Chapter 6: Peepshow

Jules spent the rest of the day with Zuki, interviewing people in the great hall and around the village, recording all of the information on their attitudes towards the Coalition and aliens that he needed. She was remarkably diplomatic. Everyone in the village seemed to know her, even if some of them were wary around her, and she was able to translate the local dialect when the Araxie in question had a poor grasp of the English language. All in all, the endeavor would have been next to impossible without her help, both due to her knowledge, and her people skills. She escorted him back to his hut when they were done, and he bade Zuki goodnight, or rather good morning as the sun was starting to rise.

He swung the door open with a creak, noticing that Edwards and Simmons were already in their hammocks. Edwards was snoring, and the Sergeant seemed to be asleep too, He closed the door as quietly as its squeaky hinges would allow, slipping off his boots, and making his way towards his own bunk. Yuta and Velez were missing, they might be on watch or something like that.

Walking around the village all day in the high gravity of Borealis had exhausted him, and it was a relief to take the weight off his legs. He sank into the stretched fabric of the bed, staring at the wooden ceiling. He tried to get to sleep, but the Marine’s loud snoring made that difficult, Jules scowling across the room at him. There was no pillow with which to cover his ears, but perhaps there was another solution...

He reached down towards the floor with some difficulty, as the bed was higher than was convenient for a human, picking up his black helmet. He slid it over his head and used the switches near the ear to shut off the built-in microphones. Blissful silence ensued, and the interior of the helmet was lined with padding, too. Sure, it was hot, but there was no escaping the heat and sweat regardless of whether he was wearing a helmet or not. He could deal with it.

Jules closed the visor to block out the light of the rising sun that was creeping in under the door, then noticed that one of the icons was still flashing. Curious, he tapped at the buttons, and three windows opened up. It was the helmet camera views from when he had been observing the wargame, it seemed that they had never turned the function off. Those of Simmons and Edwards were dark. They must be powered off, or perhaps they were in a backpack or facing a fall.

Wherever Velez was, his view was active, but the window was currently too small for Jules to make much out. The Marine probably didn’t know that Jules was able to observe him, was it ethical to essentially spy on him?

Jules considered for a moment, then shrugged, expanding the window to fill his visor. No harm, no foul, right? Velez was sitting down somewhere, likely at the foot of a tree. Jules couldn’t make out any of the wooden huts or other structures, so he must be somewhere on the outskirts, perhaps near the vine wall that concealed the village from outside scrutiny. What was he doing out there?

“Borealans do come on pretty strong,” Velez said. Was he talking to somebody? He turned his head, looking up at Yuta, who was sitting beside him on a root. She looked surly, she was resting her fuzzy forearms on her knees and staring at the floor.

“It is ... frustrating,” she muttered, “it took all of my self-control to prevent myself from knocking him to the ground and taking him right there. I thought that it might jeopardize the mission, cause an incident. Everyone would be angry with me, Sergeant Simmons, Lambert, my Patriarch. I would lose face.”

“I think it was the right decision,” Velez replied as he turned his head back to face the trees. “These Araxie aren’t like Elysians, they do things differently. More importantly, their pack structure seems to be different. They might look like Equatorials, but they don’t act like them, you should probably keep that in mind and treat them more like you would a human.”

“I suppose,” she muttered. “A human wouldn’t understand, but both you and the Araxie send out ... signals ... that are easy for us to misinterpret.”

“Are you kidding?” he laughed, glancing up at her. “I’m more than familiar with that, how long do you think I’ve been on this rock? See these scars?” he asked, showing her the pink trails that crisscrossed his exposed forearms. “I’m covered in them, and these ain’t battle scars if you catch my drift.”

“An Elysian should know better than to behave like that towards a human,” she muttered disapprovingly as she stared at the old wounds, “your kind are too fragile.”

“We’re tougher than we might look,” Velez said. “Besides, you get used to it after a while, some of us even start to like it. None of us would be here if we didn’t want to be.”

“Why do you and the others stay?” she asked. “On Borealis, I mean. This environment is so hostile to your kind, and yet you endure it.”

“There’s an element of freedom to being here, I suppose,” he replied as he leaned back against the tree and looked up at the branches high above. “The dress code is pretty lax, for one. You can drink all the alcohol you want while on the job because Borealan drinks are weak as piss, you can mingle with the locals, shoot the shit. Command doesn’t give a fuck as long as you do your job properly. I couldn’t be walking around sipping on a thermos full of ‘raises the hair’ and eating meat right off the bone while on duty if I was deployed on a carrier, they probably wouldn’t even let me roll up my sleeves. Then there’s the hazard pay, which is pretty sweet. By the time I’m ready to pack it in, I’ll be able to buy a nice plot of land on one of the colonies.”

“I see,” Yuta muttered, “and what of the people? Most humans do not adapt well to Borealan social life.”

He shifted his weight, reaching up and pulling back the collar of his uniform. Jules couldn’t see what he was showing Yuta, but she seemed surprised by it.

“Is that... ?”

