as Kozi snickered at him. When she was satisfied, Rashka took it back, stowing the canteen on her belt.

“What are you going to teach us next?” Kozi asked, crouching down to his level like she was addressing a child.

“I hope you like dirt,” he replied. “Now that the dozers have cleared some of the land, we can start laying down fertilizer. The goal is not to remove the sand, of course. That would be impossible. But, with a flat surface and a lot of the excess cleared away, we should have a good foundation to start building our new jungle. Contrary to what you might believe, sand isn’t some kind of sterilizing agent. It actually allows water to filter through it quite well. The issue is that it lacks the nutrients that plants need to grow and thrive, being composed mostly of silicates and minerals rather than organic matter and healthy biota.”

“How do we do that?” Kozi asked. “Just sprinkle it on the sand?”

“We’re going to use a specialized machine to dig a series of deep channels that we’ll fill with fertile soil,” he explained. “That’s also where we’ll be planting the seeds. Each of the seeds is contained within a protective gel that acts somewhat like an egg, insulating the sapling when it’s at its most vulnerable, keeping it hydrated, and giving it a kickstart with the nutrients that it needs. That’ll improve their chances of taking to the soil.”

“What of the wells that we dug?” Kozi asked.

“Those are going to feed a drip irrigation system that we’ll be laying down between these rows,” Ramos replied. “Small openings in the buried pipes will allow water to flow out, delivering it directly to the roots of the plants to minimize moisture loss by evaporation. Today is more about training and demonstration, so we’re not going about this in the most efficient order, but the soil and seeds will keep for a few days while we get the irrigation network set up.”

“Very well,” Rashka said. “Proceed.”

“I think it’s Zhura’s turn to learn to drive the tractor,” Ramos declared, giving the surly Rask a smile that she returned with a scowl. She looked to Rashka, silently asking whether she had to obey, the Alpha giving her a stern look.

“Fine,” Zhura grumbled.

“Let’s head over to the trailers, and I’ll show you how the seed drill works.”

The seed drill was a large multi-purpose trailer that attached to the back of the tractor. It was made up of three articulated segments, each of them a distinct machine in its own right. To the untrained eye, it looked like a truck-sized mass of pipes and wheels, but all of the blades and machinery had distinct purposes.

At the front section were a series of blades and wheels that would dig furrows into the earth like a plow. On the middle car was a deep tank shaped like a trough where the fertilizer was loaded. The tail section housed the seed racks, where the rows of pre-packaged canisters filled with suspension fluid could be slotted into place like magazines into a rifle. The fertilizer traveled down a series of snaking tubes, filling the furrows with soil, then the seeds in their protective gel coatings were driven into the ground like stakes. The machine could plow a field, fertilize it, and plant seeds all in a single pass.

Ramos directed the three Rask to start loading the fertilizer, the aliens forming a line. Rashka unloaded the heavy burlap sacks from the back of a trailer, then tossed them to Kozi, who passed them to Zhura, who had climbed up on top of the middle car. She split open the bags with a sharp claw, then upended them into the tank, the three making good time.

Ramos sat down on the hot sand to watch, surmising that he would probably just slow them down if he offered to help. As they exerted themselves, the desert heat started to gnaw at them, and it wasn’t long before all three women had shed their heavy jackets.

They were all wearing simple tank tops beneath the leather, and just like when Kozi had frolicked beneath the shower of water, perspiration soon had the garments glued to their bodies. It was impossible not to notice the outlines of their impressive abdominal muscles and the weight of their ample chests straining against the fabric, Ramos thanking his stars that he was wearing dark sunglasses. Laboring in the heat of the twin suns, the three Rask quickly became drenched in sweat, the moisture making their tanned skin so lustrous that it looked oiled. If Rashka were to flex her bicep, he could probably have seen his reflection in it.

