Chapter 7: Grand Tour

“You look tired,” Zuki said as she walked beside Jules, “did you not sleep well?”

“I guess not,” he replied, rubbing his red eyes and yawning widely.

“What are we doing today?” she asked eagerly, her round ears twitching as she waited for his reply.

“I think I got all of the statements that I needed yesterday,” he said as he brought up his tablet computer and scrolled through his notes. “Today, I need to review the economic status of the territory. I need to get a good gauge of your economic output, figure out what kind of products you can export, and what we should prioritize for import. You’ll probably qualify for a development grant or some kind of economic assistance too, I’ll need to put in an appropriate request.”

“Can I see that?” Zuki asked, pointing to his tablet.

“My tablet? Sure,” he replied as he passed the oblong device to her. She was surprisingly gentle with it, holding it with the fleshy pads that protruded from her dark fur and avoiding scratching it with her sharp claws.

“So, it’s like ... electronic paper? You record things on this, and it remembers them?”

“That’s right, yes. Those little symbols in rows down at the bottom are called a keyboard. Rather than writing a character of the alphabet like you would on a piece of paper, you just press one of those, and it appears on the screen. Then you can string them together to make words.”

“And it’s all done through touch,” she added, tapping at the glass experimentally and watching as gibberish appeared on the text document. “Like the radio that we recovered.”

“Yeah, most of our computers use a touch interface, I’m not surprised to hear that your radio does too. In fact, it probably made figuring out how to use it a hell of a lot easier. If it was all just switches and buttons labeled in an alien language, rather than intuitive icons, you would have had a much harder time.”

“I’ve never used it myself,” she added, her green eyes fixed on the display as she swiped and tapped. “I’ve seen it, though. It looked a little like this, only smaller, and embedded in the machine.”

“Do you want to learn how to use this?” Jules asked, Zuki’s ears twitching as she looked up from the glowing display. “Maybe you can be my assistant today and take down notes for me.”

“Really?” she asked excitedly, but then her ears drooped as she turned her eyes to the ground. “But won’t it slow you down?”

“It might slow the work down a little,” he replied with a shrug, “but it’s not like we’re on a strict timetable here. Who knows, maybe you’ll be good at it, and you’ll be able to handle this kind of business later down the line if your territory gets admitted.” She nodded, smiling as she returned her attention to the tablet. “Don’t worry about learning all of the symbols if you’re not too familiar with the English alphabet yet,” he added. “You can just talk into it, and it will record your speech as text if you need it to.”

“Alright,” she replied, beaming at him.

“So, show me what your territory produces.”

Zuki stopped outside what looked like a small farm being tended by a group of Araxie, the land tilled and upturned, the plot surrounded by a crude fence made from carved wood. Some of the workers paused to examine the newcomers, and Jules was amused to see that their rigs were laden with gardening tools. Trowels and shears were slotted into leather holsters, pouches that looked like they might contain seeds and other such things dangling from their belts.

“This is one of our gardens,” Zuki explained. “We grow several types of flowers and root vegetables for food and medicine. Right now, they’re planting the new seedlings in the fresh soil. We collect fallen leaves and let them rot here so that their nutrients fertilize the earth, then we take the seedlings that sprouted indoors and move them here so that they can grow larger.”

“You know a lot about farming?” Jules asked.

“I did this job too ... for a short while,” she replied.

“What kind of yield do you see each season, is this something that you think you might be able to export? Alien foods are a booming market in Coalition space, people will pay a lot of money to sample exotic dishes.”

“Only enough for this village, but perhaps we could grow enough to sell them if you think there would be a demand.”

“Make a note of that,” he said, Zuki tapping at the screen of the tablet as he walked around the perimeter of the fence. He watched for a while as the farmers used their tools to dig holes in the soil, placing the green chutes inside them and then packing them with dirt. He had never seen a Borealan farming before, every one of them that he had come into contact with until recently had been a warrior. A society couldn’t be run entirely by warriors, of course. They still needed farmers and masons, laborers, and cooks.

When they were done at the farm, they made their way through the village to another wooden structure. This one was domed, but partially open to the air, as if someone had taken a large bite out of the nearest wall. As he approached the opening, a wave of heat sent Jules reeling. It was like a furnace inside, and it smelled strongly of smoke, the sound of metal on metal emanating from within.

