Chapter 5: Liaison

“Is there a bruise?” Velez asked, turning his head so that Edwards could see his neck.

“Stop being such a pussy,” Edwards laughed as he removed his chest plate, “it can’t hurt as much as the time that pissed off Elysian opened you up. Your arm looked like a piece of fresh salmon.”

“Yeah, well I was in shock that time, dulls the pain. This hurts like a bitch.”

“Where’s Yuta, anyhow?” Simmons asked.

“She said she was going to get something to eat at the log,” Velez replied as he rubbed his neck. “But if you ask me, she’s taken a liking to that one Araxie soldier. It’s pretty easy to mistake Borealan bedroom eyes for a murderous stare, but I know the difference.”

“One of you should go keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t create an international incident,” Simmons grumbled. “Are you going to need an escort while you perform your duties, Mister Lambert?”

“No, I should be fine,” he replied. “I want to get the most natural reactions from the locals that I can. It can be hard to get a gauge on their real attitudes towards aliens and the Coalition if you’re surrounded by soldiers.”

“Alright, just keep your phone with you and give us a call if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Jules said with a nod.

There was a sound like nails drumming on a table, Jules turning to look at the door.

“Is that the Araxie equivalent of knocking?” Edwards asked.

“It’s probably your liaison,” Velez added.

Simmons walked over to the heavy wooden door and swung it open with a creak, and standing behind it was the female that Jules had encountered in the hollowed-out log hall. Zuki, that had been her name. She was still wearing the leather vest, and what looked like bandages beneath it.

“My Patriarch sent me to serve as guide to the one known as Mister Lambert,” she said hesitantly, glancing between the humans as if she didn’t know who was who.

“You can call me Jules,” he said, straightening his tie as he made his way over to her.

“Oh, it’s you!” she said, her green eyes widening. “I apologize again for earlier, when I spilled that drink on you. The Patriarch says that I am to treat you as my Alpha and assist you with anything that you might need.”

“I’m not sure about all that,” he replied with a chuckle, “but I appreciate the help. What we’re going to be doing today is walking around the village and interviewing various citizens ... uh, villagers. I need to take statements in order to determine what the general attitude towards outsiders and the Coalition is like here.”

Zuki nodded her head, waiting by the door as he approached. When he left the wooden building, she followed behind him, her tail flicking nervously as she glanced down at him. All of the Borealans that he had encountered so far had seemed supremely confident, in control, but this one was a lot more submissive. Was it because she had been ordered to treat him like her Alpha? What did that entail, exactly? He could see how an Elysian might be afraid of their Alpha, anticipating ruthless punishment for the most minor infractions, but he hadn’t seen any of that behavior from the Araxie so far. Sure, the Patriarch had snapped at her when she had clumsily overturned the cup into his lap, but any waitress would have gotten a dressing down in her position.

It was especially strange when contrasted with her sheer physical presence. At eight feet and at least five or six hundred pounds, she rivaled an African lion. Her body was lithe and muscular, her thin covering of velvety fur doing little to conceal the sculpted abdominal muscles on her exposed midriff, and the brawn on her arms and shoulders. It reminded him of a racehorse in a way, subtle veins visible beneath her coat, her fur so fine that it might have been mistaken for skin at a glance. It shone like it was damp, catching the light to make her body almost reflective, further accentuating her musculature. It might be a result of the humidity in the air, or maybe it was sweat. He couldn’t tell, and he thought it impolite to ask.

Her hips were broader than a man’s shoulders, and her thighs were almost as thick around as oil drums, packed with firm muscle that let her leap into the trees with the ease and agility of a housecat despite the gravity. Everything about her was reinforced, thick and strong enough to deal with the inescapable pressure that was always weighing down on her, and yet she still managed to be graceful and agile. She was not all muscle and sinew, however. A cushion of soft fat clung to her thighs and rump like padding, giving her an exaggerated, womanly figure.

She seemed almost afraid of him, and yet she could have lifted him clear off the ground with one hand and probably thrown him into the jungle canopy like a shot putter.

“So your name is Zuki?” Jules asked, trying to make conversation and break the ice.

“Y-yes,” she replied, “that is my name.”