“A mark, yeah. I got pretty serious with a local girl who lived near the embassy during my first tour. It didn’t work out, but she liked me enough to make sure that everyone knew that I was spoken for. You guys have a hell of a way of showing affection, I’ll give you that. It ached for days, and I had to go get a tetanus booster.”

“She likely didn’t know that it wouldn’t heal,” Yuta said, “but the fact that the scar remains even after so much time is oddly ... romantic.”

Velez laughed at that, his helmet jostling on his head.

“In a lot of ways, Borealans are easier to deal with than humans, if you can believe that,” he continued as his companion looked on. “You’re straight to the point, I always know where I stand with a mad cat. You don’t lie, you don’t act polite, you’ve got no filter. If you feel something, then you just say it.”

“Right now? I’m feeling frustrated ... disappointed,” she grumbled, baring her teeth and sinking her claws into the root that she was perched on. Like a cat with a scratching post, it seemed to relieve some of her tension, Jules watching as she dragged her claws along its length to leave deep furrows in the wood.

“Like I said, not everyone who wants to fight you wants to fuck you,” Velez added with a shrug that made his helmet cam wobble. “You probably scared him off by coming on too strong, these Araxie won’t be used to that kind of behavior.”

“But you are?” she asked skeptically, peering down at him with her yellow eyes.

“I got the scars to prove it, don’t I? What, you think I can’t handle a horny mad cat? I know tricks that would make your tail curl, if anyone couldn’t handle it, it would be you.”

“Is that so?” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “One so experienced should know to be more careful with his words around a seasoned warrior.”

Velez locked his fingers behind his helmet and crossed his legs, propping them up on a nearby root, his casual response to Yuta’s not-so-subtle threat seeming to annoy her. He was remarkably comfortable around the alien, making no effort to protect himself even as her long tail began to flick back and forth with irritation. Even Jules could see that she was getting angry.

“I might have to be careful ... if there was a seasoned warrior in earshot.”

Yuta bared her teeth, a low, menacing growl making the hair on Jules’ arms stand on end.

“You would do well to watch your tongue, human,” she hissed.

“So, are you going to stop being a pussycat and make something of it, or am I going to have to sit here and listen to you whine some more?”

Jules was shocked, Velez’s behavior was completely uncalled for. They had been having a perfectly civil discussion, and now out of the blue, he was insulting her. Why? Was he trying to anger her?

Jules looked on, his blood running cold as the Borealan slowly rose to her feet, standing at her full eight-foot height and looming over the Marine ominously. She looked like she was about to tear him to ribbons. Jules wondered whether he should call for help, if he should wake Simmons and Edwards and warn them that their comrade was about to be eaten, but Velez made no move to escape her. In fact, he seemed wholly unconcerned.

There was a flurry of blurred movement, and when the camera stabilized again, it was pointing at the canopy. Velez had been knocked onto his back. Yuta appeared from below frame, crouching over him and reaching down below the view of the helmet cam. She must be grabbing the Marine’s neck, was she choking him? She leaned down closer and bared her sharp teeth, her nose an inch from the camera, and Jules couldn’t help but pull back as if he was the one being pinned beneath her. She glared at Velez, the slits of her feline pupils dilated into round, dark circles. Then her expression softened, and her snarl morphed into a wry smile.

“You are brave for one so small, Velez.”

“Call it a professional courtesy,” he said, his voice muffled by her grip on his throat as she drew closer. Jules couldn’t make anything out, but he could hear a wet, lurid sound that could only have been a deep and passionate kiss. It went on for longer than a kiss should have been able to last, the alien finally pulling back and letting the Marine take in a gasp of air. Jules watched, his heart skipping a beat as at least a foot of slimy, pink tongue slowly slid out from beneath the camera. It was so long and dexterous, glistening with her saliva, returning to her mouth like she was sucking up a giant strand of spaghetti.

Should he take off the helmet? Jules’ heart was beating like a jackhammer, he could hear his blood rushing in his ears. What if Velez and Yuta somehow found out that he had been watching them? He should respect their privacy, remove the helmet, and pretend that he hadn’t seen a thing. And yet...

He popped open his visor and glanced over at Simmons and Edwards. They were both still fast asleep in their hammocks. As long as Velez didn’t close his visor, and why would he, he wouldn’t notice any icons or indicators on his HUD that might let him know that he had an audience. Jules slid the visor back into place, his eyes glued to the display, watching in perfect visual clarity as Yuta drew back and began to remove her clothes.

Her midriff was already bare, her six-pack flexing beneath her pale, damp skin as her furry hands slowly crawled up towards her leather vest. The light from the rising suns peeked over the top of the jungle canopy, casting its rays on her, making every bead of sweat and moisture that clung to her body glisten. She looked to Jules like a Greek statue in motion, her porcelain skin akin to white marble, her muscles too perfectly sculpted to be real. Only the droplets of sudor that followed the deep, shadowy channels that her abs cut into her flat belly dispelled that illusion, her muscles flexing and shifting as she began to unbutton her top.

The vest was held closed by little pieces of string that looped around buttons, and she unfastened them slowly with her clawed fingers, teasing Velez as he lay beneath her in the dirt. She was putting on a show for two men, unbeknownst to her, the pressure in Jules’ pants becoming uncomfortable as the first few buttons popped open to reveal her cleavage.

