Chapter 13: Needle in a Haystack

Ben was awoken by the smell of cooking food, slowly opening his eyes. The light strips on the ceiling had been turned back on, and the monitors in the cab were now displaying sunlight that was being filtered through the sandstorm outside. It must be morning. Mizi was still nestled in his arms, he could feel the slow rise and fall of her chest. They were lying together on the deck now, wrapped up in the sleeping bag, but Lozka was missing.

He soon spotted the Araxie, she was heating some ration packets for their breakfast on the opposite side of the troop bay. Like Mizi, she must have observed how he had activated the flameless heaters, and she was preparing breakfast for them.

She caught his appreciative smile, and returned it, steam rising from one of the plastic pouches as its contents heated up.

“Damn, you’re really earning that ‘Silent Huntress’ title,” he muttered, suppressing a yawn. “How did you manage to move without waking us?”

“The slumber of spent lovers is a deep one,” she replied, Ben’s face reddening as the memories of what they had done the night before came flooding back to him.

“What time is it?” he asked, quickly changing the subject. Lozka leaned forward to peer into the cab, reading off the numbers from one of the monitors. She had incredible eyesight, he wouldn’t have been able to see anything from where she was sitting.

“Oh-five-four-seven,” she replied.

“Nearly six AM? Cool, I’d set the alarm for six. Thanks for making breakfast, by the way,” he added as he began to wriggle out of the sleeping bag. Mizi murmured, Ben pausing as he felt her thick tail grip one of his thighs. “Guess I ... worked up an appetite last night.”

“You have done the same for us many a time, Commander,” she replied.

Mizi finally awakened, a little green snout poking out of the sleeping bag at Ben’s chest level. She pushed a bit further, her pink feathers erupting as they cleared the padded fabric.

“Hi,” she warbled, giving him a giddy grin.

“Hey there,” he replied, his cheeks reddening. They were both still nude, her light frame pressed up tight against him in the confines of the bag, her smooth scales sliding against his skin as her pert breasts compressed against his chest. He resisted the urge to run his hand down the curve of her spine, to cup her springy butt again, those violet eyes drawing him in. The fire that he had felt for her the night before still smoldered, and it was a challenge to put work before pleasure.

Ben had expected some level of awkwardness the morning following such a spontaneous encounter, he still didn’t fully understand what had happened, nor precisely when the line between comrades and lovers had been crossed. It seemed that it had been obvious to everyone but him. Yet, there was no such awkwardness. There wasn’t a hint of regret to tarnish the sense of satisfaction and elation that he still felt when the scattered memories of their glistening bodies writhing together flashed through his mind. This felt right, just like it had in the hot spring. If this was what it meant to be part of a flock, a member of a pack, then it was oddly ... liberating.

Mizi crawled her way out of the bag, shaking out her feathers before collapsing them back down into their sheaths. Ben felt no need to keep his eyes off her body now, drinking in her voluptuous figure as she walked across the bay to fetch her clothes. He propped himself up on his elbow, admiring the way that her hips rolled as she walked, a subtle ripple passing through her soft butt and thighs with every step.

She began to pull on her shorts, wriggling to get the tight elastic waistband past her ample cheeks, finally succeeding in squeezing into the form-fitting garment. As she pulled on her top, she realized that she had an audience, giving Ben a sly smile over her shoulder that was chased by a flutter of pink.

“What’s the matter, Commander?” she teased as she began to step into her pressure suit. “Didn’t you get a good enough look at me last night?”

Lozka smirked at him as she tended to the food, Ben’s cheeks starting to warm. Seeing the Araxie smile had once been a rare occurrence, but she was doing it more and more these days. He struggled out of the sleeping bag, Mizi perching on the edge of the bench as she watched him walk over to his discarded pressure suit, making no attempt to disguise where her eyes were wandering.

“I could say the same of you,” he replied, searching the deck for his shorts. He quickly realized that she was holding them in her hand, Mizi letting his underwear dangle from one of her clawed fingers as she raised it towards him. He snatched it, trying and failing to suppress a grin.

“I should clear the air,” he said as he started to dress. “What we all did last night was rather ... unprofessional,” he began, Mizi cocking her head at him curiously. “That said ... we were off-duty at the time, and there’s no specific regulation that says we can’t ... y’know ... have a close working relationship.”

“‘Very’ close,” Mizi added with a grin. She crossed her digitigrade legs, looking him up and down pointedly as her clawed toes bobbed in the air.

“I would appreciate it,” he continued as he pulled on his tank top, “if you guys would keep that kind of thing to yourselves once we get back to the formation. I think it would reflect better on us.”

“Don’t worry, Commander,” Mizi replied as she watched him zip up his suit. “If those are your orders, then what happens in the troop bay stays in the troop bay.”