“Well, try to relax a little, Zuki. We’re not going to be doing anything too exciting, all I might need you to do is show me around, and do a little translating for me if necessary. Will that be alright?”

“Anything you need, Mister Lambert,” she replied hastily.

“Just Jules will be fine.”

“Of course, my apologies.”

“So, where do you think we should start?” Jules began. “I thought we might head over to the log and interview some of the patrons, but we might do better to start off somewhere a little quieter. What we want here are truthful reactions, I want to know what the people who live here really think.”

“About what?” Zuki asked with a curious tilt of her head.

“I just want to gauge the general attitude towards aliens,” he replied. The Araxie being open to living in a multicultural society was of the utmost importance. Needless to say, xenophobes didn’t do well in an environment where so many different species were forced to live and work together. The Coalition would be establishing a presence in the territory, too, and they didn’t want their ambassadors to be eaten. He held his tongue, however, not wanting to give the alien a script that she might be able to communicate to the interviewees in their own language in order to color their replies.

Zuki thought for a moment, chewing idly on one of her sharp claws.

“Perhaps where the kills are prepared? It’s usually quiet over there.”

“If you think that’s the best place to start, then lead the way,” Jules said as he gestured for her to take the lead. She hesitated, nibbling on her claw again, then she strode forward on her long legs as Jules followed beside her. She led him through the village until they arrived at a gruesome scene. A group of Araxie were crouched beside a pile of dead animals, the earth beneath their paws soaked with blood and offal. Jules turned his nose up, he was no vegetarian, but he preferred his meat separated by cut and sealed in plastic film.

This was where they obtained their meat, along with the pelts and horns that they used both as clothing and as decoration throughout the village. There were strange animals that somewhat resembled deer or elk, with rust-colored fur that was covered in spotted white patterning, their antlers branching out like those of a moose. There were larger animals that resembled cows or maybe wildebeest, though not quite as imposing as the latter, their brown coats being cut away to expose the hundreds of pounds of fresh meat that lay beneath.

The workers reminded him of people filleting fish on a dock, they were using large, curved knives to expertly strip away the hides and dice up the meat with practiced finesse. They worked quickly, accurately, it was a veritable assembly line of butchery.

“This is where we prepare the kills that the hunters bring back,” Zuki explained as she gestured to them. “They provide us with meat, clothing, and some other things.”

“It must take a lot of meat to feed the whole village,” Jules mused, avoiding stepping in a stream of blood that was following the contours of the land as it drained away. The scene was turning his stomach a little, but it wouldn’t do to start losing his breakfast right now. Trying to ignore the smell of spilled guts, he made his way carefully over to the nearest Araxie, stepping around piles of entrails and other discarded offcuts.

“Excuse me,” he began, trying to get her attention. “Hi. I wonder if I might have a few moments of your time?”

The Araxie was busy using a serrated blade to cut into the fused rib cage of some native beast, she was putting some real elbow grease into it. The animal finally broke open like a treasure chest to expose its innards, the Araxie reaching inside and selecting an unidentifiable organ, examining it as it wobbled like a plate of jello in her palm. She set it down on some kind of tarp, then stood at full height, cleaning her blade with a rag as she turned to face him. She looked down at him, then back up at Zuki with a confused expression.

“What is this that you’ve brought me, Zuki? What have you been tasked with this time?” she asked in fairly good English.

“The Patriarch says that the aliens are to have our full cooperation,” Zuki warned, “I am to be his guide today.”

“I wanted to ask you a few questions,” Jules interjected, getting her attention as she shifted her green eyes to him.

“Very well, but make it quick. I have work that I must complete.”

Jules pulled his tablet out of his pocket, the alien following it with her eyes, then he began to scroll through the list of questions that he had formulated during the long journey to the remote planet.

“How would you describe your attitude towards outsiders, generally speaking? Are you excited about the prospect of coming into contact with alien cultures? Apprehensive?”

He waited for her reply as she frowned at him.

“What is the purpose of these questions?” she asked, glancing at Zuki again.

“I just want to determine the attitude of the Araxie towards aliens,” Jules clarified. “You’re not being cross-examined, just give me the first thought that pops into your head.”

