Chapter 4: Play Hard

The pack dropped Ramos off at his prefab, then drove to the city, giving him an hour to get ready before they returned. The first thing he did was get a shower, washing off the day’s sweat and grime, the cool water soothing him.

As much as Kozi’s childish antics annoyed him, she wasn’t entirely wrong. He was curious to see how the Rask lived in their city, and he couldn’t spend all of his free time just sitting in his prefab staring at his tablet. Maybe it would be fun. Lord knew they all needed to blow off some steam and relax a little. It wasn’t as though anyone could force him to drink more than he wanted to, and there would be other off-worlders around, according to Kozi.

He toweled himself dry and opened the little wardrobe in his bedroom. He hadn’t brought more than a duffel bag’s worth of clothes with him, but he had a couple of different outfits. How upscale was this bar, anyhow? He’d forgotten to ask. Would it be formal or casual wear? He went with business casual, figuring that it would be a good compromise, pulling on a pair of slacks and a dress shirt.

As he waited on the couch in the living room, checking the time on his phone, he realized how fast his heart was beating. It wasn’t a date, it was more like hanging out with work friends, but he knew that Kozi would be trying to put the moves on him. Maybe some part of him found this whole situation ... fun? He could have refused to cooperate at any point – gone to Rashka or Orzi – but something made him want to play along. Maybe it was just the novelty of being pursued – of being thrust into an environment where the relationship dynamics were so drastically different. The Rask were so rigid in their social order, yet so free and permissive in their romantic lives. It was intimidating, but also refreshing. Women didn’t chase him aggressively and persistently on Earth, and while Kozi’s motives were certainly alien, it was a nice thing to experience for a little while...

He was jolted back to reality by the buzzer, and he hurried over to the door, sliding it open to a flood of dry heat and the sound of a rumbling engine. Kozi pushed past him, stepping into the prefab and appraising his modest abode for a moment before turning to grin down at him.

Gone was the tight leather getup. Instead, she was wearing an outfit made of flowing, gossamer fabrics in shades of pastel blue and green. The material was light and airy, clearly designed for an oppressively hot environment, the layers reminding him of a sari or the silks worn by a belly dancer. There was a sling over one of her shoulders that cradled her chest, winding its way down her torso to leave much of her toned midriff exposed. A tantalizingly low belt made from a length of fabric secured it about her waist, and below, a hanging curtain preserved her modesty like a kind of long loincloth. It left the bronze skin of her thighs exposed, and the subtle translucency of the cloth left very little to the imagination, the shadowy outlines of her impressive figure clearly visible as the light bled through it. Unlike her leathers, there were few embellishments, only a couple of silver clasps helping to secure the garment.

Ramos was staring, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. This wasn’t the first time that he had admired Kozi’s gravity-honed figure, nor the first time that her feminine features had leapt out at him, but she had never looked so... graceful before. He would have described her as scrappy, with her messy hair, her dusty leathers, and her tendency to test the patience of everyone around her. The only word that came to mind now was stunning. To say that she cleaned up well was as much of an understatement as calling the crawler kind of large or the desert a little warm.

“You nearly ready, runt?” she asked as she cocked her wide hips and peered down at him. “What are you wearing?” she added with a giggle, bending over to tug at the collar of his shirt. “Is this how you usually dress when you are relaxing?”

“It’s business casual,” he replied, batting her furry hand away. “Slacks, a light shirt – nothing too formal. Is ... that usually how Rask dress, or is this a special occasion?” he asked with a nod to her clothes.

“What do you think?” she asked, spinning on the spot to give him a better view. “If you had not noticed, it gets hot in our territory, and we Rask do not share your human obsession with modesty.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he mumbled. The Rask were sexual beings, and not exactly prone to insecurity with their impressive physiques. “I guess the leather is just for work and fighting?”

“We should clothe you as one of our own,” she added, looking him up and down hungrily. “What a sight that would be.”

“I don’t think I’ve been here long enough to go native,” he replied, reaching for the blazer that he had left on the couch as he turned to the door.

“You will not be needing that,” Kozi said.

“Doesn’t it get cold here at night?”

“Yes, but anywhere Rask congregate after sunset will be kept warm with a roaring fire. The cold makes us sluggish. Come here,” she added, placing a hand on his shoulder and turning him around to face her. She crouched down and began to fumble with his buttons, her large fingers ill-suited to the task, but she managed to open his shirt down past his chest. She spread it a little, then stood up to appraise him, seeming satisfied. “A little better.”

“I look like a fratboy,” he muttered, the complaint meaningless to her.

“Off you go,” she said, turning him back to the door and giving him a gentle push. “We must not keep Rashka waiting.”