She was an impressive specimen. Where Kozi was a little lighter and leaner, Rashka was all muscle, standing a couple of inches taller than her packmates. She looked like she could probably have flipped the tractor, but despite her brawn, there was nothing masculine about her build. Her wide shoulders were complemented by an hourglass figure that tapered into flared hips, her stout thighs straining against her leather pants, easily comparable in volume to his torso. Her toned core was wide enough that he wondered whether his arms would even meet if he were to hug her. Her breasts would have been absurd on a human woman, but they were more akin to D-cups on her larger build. They were as big as his damned head...

Zhura had a similar build to Kozi, though she was a little stockier, and he noted that she had a collection of scars on her arms that cut into her sandy fur in places. He was amused to see that the Rask often paused to wipe their brows with their furry forearms, and it made him think about their evolution. They were related to Polars like Orzi, so it stood to reason that they likely shared a common ancestor that had been fully furred. Humans had lost their fur in part to aid in the evaporation of sweat, so perhaps something similar had happened to the Rask and their counterparts as they had adapted to their arid environment.

Before long, they had filled the tank with fertilizer, and Ramos had taught them how to load the seeds. He climbed into the tractor after Zhura as her two packmates rested and drank from their canteens, sitting down in the smaller passenger seat as was becoming customary.

“So, have you ever driven something like this before?” he asked, trying to maintain a cheerful tone.

“No,” Zhura replied curtly.

“Well, uh ... I assume you’ve seen other people drive. This thing has power steering, so just turn the wheel in the direction you want to go. These are your throttle, clutch, and brake pedals. Don’t worry too much about these other controls right now – all you need to do is drive in a straight line.”

He handled the plow and drill himself as Zhura drove along, keeping her fierce gaze on the sand ahead of them. She was still drenched with sweat, and he could hear her sticking to the leather seat whenever she shifted her weight, her bronze skin shining in the sunlight that poured in through the dusty windshield.

“How are you taking to farming?” Ramos asked, desperate to break the awkward silence. “Kozi seems to be enjoying herself.”

“Kozi is able to find amusement even in the most trivial of things,” the Rask grumbled. She hissed, cursing to herself in her native language as she fumbled with one of the pedals, the sudden sound and the lurching of the tractor making Ramos jump.

“That was the clutch,” he began, but he quickly shrank back into his chair when she gave him an angry look. “So, I take it you’re not as enthusiastic about this whole thing as your packmates are?”

“What do I have to be enthusiastic about?” she muttered, one of her ears flicking as though it was trying to bat away an irritating fly. “We once served our Crewmasters on the battlefield with honor and distinction, but now we till earth and take orders from runts,” she added with another scowl.

“And I’m the runt, I take it?” Ramos asked.

“You have not earned your authority through blood or merit,” she complained as she turned her eyes back to the flat expanse of sand ahead. “It was merely given to you, just as a parent gifts their kitten with a toy, and you treat it with the same frivolity.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Ramos began, starting to get annoyed. “But, the way I heard it, your Matriarch and your Alpha have both ordered you to obey me. That means if I say jump, you jump. You’re not going to learn how to regrow a rainforest and fix your territory’s water cycle through trial and error, and I’m the guy they sent to teach you, so it’s in your best interest to perk those fuzzy ears up and listen to what I say.”

Zhura bared her sharp teeth, loosing a low growl that reverberated through his bones, her ears flattening against her head like an angry cat. Ramos felt himself sinking into his seat again, but he remembered what Orzi had told him. There would be friction, but if he wanted to gain the respect of the pack, he had to assert himself. Not confrontation, but confidence.

“You don’t scare me,” he replied, sitting up a little straighter. “You’re all bark and no bite. Lay a finger on me, and Rashka will give you the correction of a lifetime. Now, pay attention to where you’re going, or do I have to tell her that you’re not cooperating?”

That gave her pause for thought, and although she remained visibly angry, she turned her attention back to driving. After leaving her to stew for a few minutes, Ramos spoke up again.

“What’s so bad about farming, anyway?” he asked, still a little indignant. “I’ve been doing work like this my whole life. A lot of people would jump at the chance to work in forestry or agriculture rather than have people shooting railgun slugs and tank shells at them.”