She had larger breasts than any human woman could have supported, the two globes squashed together by the vest, his eyes drawn to the deep furrow between them as they wobbled softly with her every movement. Here too, the humidity in the air gave her lily-white skin a wet shine, like she had just climbed out of a swimming pool. The resolution on the camera was sharp enough that he could make out every pore.

As she moved lower, unfastening more buttons as she went, their enormous weight began to spread her top apart. With every button, they opened the garment further, trembling as their weight was redistributed. When she reached the final button, they exploded from their leather prison, parting the vest as their support was removed. The twin globes of milky flesh bounced like rubber as they fell free, wobbling enticingly. They were as large as her head, which was itself larger than that of a human, and they looked as heavy as the backpacks borne by the Marines.

Velez shed his gloves hastily, reaching up a hand and plunging it into one of her boobs, his fingers sinking into its rounded surface up to the knuckle. It was like watching someone knead dough, the meat of her bosom spilling between his digits as though he was taking a handful of clotted cream. He squeezed and mauled, rough, greedy. Yuta didn’t seem to mind his brashness, arching her spine towards him, sucking her lower lip into her mouth and biting it with a pointed tooth.

The Marine planted his other hand on her midsection, tracing the wide curve of her hip, and stroking her washboard abs with his thumb. The moisture appeared to make them slick, his fingers gliding as though frictionless, her toned stomach twitching at his touch as her muscles flexing beautifully. His tanned, tattooed skin contrasted with hers, but one thing that they had in common were their scars. They were faded on Yuta, they seemed to have healed better, but both of them looked like someone had tried to carve a road map into their hides.

Was that really what life was like on this planet? Anger and passion, pleasure and agony, it was all so extreme and so beyond the realm of Jules’ experience. Here were two warriors at the pinnacle of their physical fitness, all muscle and sinew, like avatars of their respective genders. Their bodies bore the scars of both love and war, the two seemed indistinguishable at times on Borealis. Would Jules look like these people if he stayed here long enough? His body sculpted by the gravity, his skin a patchwork of claw marks and bites? At this point, he was almost glad that those were not his own hands crawling across Yuta’s flesh. She was a monstrous woman, even the musclebound Marine didn’t seem like he would be any match for her.

As Jules watched, Velez caught one of the Borealan’s nipples between his fingers, Yuta shuddering as he pinched it.

“I thought you said you knew how to handle me?” she complained, reaching down behind the camera. She must have cupped his head in her palm, pulling him upright and plunging his face into her breast. The camera went dark, but Jules could still hear the shuffling, along with the sound of Yuta’s gruff voice.

“Bite me,” she said, then there was an appreciative growl. When she released Velez, Jules saw that there were pink tooth marks around her areola. It looked painful, but she had definitely enjoyed it. Her cheeks were flushed, and she wet her lips with her pink tongue as she peered down at the Marine.

She leaned back, her heavy breasts bouncing as their weight shifted. Jules couldn’t take his eyes off them. They were like two enormous mounds of jello, inexplicably keeping their teardrop shape, even as they battled against the harsh gravity of the planet.

Now, her clawed fingers roamed down towards her leather shorts, Yuta struggling with the buckle on one of her belts. Carrying around a whole arsenal of tools and supplies in pouches and bags might be useful when exploring jungles, but it was certainly a hindrance when one needed to disrobe for a spur of the moment romantic encounter.

Seeing that she was becoming frustrated, Velez helped, reaching for another buckle and starting to unfasten it. Her hands were so much larger than the Marine’s, the span of his fingers would scarcely have filled her palm. The Borealan had three thick digits and a thumb that ended in wicked claws, with cat-like pads for grip, her hands covered in soft fur that made them look like they belonged to some kind of sports team mascot. Together, the pair hastily removed her three belts, the microphones in the helmet picking up the clattering and shuffling as they were discarded in the fallen leaves nearby.

Now, Yuta was able to remove her shorts. There didn’t seem to be a fly of any kind, and so she stood, hooking her thumbs around the waistband and dancing on the spot as she fought to drag them down. They were so impossibly tight that it was a real struggle, and Jules wondered how she had even gotten into them in the first place, the leather creaking audibly as she moved. The motion had the perhaps unintended side effect of making her breasts bounce up and down, knocking together with a clap that he could hear through the microphone. Every impact sent a ripple through her flesh like the surface of a lake being disturbed by a pebble.

She dragged her shorts down over her round thighs, putting more of her pale skin on display, revealing a pair of simple undergarments that resembled a smaller pair of shorts. Once they were over her muscular thighs, she pulled off her leather shorts and cast them aside, turning her attention to her underwear. They were made from something akin to cotton, and unlike with the shorts, she took her time. Yuta’s yellow eyes met Velez’s as she teased him, slowly sliding down her panties, revealing a tuft of silky fur that must be the alien equivalent of pubic hair. It looked velvety and soft, nothing like the coarse, curly hairs that you might find on a human.