They headed outside, Kozi opening one of the doors on the back of the APC and climbing inside after Ramos. He sat down on the padded cushions, glancing across the troop bay to see Zhura sitting adjacent to him. Like Kozi, she was dressed in a revealing silk getup, this one sporting shades of yellow and fiery orange. She favored something that more resembled a tube top, the fabric wrapping around her neck to form an X pattern, a sarong made from a single piece of cloth serving as a skirt.

With the twin suns all but set, night was falling, only the light from the nearby prefabs bleeding into the bay. In the gloom, the moisture on her dusky skin glistened, her reflective eyes seeming to shine like gold coins as she peered back at him.

“Evening,” he mumbled as Kozi slammed the door shut. She rapped her fist on the hull, and the vehicle lurched into motion, setting off towards the city. Rashka was driving, but Ramos couldn’t see into the cab very clearly.

It was hard to have a conversation over the engine noise, but they didn’t drive very far before the old rust bucket jerked to a halt, the vibrations ceasing as Rashka shut it off.

“Are we getting out already?” Ramos asked as everyone began to rise from their seats.

“The peacekeepers are not fond of people driving armored vehicles through the city,” Kozi explained as she hopped out. “Besides, the old cobbled roads were not laid with such machines in mind.”

When Ramos followed her out, he found himself standing on sand, glancing up at the sky to see that night had fallen. Borealis had no moons and very little light pollution, the clear weather giving him a beautiful view of the stars that could only have been matched from a spacecraft’s observation deck. He could see the colorful band of the Milky Way trailing from horizon to horizon, like a smear of paint on a black canvas. The sand beneath his feet was still tangibly warm, but the hot wind had been replaced with a cool, soothing breeze.

He turned, seeing the city stretching out before him. They had approached from the direction of the spaceport and had parked at its outskirts, putting the lake on the far side, out of view from where he was standing. A skyline of squat sandstone buildings extended into the distance, some larger than others, but few higher than a couple of stories. They sported the usual self-supporting domes, their windowless walls covered over with paste-like mortar, wooden support beams jutting from their facades. Where the stone was exposed, it was almost always given some decorative flair, carved with intricate reliefs or scratchy Rask script, each dwelling likely having been built by hand. Rising above the domed rooftops were the spires of the palace, their caps of white marble visible even by starlight, serving as beacons to the people who lived below. A soft, yellow glow emanated from the streets, suggesting the presence of electric lighting.

Hearing the sound of a metal door closing, he glanced back at the APC, seeing Rashka climb out of the cab. She strode over to him, seeming to grow taller and taller as she neared, Ramos having to tilt his head higher and higher to look her in the face.

Just like her packmates, her leather jacket and pants had been replaced with a flowing silken outfit, the delicate fabrics fluttering as they caught the breeze. She was wearing more than either of her companions, yet she was paradoxically less clothed. A single length of material was wrapped around her chest and shoulders to form a sling, her ample bosom straining against it, the silk coiling around her torso before ending just above her navel. It was secured with a shining, golden clasp to prevent it from coming loose. Only a couple of inches below it was a sarong not unlike Zhura’s that wrapped around her waist, coming down past her knees. Over it all, she wore a kind of shawl that was draped over her broad shoulders, the billowing cloth reaching down almost as far as the hem of her skirt.

What made it revealing was the quality of the material. It looked like a fine mesh or chiffon, leaving her practically nude, as though she was wreathed in nothing more than colorful smoke. It was so translucent that he could easily see the tanned hue of her skin through it – even the contours of her muscles, her sculpted abs, and the silhouette of her wide hips on display. The fabric was thicker over her chest and groin where there were more layers, but not so much that it didn’t leave a tantalizing suggestion of what might lie beneath. In some ways, it was more alluring than mere nudity, guiding the eye and teasing...

“You are staring again, Ramos,” Kozi purred as she sidled up beside him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, the butterflies returning as he gazed up at Rashka. If his tongue hadn’t been disconnected from his brain, he might have told her that she looked radiant – that he’d had no inkling that someone so intimidating and powerful could have appeared so captivating. Maybe it was for the best – he had no idea how the Rask responded to such compliments.

“S-sorry,” he finally stammered. “I wasn’t expecting ... to, uh, stop outside the city.”

“We shall continue on foot,” she replied, heading off in the direction of the buildings. Walking away from him, she gave Ramos a front-row view of her sculpted figure. Her pert cheeks rolled beneath her sarong, her long tail swaying in rhythm, the little dimples at the base of her spine and the developed muscles in her back and shoulders casting shadows in the starlight. Even among the Rask, she was an incredible specimen, like a Greek statue imbued with life by Aphrodite.

