Epilogue

The humid, hot jungles of Araxie were a little more tolerable with the right clothing, ideally something that breathed and which didn’t trap sweat. Jules found that running shorts and a tank top were about as much as he could wear before he started to become uncomfortable again. He didn’t look out of place amongst the scantily-clad natives, however. The world of shirts and ties had been left far behind him.

Jules stepped outside of the wooden hut that had been serving as a temporary embassy while the real building was being worked on, closing the door behind him. He was greeted by the sounds of construction. A dozen of the dark-furred aliens were hammering and sawing at a log wall, their leather belts and vests laden with all kinds of alien tools suited to Araxie purposes. There were a few UNN engineers in their yellow overalls hovering nearby, overseeing the work, and giving pointers here and there. It was the dead of night, and so they were shining low-powered torches from their helmets, creating enough light to see by without bothering the Araxie. Of all the cultural differences, sleep schedules seemed the hardest to overcome.

The Patriarch had wanted the embassy to mesh with the rest of the village, so it was being erected by Araxie artisans, built from wood sourced from the local area in their traditional style. Bozka had been confused as to why it had to be built in his village at first, but after Jules had explained that embassies were usually built in capital cities and that the village qualified, he had understood.

While the outside would be very much Araxie in appearance, the interior would be built to Coalition specifications, with air conditioning and an AG field to make the stay a little more tolerable for its human occupants. The building was little more than a skeleton at this point, erected between two large trunks, a foundation of poured concrete providing more support for it. It would be quite large when completed, with two levels, and enough floor space to meet the Coalition’s needs.

Jules was already thinking about the furniture, and how they might decorate it. Maybe some rugs and tapestries would give it a more Araxie feel, some skulls and pelts mounted on the walls like a hunting lounge, perhaps. The alien carpenters would surely produce some unique and expertly crafted chairs and desks, add in a holographic fireplace, and it would certainly look the part.

He chuckled to himself as he watched one of the engineers demonstrated how to use a level to one of the aliens, the creature tapping its claw against the glass tube curiously and following the air bubble with its green eyes.

As well as the engineers, there were some prefab buildings nearby that had been lowered from dropships, albeit with some difficulty due to the density of the jungle canopy. They had been scattered between the gnarled trunks and rounded huts in no particular pattern, wherever was most accessible from the air, the yellow glow from their interior lights making them stand out in the twilight. They were made from white and grey polymer, roughly the size of shipping containers, extending drill-like struts into the soft earth for added stability. UN scientists were using one of them as a field laboratory while they conducted their research in the nearby jungle, and the rest were being used by the Navy, either as small field command centers or as barracks for the Marines. As promised, there were UNN troops patrolling the outskirts of the territory, and there were vessels in the air searching for any signs of danger.

The Patriarch wasn’t too happy about the disruptions to village life, but he knew that it was a temporary arrangement and so had consented to the presence of the unsightly structures. The same was happening in some of the other villages around the territory, too, allowing the Marines to cover as much ground as possible.

Jules heard the distant sound of engines, looking up through the canopy to see the fiery glow of a gunship’s thrusters against the starry sky as it passed by overhead, some of the Araxie villagers who were going about their day to day business pausing to look up at it. They weren’t afraid, such sights were becoming routine. So far, there had been no further incursions by the Rask, and so they still didn’t have any real idea whether the Matriarchy was complicit in the attacks or not. The prisoner that the Araxie had managed to capture had been taken up into orbit for interrogation, perhaps he might shed more light on the situation in time.

He caught a glimpse of a white dress shirt, lit by the dappled starlight that penetrated the canopy above, spotting Zuki as she made her way in his direction. She was wearing her suit, a tablet computer clutched in her furry hand, her head held high. She was speaking with Bozka, who was walking along beside her. She insisted on wearing her suit at all times, regardless of the heat. Rather than just being an item of clothing, she saw it as the uniform of a diplomat, wearing it like a badge of honor during her daily dealings with the Patriarch and the UNN personnel who had set up shop in the village.