Zuki led the way, and he followed after her reluctantly. It was already hot enough on this planet to begin with. As he stepped into the building, he was met with the sight of a large Araxie, illuminated by the orange glow from some manner of stone kiln. He was wearing a thick pair of leather gloves, as well as a kind of full-body apron made from similar material that protected him from the sparks and floating embers, the garment charred black in places. His companion was pumping a set of massive bellows, stoking the roaring flames as he used a pair of long tongs to manipulate a shaft of metal that was currently buried in the hot coals. It was a primitive forge, Jules realized, watching as the Araxie smith pulled the glowing bar from the furnace and began to shape it with a hammer that a human would have had trouble lifting.

“This is where we make things like tools, weapons, nails, and other things like that,” Zuki explained.

“What metal are they working with?” Jules asked, trying to raise his voice over the din of the hammering. Sparks flew where the hammer impacted the bar, and he took a couple of steps back to get out of the way, the alien examining his handiwork before plunging it back into the fire.

“Mostly redrock,” she explained.

“Redrock? Is that some kind of metal?”

“Oh, in your language, it is called ... iron.”

“Do you mine it?” Jules continued, surprised. He had a hard time imagining the Araxie digging tunnels beneath the rainforest and bringing up minecarts full of ore for smelting.

“No, we don’t have to dig. There are a few ore deposits in the territory that are accessible from the surface, we get most of it from bogs deep in the jungle.”

Their methods were primitive, limited by their harsh environment and their lack of basic materials, but he had seen how crossbows with components and bolts made from this metal performed. They had refined their limited methods into an art form.

“Doesn’t the iron rust in this humidity?”

“No,” Zuki replied. “Or at least, not for a very long time. The ore that we get from the bogs is often impure and contains ... I’m not sure of the English word. We call it stoneglass, it forms a protective coating over the metal.”

Jules didn’t know the first thing about metalworking or ores, and so he couldn’t help her, but they certainly seemed to know what they were doing.

“How do you know so much about smithing? Let me guess...”

“It was my job to wade into the bogs and collect the ore for a time.”

“And that job didn’t suit you either?” he asked incredulously. He couldn’t imagine how one could perform that job so poorly that they would be fired.

“I would sometimes drop the ore on the forest floor and lose it,” she explained, shifting her weight from foot to foot as if the topic of conversation made her uncomfortable.

“What’s he making right now?” Jules asked, wary of getting much closer to the flames.

“Looks like crossbow bolts,” Zuki said, peering over his shoulder at the blacksmith. As Jules watched, the smith pulled the rod of iron from the forge again, placing the glowing end on his anvil and hitting it with his hammer. Sparks flew as he shaped it into a point, then his assistant brought over a sharp chisel that he positioned over the shaft, the smith striking it to cut off a piece of metal. He quickly picked up the detached piece with a pair of tongs, then hammered the larger end flat. He placed the finished bolt into a large cauldron of water, the liquid hissing and bubbling as it cooled.

Jules leaned over the iron cauldron to get a better look. There was a large pile of the bolts at the bottom, they must have been making them all day, or rather all night.

“I guess you guys have needed to make a lot more of these lately,” he muttered.

They moved on from the smith, Zuki bringing him to a building that was surrounded by wooden racks. A few of them were adorned with stretched animal skins, and there were Araxie treating the pelts with some kind of gooey mixture that they were painting on with brushes. Zuki explained that they were tanning and treating the leather so that it could be cut into pieces and made into clothing. When Jules asked how the hides could be left out to dry in the middle of the night, she explained that they were left out during the day while the Araxie were asleep, and then recovered later.

“The hides are cured with salt,” she said. “Then the fur, along with any remaining residue, is removed.”

He didn’t need to ask, she had probably done this job at some point as well. She led him inside the building proper, and here there were more Araxie cutting the newly tanned leather into strips in order to make belts and other such products. He watched as one of the villagers carefully stitched a vest that she was fashioning from a piece of hide, noting that she wasn’t using a needle to sew. She held the thread between her padded finger and thumb, then used the sharp claw on her index finger to make a small hole in the material through which she pushed the strand. They didn’t need thimbles or needles, it seemed, they were naturally equipped for this kind of work.