“Do not forget to pick up your jaw,” Kozi whispered, giving him a shove of encouragement on her way past. Zhura followed behind her, fixing her yellow eyes on him for a moment, seeming to disapprove of his attire.

He took a second to recover his faculties, then hurried after them.

As they entered the city proper, the sand gave way to cobblestone streets barely wide enough to accommodate a buggy. The pack walked beneath curving archways that made the buildings to either side of them feel more contiguous, as though the whole city had been hewn from a single block of stone, the passages winding and organic.

Ramos had been right – the Rask had begun to adopt electric lighting. There were some very out-of-place industrial light poles set up between some of the buildings, casting a soft glow on the stone below, their insulated cables winding along the sides of the buildings. It was a strange marriage between old and new.

They navigated the crooked streets, passing a few Rask clad in shawls or leathers, but there didn’t seem to be much of a nightlife. Most people were probably holed up in their homes to escape the coming cold. The pack came upon a kind of marketplace built within a town square at the junction of several streets, the buildings that encircled it sporting colorful awnings to shield the stalls from the suns. It was empty now, save for a Puma IFV that was parked near its center, the camera dome on its gun turret swiveling as it scanned the immediate area. There were three Coalition peacekeepers hanging out in a small checkpoint nearby – two Marines and a Jarilan Drone – barely looking up from their conversation as the pack passed by. It seemed that things inside the city were pretty calm and relaxed. If Rask politics worked anything like their pack system, then the chances of another rebellion rising up to overthrow the new Matriarch were pretty slim.

After a few more twists and turns, Ramos spotted a pink glow bathing the cobblestones. On the left side of the street was a two-story building with a neon sign hanging above its large, wooden doors, one section of its otherwise flat roof adorned with a dome. There were no windows, but as they approached the entrance, he heard the thrum of music bleeding out onto the street. He glanced up at the sign, seeing that it displayed a few different languages. There was the scratchy Rask script, flowing Valbaran characters, and English letters that read Oasis Bar. Not the most original name, but they probably didn’t have much competition.

Rashka pushed open one of the heavy doors, leading them into an arched passageway that looked more like something Ramos would expect to see in a castle than a club. There was a Krell lying down on a rug to the right side of the passage, the giant alligator-like reptile maybe fifteen feet long. It was so large that the olive-green scutes running down its armored back were about level with Ramos’ chest, even though it was lying on its pale belly, its stocky limbs tucked to its sides. On the wall behind it was a rack covered with weapons, some holstered on leather belts, others hanging on slings. He could see pistols and knives of crude Rask design, along with rail rifles and handguns of human origin. There were several wooden signs nailed to the stone, one of them reading please surrender your weapons in English. The alien opened one yellow eye to examine the group as they passed, blinking with a nictitating membrane, then seemed to go back to sleep.

“Is he the bouncer?” Ramos whispered as they walked around the creature.

“Nothing like a Krell to keep a belligerent Rask in line,” Kozi replied. “I once saw a recording of one tearing a Betelgeusian Warrior to pieces with nothing but its jaws. It cored out the pilot like a stone from a fruit.”

“I suppose that’s one way to get a Borealan to respect you.”

As Rashka opened the next set of doors, the music grew louder, and they stepped into the bar proper. Ramos was taken aback, pausing to appraise the strange sight. The first impression he got was that of a medieval tavern. The walls were exposed sandstone that was covered over in places with ornate tapestries, and the floor was paved with flagstones, iron chandeliers hanging from crooked wooden beams that crossed the high ceiling. There was a counter on the far right of the room, the shelves behind it stocked with bottles, and in the center of the space was a recessed fire pit. Flames licked from its bed of burning coals, casting wavering shadows, a few spits laden with meat turning above it. There was a worn stone staircase leading to a wooden balcony that ringed the room, serving as the second story, and above it all was a dome painted with a faded fresco.

Smeared over it all like paint was a veneer of modernity. Naked flame was joined by strips of LED lights that had been wound around the chandeliers and balcony supports like holiday decorations, casting an artificial neon glow. Along with wooden benches of an archaic style were printed tables and chairs to accommodate alien guests, and there were padded booths against the far wall that seemed sized for Valbarans. Each one had a little table with a hookah sitting on top. Speakers had been mounted on the walls, and they were blaring throbbing music in a style that Ramos didn’t recognize.

The bar was packed, filled with Rask and aliens alike, half a dozen languages carrying over the music. He had never seen so many different species in one place before – not even on the carrier. There was a flock of Valbarans wearing colorful tunics and form-fitting bike shorts occupying one of the booths, chattering in their rapid-fire, high-pitched language as they drank and passed the hoses between them. Several packs of Rask were sitting at the wooden benches, a couple of them joined by humans who were wearing casual clothes, others sporting the Navy-blue uniforms of Marines. There were a few other Borealans that he could see – Elysians with lighter skin and red hair, as well as fluffy white Polars. Like the Rask, the furry aliens wore revealing gossamer fabrics, perhaps tolerant enough of the cooler nights that they didn’t require environment suits like Orzi.