“It’s not like I’m swearing you two to secrecy,” he clarified, brushing himself off. “Maybe don’t advertise it, is all I’m saying.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Mizi added, her prehensile tail reaching over to pull up the last couple of inches of his zipper. “This also applies to all of the things that we’re ‘going’ to do in the troop bay?”

“Uh ... yeah,” he replied, the little alien giggling to herself as he began to blush.

“Come, eat,” Lozka insisted. “One would think that it was mating season...”

Ben rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, Mizi hopping down from the bench as they joined the feline on the mattresses. They sat down beside the Araxie, and she passed them their respective rations, Ben savoring the scent of a steaming packet of beef ravioli.

“This is good!” he exclaimed over a mouthful, fishing inside the container with a plastic fork. “You’ve got the technique down, Lozka.”

“I am pleased,” she replied. “I will admit that I have not been too welcoming of alien tools since we made contact with the Coalition, but this is something that I think would benefit my people greatly.”

“I know how you feel,” he replied, giving Mizi a nudge with his elbow. “I’ve been warming up to some alien ideas myself lately.”

“The signal is growing stronger,” Ben said, his eyes fixed on his display. “Change course to bearing two-two-five, Mizi. Whatever this thing is, we have to be pretty close. Lozka, you see anything yet?”

“No,” she replied, scanning the swirling dust with the turret’s camera. “Not through this storm...”

“Visibility is at maybe seventy meters today,” Mizi added, struggling to see through her own monitors as she wound between the dunes. The terrain was flatter here, the dunes far lower than what they had been navigating so far. The satellite images indicated that they would soon be approaching a large salt flat.

“Let’s slow down a little,” Ben advised. “Whatever we’re about to roll up on, we don’t want to make our presence known until we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Commander, I have something,” Lozka said.

“What is it?” he demanded, tapping at one of his monitors as he switched to her camera feed.

“I am ... not sure.”

“Full stop!” Ben commanded, the trio rocking in their seats as Mizi hit the brakes. Through the turret feed, he could see what appeared to be massive tracks in the sand. It was a long line that was maybe five meters wide, extending into the distance in both directions until the storm obscured it from view.

“Lozka,” he began, narrowing his eyes at his display. “Do you recognize those tracks? Do you know what might have made them? I swear to God, if this planet is home to giant sandworms, I’m turning this Timberwolf around.”

“I know of no creature that could leave such marks,” she replied, “and they do not look like any sandship tracks that I have ever seen. Whatever it was, they are fresh. If they had been here for any significant length of time, the windborne sand would have erased them.”

“They almost look like...” Ben trailed off, switching back to the external camera feeds on the hull. “Mizi, drive us forward a little. Bearing three-hundred, take it slow.”

The engine hummed as she started to roll them in that direction, Ben keeping his eyes on the feeds as the airborne dust rattled against the hull.

“What are you expecting to find?” Mizi asked.

“Well I’ll be,” he muttered, a second track coming into view ahead of them. “It’s a vehicle!”

“A vehicle?” Mizi repeated. “Does the UNN have anything that large? Those tracks must be sixty meters apart!”

“Not that I know of,” he replied. “It’s way bigger than a Kodiak, the Yagda wasn’t even this big. Is this how they’re avoiding detection? They’re moving their bases around on giant treads?”

“How much would something like that weigh?” Mizi wondered, her feathers flashing yellow. “Where would they get it?”

“Beats me,” he muttered. “I’m picking up seismic readings from the direction of those tracks. Whatever this thing is, it must be responsible for tripping the sensors. I guess our next course of action should be to follow them and see what we find at the end. Take us away, Mizi. I’m gonna call this in.”

Mizi spun her wheel, maneuvering the Timberwolf between the two sets of tracks, revving the engine as they sped off into the storm.

After maybe an hour of driving, they started to come across more evidence of Rask activity, these ones more easily identifiable.

“Those were made by trucks,” Ben said, his tone dour as he examined the impressions in the sand on his monitors. “Probably the same kind we encountered before. I’m seeing tire tracks from four-wheelers, tank treads, maybe from some kind of APC. Looks like their mobile base has an escort fleet...”

“Tracks this small would disappear even faster,” Lozka warned, sparing him a worried glance from her seat.

“Which means we must be driving right up their ass,” Ben grumbled. “Eyes peeled, guys. I don’t want to crash the party by literally crash-”

“Wait,” Lozka said, gesturing for him to be silent with a wave of her clawed hand. Her round ears were twitching, swiveling like little satellite dishes. “Turn the engine off.”

Mizi looked to Ben for confirmation, and he gave her a shrug, the Timberwolf rolling to a stop. With the engine shut down, all that Ben could hear was a subtle electrical whine, along with the sand that was pounding on the outside of their hull. He watched as Lozka tilted her head, listening intently.

“I hear it,” she hissed.

