Chapter 2: Local Flavor

Dennis left the embassy, breathing in a lungful of hot, dry air. The white sun blazed above him, bleaching the sandstone buildings and casting dark shadows. He could tolerate the heat and the gravity, though he acted a lot more brazen than he really felt.

“Stay close to me and do not leave my sight,” Xhe warned as he trotted along beside her, the alien outpacing him with her long strides. There weren’t any pedestrians in this part of the city. The Patriarch’s spire protruded above the skyline, its white glare setting it apart from the more yellow and brown landscape.

These squat stone buildings were made to last, that much was obvious. There were fine details and engravings on the pillars and blocks that held them up, murals and reliefs carved into the stone, who could guess how long ago. These dwellings were the creations of artisans, people who took great pride in their work and who expected it to be on display for a long time. He realized that all of the arches that decorated the streets along with the domed roofs of the houses were self-supporting, made from interlocking blocks that exploited the very gravity that tried to tear them down in order to stay upright. It was a deceptively simple yet elegant solution.

The ground beneath his feet was paved with stone slabs and in some places cobbles. The jungle would not reclaim this land through such thick rock, weeds could not prevail in the cracks and creepers would find no purchase here. Dennis had no sense of time or of scale, how old was the city? Was he looking at modern building techniques or those of the distant past? Had these stone slabs been placed here to ward off the encroaching jungle a hundred years ago or a thousand? He wanted to ask Xhe, but their timescales did not seem to translate well. He elected to follow her in silence rather than bother her with confusing calculations.

She seemed tense, was she embarrassed to be seen in his company? Perhaps, Borealan society was strictly regimented, but he got the impression she was worried for his safety more than anything. It didn’t bother him, no society could exist in the way that everyone wanted to imply, violence could not be the result of every minor confrontation or disagreement. The whole social system would collapse. He would heed her dire warnings, but he suspected that much of it was exaggeration. Things were never as bad as they seemed.

Even after walking down the narrow streets for a while it still seemed as if the city was deserted, Dennis hadn’t seen a single Borealan. Just when his feet were starting to hurt, they crossed into a larger street lined with colorful signs and stalls. A market? Some kind of bazaar?

Towering Borealans of all shapes and colors crowded the street, not one of them was under seven feet tall. They wore robes and clothing in all manner of styles, a rainbow of finely woven cloth and patterned, flowing garments. They had such varied skin tones, from porcelain to ebony and everything in-between. Their hair came in diverse patterns and colors too, he could see blondes and redheads, silvery and raven-haired examples, faded tiger stripes and leopard spots decorating their furred forelimbs. They weaved around him, some pausing to stare intently at the odd little alien. It was a little overstimulating after having been cooped up in the embassy for the better part of a week.

Xhe steered him through the crowd, a firm hand gripping his shoulder. He felt like a child lost in a mall. These aliens were not only tall, but impressively muscled. A combination of their high protein, mostly meat diet, and the crippling gravity no doubt. He could feel his own body changing gradually, his muscle mass increasing under the stress of having to carry around an extra thirty percent of his body weight. It was more effective than any gym membership that money could buy.

He knew not to stare, it could be taken as a challenge that must be met with violence by the offended party, but he couldn’t take his eyes off them. It was a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns. An eight-footer walked past him, pausing to glance down with her emerald green eyes. Her skin was tanned a shade of light brown, her exposed fur patterned with spots like a cheetah. She had a mane of blonde hair that fell down her back, sporting the same spots that were present on her fur. Dennis didn’t think that they were decorative, they looked almost vestigial, a throwback to their evolutionary past perhaps. She wore a floaty, green sari in an almost Indian style, the delicate garment was wrapped around her body and fastened with an ornate belt around the waist.

Clearly, clothing was as much, if not moreso a means of self-expression on Borealis than it was on Earth. No two Borealans were alike, he could have sat and watched them all day. He felt drab in his black suit. To think that he had considered his shiny, red necktie a daring fashion statement.