As well as tailoring the clothes and rigs, several more Araxie were making bags and pouches from the offcuts. There was minimal decoration. Unlike the beads and feathers favored by the Elysians, the Araxie seemed to prefer more muted colors. What little flair they added to their garments aided in camouflage rather than in drawing attention to themselves.

They were also making the ghillie suits that were so prevalent amongst the soldiers and guards. They fashioned a fine mesh from thin strips of leather, almost like a fishing net, then the garment was handed over to a circle of waiting Araxie who joked and chatted as they wove bunches of fabric into it. They were designed to resemble foliage and underbrush, dyed in greens and browns that were remarkably similar to the tones of the jungle. As a final touch, they added a few real leaves sourced from the local forest to complete the illusion. The resulting cloak was surprisingly realistic. Even sitting idle on a rack, it could be mistaken for a bush. It was only upon closer inspection that its true nature could be discerned.

Their next stop was a small plot of land that was ringed by a makeshift fence, the wooden posts that were driven into the soil connected by woven reeds that formed a barrier, the earth within muddy and covered in tracks. There was a structure that resembled a large chicken coop at the far end, with a roof that slanted in one direction so that any rainwater that slid off it was collected in an adjacent trough. Zuki opened a gate, but Jules was wary. This was obviously a pen for some kind of animal, and knowing Borealis, it was unlikely to be cute and cuddly.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said, trying to reassure him as she gestured for him to follow her. “The first time that I saw them, I was scared of them too, but they aren’t dangerous. They’re perfectly tame.”

“What exactly is ‘perfectly tame’?” he asked skeptically, eyeing the coop. Something the size of a dog to a Borealan would be as large as a tiger to a human, and it might see him as food rather than as one of its masters.

“They’re called ... I suppose the closest translation would be ‘egg lizard’,” Zuki explained. “They’re not dangerous, they mostly eat small mammals and insects.”

“I ‘am’ a small mammal,” he complained, eliciting a laugh from her.

“Alright. Stay there, and I’ll show you,” she said as she closed the gate and made her way over to the center of the muddy pen. She clapped her hands together, calling to the creatures, cooing in the way that one might call over a pet. There was a doorway at the top of a small ramp, the coop raised off the ground on short legs, perhaps to keep it clear of the damp. From the darkness emerged a reptilian snout, a forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. After another few moments of coaxing, the animal flopped clumsily down the ramp on four stubby legs, blinking its beady eyes. It looked to Jules like a monitor lizard, maybe four feet long, and covered in rough scales. It was patterned with blotches of black and yellow, resembling the dappled light that made it through the jungle canopy during the day.

It powered over to Zuki on its little legs, pushing its snout into her waiting hands and rubbing its face in her fur affectionately. She laughed, scratching its scaly head with her claws, the creature seeming to enjoy the sensation.

More of the alien lizards followed behind it, their feet slapping on the wooden ramp as they rushed to greet the visitor, crowding around her and jostling for space as she petted them.

“See?” she chuckled, “they’re very friendly.”

Jules opened the gate cautiously and took a step inside, his boots sinking in the sticky mud. He closed it behind him with a click, and then one of the creatures turned its head towards him. Without hesitating, it motored its stumpy legs, crawling through the mud and stopping at his feet as it sampled his unfamiliar scent with its pink tongue.

“Hey there ... little guy,” Jules muttered, recoiling from the thing. When it had decided that he wasn’t food, it peered up at him, blinking a pair of yellow eyes as if it expected something from him.

“She wants you to stroke her,” Zuki explained, still occupied with the pack of lizards that were battling for her attention.

Jules reached down with a trembling hand and brushed the animal’s head. Its scales were coarse and dry, like crocodile skin. He patted it as one might pat a dog, and it seemed to enjoy that, closing its eyes and forcing its head into his hand. He grew more confident as it rolled over onto its back in the muck, its legs splayed as it waited patiently for him to rub its belly. He knelt beside it and scratched the smooth, interlocking scales on its underside. The creature made no sounds, no chirps, or hisses. It simply lay still as it quietly enjoyed his petting.