“I suppose ... I am worried for Araxie,” she said, continuing to clean the blood from her knife.

“What about contact with aliens worries you, exactly?”

“Not aliens necessarily, but our experiences with the Rask and the other territories have not been positive. We have survived by staying hidden, by avoiding the scrutiny of others. But now, we face new threats. The Patriarch believes that we must forge new alliances, obtain new weapons so that we might defend ourselves. I do not question his wisdom, he is Patriarch for a reason, and I will do as he commands. Yet I fear that we might lose what makes us Araxie in the process.”

“I see, so you’re worried that contact with aliens might erase your native culture?”

“I suppose,” she said, sheathing her blade in a holster on her rig and planting her hands on her wide hips. “We wish to survive in a rapidly changing world, but if surviving in this way makes us forget who we are, we have not fully survived. We have lost a part of ourselves.”

“A reasonable fear,” Jules said, taking notes as she spoke. “And how would you feel if the Coalition established an embassy here, or a naval base?”

“What are those?” she asked.

“An embassy is a building where ambassadors live permanently, they negotiate on behalf of their government and represent their interests in a foreign land. A naval base is a military outpost where ships can land, and soldiers can be garrisoned.”

“I suppose that would be alright,” she replied with a shrug. “You and your companions have not caused any trouble ... yet. If there were more like you, I would see no reason to object.”

“One more question,” he said, trying to reassure her as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other impatiently. “Let’s imagine that a war broke out on some far off planet, a conflict that didn’t impact life in Araxie in the least. Now, let’s say for the sake of the argument that the Araxie were called upon to defend their allies, keeping in mind that your territory was not under direct threat. How would you feel about that? Your soldiers would be sent far away to fight and die for a cause that was not their own, to protect their allies in the Coalition.”

She pondered the question for a moment, fidgeting with her rig absent-mindedly.

“If those allies would then defend us in return ... perhaps I could see the value in it. But if too many of ours were lost, then I would object. We are not mercenaries, after all.”

“Thank you for your time,” Jules said, looking up from his tablet as he finished taking down her responses. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

She nodded, glancing at Zuki again before returning to the nearby carcass and plunging her hands into its chest cavity, digging through its organs as Jules looked on and tried not to gag.

“Do you two know each other?” he asked. Zuki turned her eyes to the ground, her tail drooping. Was she embarrassed?

“I am well known in the village...”

He didn’t press her for details, she looked unhappy, so he decided to change the subject instead.

“Alright, let’s move on, shall we? Where to next?”

Her ears pricked up at that, and she nibbled on her claw again as she considered.

“Maybe one of the guards at the wall?”

“If that’s what you think is best, then lead the way!”

She nodded, hesitating for a second before setting off again, Jules following behind her. It was so strange to be awake at night, it made him feel like he had a case of insomnia. The jungle was dark even beneath the sparse canopy of the village, and he hadn’t brought his helmet this time. His eyes had grown as accustomed to the darkness as they could manage, but even so, he had to watch his step carefully lest he twist his ankle in a root or trip over a fallen branch. The twilight gave everything a kind of relaxed feel, the heat and humidity making him think of some tropical island after sunset, he could almost pretend that he was a short walk from a beach resort. Maybe he was slowly growing accustomed to that, too.

“I’ve been wondering,” Jules began as he walked beside her, “how is that all of the Araxie that we talk to seem to have such a good grasp of English? If you have no contact with the outside world, then how did you learn it?”

“The Patriarch tasked us with learning your language,” she replied. “It is the language of trade and war, so he says.”

“Trade and war,” Jules muttered, “I suppose that’s true enough...”

It was as Yuta had said. With no common Borealan language between the different territories, it was easier for them to communicate in English, which was the one language that they were all required to learn if they wanted to deal with the Coalition.

“Once we had access to the radio machine, we could access knowledge,” she continued. “It, uh ... I don’t know the terms. It pulls down the words from the sky, and then it talks to us, teaches us language and other things.”