“We Rask are warriors,” she replied. “Our place is not in the fields and orchards – it is astride sandships with a rifle in hand. There are no tapestries that record the names and deeds of plowmen.”

“Where would you be without farmers?” he pressed. “Food doesn’t just magically appear out of the ether – it has to be cultivated, harvested, processed. What your pack is learning to do here might one day restore your territory’s ecology and make it just as prosperous as Elysia. Don’t you want that?”

“What we need, we take,” she insisted with a snarl.

“And where did that get you? On the wrong end of an XMR – that’s where.”

“Do not mock me, human,” she grumbled as she began to turn the tractor.

“I’m not mocking you,” he sighed. “I want you to understand that what you’re doing here is equally as important as being in the military. You don’t have to raid caravans to bring prosperity and abundance to the Rask, and there are ways to protect your land and serve your Matriarch without holding a gun. If we can repair the jungle band, it will keep out the desert and restore the water cycle – the Rask territory could flourish. The climate would improve, the lake would grow, and nobody would have to go hungry again. Don’t you want that?”

She kept silent for a moment, Ramos glancing out of the window as they passed the channels they had dug on their way there, the deep furrows now filled in with dark soil to create a stripy pattern in the sand.

“What matters is what Rashka wants,” she finally said. “She is Alpha.”

It sounded to him like Zhura hadn’t really been on board with laying down her weapons and becoming a farmer. If what Kozi had said was to be believed, it seemed unlikely that Rashka would force someone to do something they didn’t want to do, so he had to wonder what circumstances had led to Zhura being here. He didn’t really want to pry – she was surly enough already – so he focused on their work.

It didn’t take long for the tractor to cover the grid square that the dozers had plowed flat, turning the barren sand into a field covered in orderly rows of dark soil. It was only a tiny fraction of the ground they had to cover to seal the breach, but it was a start. As they climbed out of the tractor, Ramos turned to appraise their work, the remainder of the pack returning from the shade of the jungle.

“Not a bad job, Zhura,” Kozi joked as she patted her packmate’s shoulder. “The human will make a farmhand of you yet.”

Zhura didn’t seem to appreciate the compliment, shrugging off Kozi’s hand.

“Drink,” Rashka insisted, shoving the canteen into Ramos’ arms and almost making him lose his balance. He did as she asked, feeling the cool water slide down his parched throat and into his empty stomach. The suns had dipped a little lower in the sky – though their heat hadn’t lessened – and he was starting to get hungry. It must be getting close to evening. Like the Rask, he was drenched in sweat, his clothes sticking to his skin.

“I think we can probably call it for today,” he announced, handing the canteen back. “You guys did a good job. You learned how to tap wells, program drones, and plant seeds. You all got a turn in the tractor, too. Remember – practice makes perfect. The more hands-on experience you gain, the quicker and more efficient you’ll become. This is just the tip of the iceberg, of course. There’s much more to cover, but we’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

“We shall have plenty of time to practice,” Kozi sighed, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the suns as she gazed at the hazy jungle on the far side of the breach.

“It’ll go a lot faster when you have a rhythm down,” Ramos said, trying to reassure her. “The trick is to split everything up into smaller sections and tackle the grid squares one at a time. It’s a little like carving stone,” he added, remembering the impressive masonry that he had seen in the Rask villages. “You chip away at it little by little, removing a small amount of material with each hit of the chisel until you eventually end up with something beautiful.”

That analogy seemed to reach Kozi, and she gave him an appreciative nod.

“You’ll be teaching others to do the work once I leave, too,” he continued. “Nobody is expecting you to handle all of this on your own.”

“We should set off soon if we are to return home before nightfall,” Rashka said. “We must make a detour to drop off Ramos at the alien camp, and he is not dressed for the cold.”

“Does it get that cold here at night?” he asked.

“The temperature plummets, and it becomes dangerous to be caught in the open,” Kozi replied.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “That explains the jackets and the leather getup! Your clothes aren’t just for protecting you from the heat – they have to be warm enough to keep you alive during the night. I thought you guys were crazy for wearing leather in the desert at first.”