Another Borealan paused to meet his gaze, this one was male, about the same height. This one had light skin with dark hair that was cropped short, his eyes a shade of gold, the fur on his forearms and legs the same velvet black. He wore a pair of baggy pants made from a blue, breezy material, perhaps something analogous to cotton. His chest was bare, save for a decorative, crimson sash with golden embroidery that hung across his shoulder.

Xhe hurried Dennis along, increasing the pace.

“Do not stare, I told you this!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, they’re just so ... colorful!”

She steered him past vendors and stalls, their occupants shielded from the harsh glare of the twin suns by colorful awnings. Dennis snapped his head back and forth in an attempt to take in every sight and sound, every strange smell that wafted on the air. There were slabs of dripping meat hanging from iron hooks, the scents of street food rising to his nose, strange and enticing. Someone was roasting a six-legged animal over a roaring fire, its charred body too burned to make out much detail. Colorful items of clothing were on display, decorative jewelry and beads catching the sunlight. One of the stalls was selling alien fish that ranged from the size of a trout to something that looked like an armored shark with too many fins, what must be a fishmonger cutting his produce into sections with a large machete.

Dennis wanted to see everything, to peruse every stall and examine every alien artifact, but Xhe’s only concern was getting him off the street. They turned into a building marked with an illegible sign, the Borealan script resembling claw marks. It was dingy inside, and it smelled strange. There was a haze in the air, like smoke, and a handful of aliens were sitting around a table. One raised its head to look at him, then nudged another, and soon he was the focal point of the whole room.

“What kind of place is this?” he whispered to Xhe.

“A tavern, there won’t be many people here at this time of day, better to get you inside. I told you not to stare at people, did you not understand?”

“I’m sorry, there was so much to see!”

He heard a chair scrape on the wooden floor. One of the Borealans who had been sat at the table got up and walking over to inspect them. It was a female, slightly larger than Xhe. She was smoking something that resembled a pipe, trailing grey smoke behind her. She stood a short distance away, taking the pipe in her hand as she spoke.

“A human, on Borealis?”

She spoke English? Dennis noticed that she was wearing some kind of form-fitting jumpsuit, different from the decorative clothing of the Borealans he had seen in the market. It was Coalition blue.

“Remember what I taught you, Dennis,” Xhe whispered ominously.

The stranger cackled heartily, taking a draw from her long pipe and blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. It smelled like tobacco.

“Don’t worry, caretaker of the human, I’m Coalition.” She tapped her clawed fingers on a metal badge on her breast.

Xhe exhaled and stood a little straighter, relieved, but still on guard.

“Pinwheel?” she asked. The stranger nodded, and Xhe turned to Dennis, crouching down to his level. “It should be safe.”

“Join us, human,” the stranger said as she beckoned to Dennis with a clawed finger. “I’m curious to know what you’re doing here, of all places.”

Dennis perked up. This was what he had wanted, to interact with the locals, to learn their culture and customs so that he might better serve as the ambassador. It was his job to understand the aliens and to work alongside them.

He trotted over to the table where four other Borealans were smoking similar pipes and nursing large, wooden mugs containing an unidentifiable liquid. It’s a goddamn bar, he thought to himself, an alien bar. The stranger gestured for him to sit on a vacant stool, and he struggled up onto it, his feet dangling like a toddler in a highchair. The others eyed him curiously as the larger stranger returned to her seat, puffing acrid smoke and examining him. She was laid back and confident, clearly the Alpha of this small group.

“My name is Chaka, I’m a Lieutenant Colonel with the Coalition. I’m on shore leave for a few months while my carrier, the UNN Samar, is in dry dock.” She took a long draw from her pipe, blowing a cloud of smoke in Dennis’ direction as he did his best to suppress a cough. Xhe hovered nearby, watching them carefully. “So tell me, what is a human doing on Borealis? In this tavern of all places?”

“My name is Carlisle,” he replied, “I’m the newly appointed ambassador to Borealis.”

“Ambassador!” Chaka crooned, a wry smile on her lips. “And what does that job entail?”

“I represent Earth and her colonies in political matters concerning Borealis.”