“So, you’ve been using the radio that you captured from the Rask to access the satellite network and download information?” Jules asked. “I’m impressed. One of you must have figured out how to access online dictionaries and encyclopedias. I suppose a field radio with a touch interface could be used as a rudimentary computer if you only needed it to perform basic functions, it can’t be any less powerful than a phone. How long ago was that?”

“Six months, maybe. Some of us speak Rask, and they interrogated the captive until he taught them how to use it.”

“Six months? It didn’t take you long to learn the language then.”

“It’s not too complicated,” she replied with a shrug. “It’s easier to speak than Rask, that’s for sure, there are no yowls or guttural growls.”

“And ... the captive Rask that I was introduced to has been your prisoner for six months now? What are you going to do with him? Will he be released eventually?”

“It’s not my job to know that,” she said, “they wouldn’t trust me with such an important task. You would do better to ask the Patriarch or one of the guards. I do know that we cannot return him to his people now, he has seen our village, he knows too much about us.”

“How does that make you feel?” Jules asked, “don’t you think that he should be able to return home at some point? When the conflict has ended, for example? The way I understand it, Borealans are social creatures, what would happen to him if you decided to keep him in that cage for the rest of his life?”

“If those are the consequences of attacking us, then he only has himself to blame,” she said as they made their way through the trees. “Oh, we have arrived...”

Jules found himself standing before one of the curtains of vines that concealed the village from outside view. This one looked just as dense and as impenetrable as the others had. Zuki was not interested in the vines, however. She pointed to one of the trees that the great curtain was strung between.

“Up there,” she said.

“Up in the tree? Is that where the guards are?”

She nodded, Jules walking up to the base and placing his hand against the rough trunk. There were claw marks all over it, the damned thing looked like a giant scratching post. Lots of Araxie had obviously climbed up and down it over the years.

“How do we get up there?” Jules asked, “are they going to throw us a rope ladder or something?”

“How do you mean?” she asked, looking confused. It suddenly dawned on her, her furry ears twitching with surprise. “Oh! You don’t have claws, you can’t climb trees. I didn’t consider that...” She thought for a moment, looking up into the branches. “Maybe I can carry you up there.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Jules replied, “we can just go interview somebody else. I’m sure the village is full of people who we could talk to. Besides,” he added as he gestured to her vest, “I wouldn’t want you to exacerbate your injury.”

“Injury?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Yeah ... your chest. I couldn’t help but notice.”

“Oh ... don’t worry about that. I’m fine.”

Before he had time to protest, she bundled him up in her arms, his stomach lurching as she crouched on her long legs and propelled herself into the air. He felt like a joey in its mother’s pouch, the alien leaping at least ten feet straight up. There was a sound like creaking wood as she plunged her sharp claws deep into the bark, latching on as she held him in one arm and gripped the tree with the other. She began to clamber upwards, buffeting him as he clung to her furry forearm for dear life, the ground below already so far away that slipping from her grasp would guarantee a swift death.

Her coat was as wet as it looked, the fine, velvety fur damp with moisture. It really was incredibly soft and smooth, almost as if she was wearing a bodysuit made from tight-fitting silk. He could feel her muscles moving beneath it as she scaled the trunk.

They arrived in the branches, and she deposited him on a wooden platform, pulling herself up and landing beside him with a thud that shook the floor. It was like a treehouse, there were wooden boards that made up a flat surface, ringing the trunk and supported by the branches. It had been invisible from the ground, he would never have guessed that there was anything up here. There were a few chairs scattered about, as well as a few wooden chests that must contain weapons or supplies. It was spartan, but it was indeed a guard post.

There was an Araxie wearing a ghillie suit sitting on a chair that faced out into the jungle beyond the village, and he turned to look back at them, his green eyes flashing.

“I thought that was you, Zuki. Even the dead could hear you coming.”

Jules ignored his strange comment, pulling out his tablet computer, the blue glow lighting up his face in the darkness.

“My name is Lambert,” Jules explained, “I wondered if I might have a few moments of your time?”

“Snuff out that light,” the guard snapped, “do you think I’m posted here because I enjoy the view? If there are any Rask out there, it will give us away!”

“Oh, sorry,” Jules said as he hastily switched off the screen and returned it to his pocket. “What is it that you’re doing up here, exactly?”