“Through the hull, and the storm?” Ben asked as he shared an incredulous glance with Mizi. Lozka affixed the protective goggles that were hanging around her neck, beginning to unfasten her harness.

“Commander,” she began, climbing out of her bucket seat. “I wish to go outside and scout ahead on foot.”

“Whoa, hang on,” he said as she made her way into the troop bay. He unstrapped himself and followed behind her, watching as she pulled her camouflaged cloak from the rack, wrapping it around her shoulders. “We don’t know what’s out there,” he protested as she slung her crossbow over her back. “What if that thing is going faster than you can run? What if you get lost in the storm?”

“It is close,” she replied, “and I cannot lose my way as long as I follow the tracks. Commander,” she continued, turning to face him. “If you forbid it, I will do as you ask. You have proven yourself a worthy leader, and it is not my place to question your judgment. But consider that I can pass unseen, that I can observe the Rask without alerting them to our presence. If we drive closer, the chance of us encountering Rask patrols and being discovered is high.”

He thought for a moment, but he couldn’t find a good reason to argue with her.

“Alright,” he conceded. “Don’t stray too far from the tracks. If we lose you out here, we’ll never find you again. You see any Rask, you hide, no shooting unless you have to.”

“I will do as you ask,” she replied.

“And wear this,” he added, turning to fish inside the netting of one of the shelves. He thrust a Borealan helmet into her hands, the Araxie examining it with a look of disdain on her face. “I know, I know,” Ben continued. “You can raise the visor, and there are little slots on top for your ears, so it won’t impair your senses. If you wear this, then we can watch your helmet cam feed over ad-hoc, we’ll see what you see.”

“Very well,” she conceded, slotting the helmet on. She leaned down so that Ben could open the little caps over her ears, then he used the touch panel beside the visor to open it.

“You’re good to go,” he said, Lozka giving him a nod before turning to the troop ramp. She reached up and hit the button, the door beginning to lower, the howling wind growing louder.

“Be careful!” Mizi blurted, her feathers flushing a worried purple as she leaned out of the cab. Lozka darted out as soon as the aperture was wide enough, vanishing into the storm as Ben began to close the ramp. As soon as it was sealed, he made his way back to his seat, Mizi hovering over his shoulder as he keyed in commands. There was a hiss of static, and then the helmet cam view appeared in a window. They couldn’t see much, the storm was making the signal a little fuzzy, and the swirling sand that filled the air was creating blocky artifacts. At least they could get an idea of what she was doing as long as the signal held.

She was following the massive tank tracks, the camera bouncing as she jogged. For a good ten minutes, there was nothing to see besides the orange haze of the storm, then an object appeared in the distance. Lozka reacted quickly, throwing her camouflaged cloak over herself and diving to the sand, holding as still as a statue as a vehicle emerged from the dust. It was a Rask technical, a converted civilian vehicle with a mounted gun welded to the rear. It came in from her left, turning to follow the same tracks, Ben able to see a couple of Rask bouncing in the cab as they crested one of the low dunes.

“Must be a scout,” Ben muttered, “they’ll be protecting the mobile base.”

“Lozka was right,” Mizi added, another purple flutter passing through her headdress. “If we had kept going in the Timberwolf, we would surely have been seen.”

Once the vehicle was out of sight, Lozka began to move again, keeping low to the ground as she resumed her pursuit. Every so often she would pause to put the sensitive pads on her hands to the sand, perhaps feeling for vibrations.

As she raced across the dunes, something began to appear through the sepia fog, Ben’s eyes widened as he watched the feed. The first thing that he could make out clearly was a massive caterpillar track that was itself the size of a Kodiak, a pair of treads churning up the sand as it crawled along. It wasn’t going fast, maybe ten kilometers per hour, certainly no more than that. The rumbling of what sounded like a giant engine was audible even through the mic on her helmet now.

As the camera panned up, buildings came into view, the sight perplexing Ben for a moment. They looked like prefab habitation modules of the same kind used in colonies, or in temporary housing units. As more of the titanic vehicle cleared the storm, he realized what it was. Four treads were holding up a huge platform that must be eighty meters long and almost that wide, maybe fifty meters tall. The aliens had attached the buildings on top of it, along with what looked like the CIWS guns usually used to defend FOBs. The thing had been painted in desert camo, the hull and prefabs reinforced with sheets of armor that had been welded and bolted to the hull in an attempt to provide more protection.

“I know what that is!” he exclaimed, Mizi cocking her head at him.

“You’ve seen one of these before?” she asked, in awe of the thing.

“Kind of. That’s one of the platforms that we use in spaceports to move cargo and ships between launch pads and hangars, I’m sure of it. I’ve seen them rolling around the terminals.”

“But how did it get here?” Mizi wondered.

“It’s not a military vehicle,” Ben mused. “At least, it didn’t start out as one. There’s nothing stopping the Rask from just buying one from whatever corporation sells them if they can afford it.”