The Jarilans were as numerous as the Rask, their colorful, iridescent carapaces picking them out among the crowd. They came in every hue, from lemon yellow to ruby red, their builds just as diverse. He could pick out some squat Workers waddling along with flutes of bubbling liquid held in their lower pair of hands, some leaner Drones who were sticking with the Marines, and even a lanky Pilot. She was taller than a human but not quite as large as a Borealan, with a slim build and long limbs. Curiously, she wore a green gown over her azure shell in the style of the Rask, even though she seemed to have nothing to cover up. Maybe it was just for show. She was sitting between two Rask, the plates that made up her face splitting open to expose a long proboscis that she dipped into her glass like a straw.

Strangest of all, an audience of two dozen people were sitting around a raised stage in one corner of the room. It looked like a recent addition to the bar, its edge lined with more neon strips. Dancing atop it was a male Valbaran – the first that Ramos had ever seen. He was hard to distinguish from the females, with similarly prominent hips and thighs, but his chest was flat and he was subtly smaller. His scales had been waxed to a mirror sheen, and he was wearing a low-cut tunic that exposed his shoulders, along with clinging shorts. He twisted and gyrated in time with the music, performing some exotic dance that he must have memorized down to each step, peacock-like feathers with mesmerizing eye spots erupting from his sheaths to shimmer in the lights that bathed him. He must be the evening’s entertainment.

Rashka led the pack over to an unoccupied booth made from a U-shaped couch that cradled a low table, the seating robust enough to allow a whole pack of Rask to lounge comfortably. Ramos climbed up onto the padded seat, nestling himself in the piles of cushions and pillows. It was about as deep as a king-sized bed, and he could only reach the table if he perched on its edge. The pack joined him, Kozi choosing to sit beside him, the way that her weight made the padding sag drawing him closer to her. Rashka and Zhura sat a little further away, the Rask swiveling their ears and turning their heads as they took in their surroundings.

“This is a lot more ... cosmopolitan than I was expecting,” Ramos said as he wriggled to put a little more distance between him and Kozi. “You weren’t lying when you said that aliens like to hang out here.”

“It has become somewhat of an unofficial gathering place for off-worlders,” Kozi replied, extending a long arm over the backrest behind him. “So, what do humans like to drink?”

“What, your friend Xeema didn’t tell you?” he joked.

“A round of Elysian wine,” Rashka said. It was an order, not a suggestion.

“You do like your wine,” Kozi said with a smile. “If we succeed in our work, perhaps there could be vineyards in our territory one day.”

Zhura left to place their order, returning shortly with a tray that was loaded with glasses and a large bottle of pink liquid. She set it down and uncorked the bottle with her claw, pouring a glass for each person, then returned to her seat. Ramos reached for his cup, swirling the drink around for a moment, watching as his companions took their first sips. The Rask were conservative, treating the stuff like it was a spirit, so it must have a pretty high alcohol content.

Ramos took a sip, then a longer one, swishing the stuff around in his mouth.

“What the hell?” he muttered, downing the rest of the glass. The Rask watched him with wide eyes as he wiped his mouth and set the empty cup back on the table. “This tastes like fruit punch. What’s in this?”

“Xeema told me that the humans she met could tolerate an incredible amount of alcohol,” Kozi explained, grinning at Rashka across the table. “And you said that you were not much of a drinker,” she added, giving Ramos a pat on the back with her giant hand that almost made him double over.

Zhura seemed unconvinced, so she poured him another glass, filling it to the brim in an unspoken challenge. Ramos knocked it back like it was nothing, Kozi giggling in amusement.

“This is a lot to you guys?” he asked, glancing between the aliens skeptically. “What’s the percentage?”

“Nearly four percent,” Kozi replied.

“That’s less than a beer,” he scoffed. “Vodka or rum would be like ten times that.”

“Such a concentration would send a Rask to the infirmary,” Rashka clarified.

“Maybe we don’t metabolize it in the same way,” Ramos said with a shrug.

“We should get Earth drinks,” Kozi suggested, slamming a hand on the table excitedly. “Maybe some Valbaran herb?” she added, giving her Alpha a hopeful glance.

“You know that you cannot take your herb,” Rashka replied, shutting her down.

“That was one time,” Kozi whined, leaning her head on the table dramatically. “How was I to know how strong it was? Look how little they are!” she added with a gesture to the male Valbaran who was dancing on the stage. “It looks like you should be able to smoke a whole bushel of the stuff.”