“Impressive, that’s an important job. So what are you doing in this tavern?”

“I wanted to see the city!” he said excitedly. “I’ve been cooped up the in the embassy for a week while I adapted to the gravity. Now that I can walk around, I want to learn about your people and culture so that I can better perform my duties.”

The other aliens sitting around the table had not spoken so far, he suspected because Chaka was clearly the Alpha. Based on what he knew about Borealan packs, to speak out of turn could be taken the wrong way. Not that it mattered, this Chaka seemed to do enough talking for all of them. Besides, they might not even speak English. He had to remember that he was on foreign soil, the vast majority of people that he encountered would not be able to understand him. He would have to rely on Xhe to be his interpreter in most cases. Meeting a Coalition soldier by chance was certainly fortuitous.

Chaka eyed him, her yellow pupils reflecting what little light was available in the dingy, smoke-filled room. She had leopard patterns in her bushy, auburn hair. He assumed that the patterning extended to her fur as it had on the other Borealans that he had seen so far, but it was obscured beneath her suit, unusually modest compared to the local fashions.

“I have just the cultural experience for you, Ambassador,” she said with a toothy grin. She rose from her seat and walking across the room to another table that was stacked with containers and bottles. After a moment she selected one, a tall bottle containing a pink liquid, and brought it back to their table. She slammed it down and unsealed it, pouring a cloudy concoction into a wooden mug.

She slid it across the table towards him, and he hefted the large cup, sniffing the contents experimentally. Xhe looked concerned but did not rush to stop him. Chaka’s cohorts watching him curiously, perhaps wondering what he made of the beverage.

“What is it?” he asked.

“This is a Borealan delicacy,” Chaka replied as she took a drink from her own mug. “Roughly translated it is called raises the hair. It is a traditional spirit made from fermented berries and milk.”

“Doesn’t sound like anything I can’t stomach.”

The Borealans around the tabled nudged each other and watched expectantly as Dennis brought it to his lips. He took a taste, then a long draw, lowering the cup and wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“Tastes like strawberry milk!”

Chaka stared at him for a moment, then slammed her fists on the table, making his mug jump.

“Not so much as a cough!”

“Was that supposed to be strong?” Dennis scoffed. “I’ve had ciders with more of a kick than that.”

She poured him another cup and filled the mug of an adjacent Borealan with the pink spirit. This one looked reluctant but complied, taking a drink and then lowering the cup, sputtering and hacking. Chaka laughed, slamming the table again with her clenched fist.

“You see? That was the reaction I expected! Don’t tell me you little monkeys can drink a Borealan under the table.”

“Is that a challenge?” he asked. Chaka seemed taken aback for a moment, but then her lips curled into a smile, and she picked up her wooden mug in her clawed hand.

“Yes, yes it is.” She lifted the mug to her lips and took a long draw. Her brow furrowed as she held it in her mouth, then she swallowed heavily, hissing like an angry cat. Her cheeks began to redden immediately, and she poured another round. The other aliens looked on in silence, either smoking or sipping their own, more mild beverages.

“What are you waiting for, Ambassador?” Chaka asked as she gestured to his mug. “It would be rude to issue a challenge only to back down.” She sucked her pipe then blew smoke in his direction, Dennis waving away the cloud as he picked up his mug again. Xhe had taken a seat a short distance away on some kind of padded couch that protruded from the wall, watching him like a hawk.

Dennis had noted that there didn’t seem to be a bartender. Did Chaka own this hole in the wall, or were Borealans trusted to take only their share and then leave appropriate compensation? Perhaps service members had special privileges in this culture so concerned with status and strength? Very strange.

He drank deeply, the liquid was smooth and milky. It was the first sweet-tasting product he had come across so far. He suspected that it was a side effect of the berries used primarily for their alcohol content, but he liked it. If this was supposed to be a strong spirit then Borealans had a very low tolerance for alcohol, a good vodka would probably poison them. Out-drinking this warrior might earn him some sorely needed street cred.

He finished off his mug and pushed it over to Chaka, the alien laughing as she refilled it.