Black Velvet

"You'll get used to it," Simmons said, looking back over his shoulder. "Just take it easy, let us know if you need to take a break."

No wonder the Marines were so ripped, just moving around on the surface of Borealis was the equivalent of a strenuous workout. What he had first dismissed as machismo was now revealed to be a product of their environment. They weren't gym rats, their muscles were a result of the crushing gravity. He couldn't imagine living here long-term the way that they did, he had only been on the surface for a matter of seconds, and he already found himself counting down the minutes until the assignment would be over and he would be allowed to leave.

"What's our heading?" Edwards asked, Velez lifting a wrist-mounted computer and tapping at the touch screen with his gloved fingers.

"If we go due North from here, then we should reach the coordinates that they gave us before nightfall."

"We came down pretty close then, that's good. I didn't fancy spending the night in the bush."

There was a gust of wind, the dropship kicking up dust as it began to lift off, Jules stumbling forwards to get clear of it as it rose into the air. The fern-like plants that carpeted the ground blew like waves on the surface of a lake, the treetops rustling and shaking as the ship angled its nose upwards and fired its main engines. Jules shielded his eyes against the glare of the suns as he watched it climb into the sky and vanish, the glint of its metallic hull lost in the haze. Well, there was no going back now...

"Stay close," the Ranger said, Jules nearly jumping out of his skin as he turned to see her standing a foot away from him. He had to crane his neck to look her in the eye, the top of his head scarcely reached her bust. "The Patriarch has tasked me with keeping you alive, so do not wander."

"I hadn't planned on it," he mumbled, her yellow eyes meeting his. They looked like a cat's eyes, the pupil a vertical slit. Her furry ears swiveled like a pair of little radar dishes, tracking the sounds of the forest around them, her pink nose twitching as her striped tail waved back and forth idly. Her senses were probably many times more sensitive than his own, he could see the benefit of having one of these aliens as their guide.

"We shouldn't waste time if we want to make it to our destination before sunset," Simmons said, waving his comrades forwards. These guys didn't seem to strictly adhere to the rank structure that Jules had become accustomed to during his stay on the carrier, but Simmons called the shots, he was obviously the squad leader.

The Ranger left his side and took point, her rifle clasped in her furry hands as she approached the edge of the clearing. Her padded feet made her alarmingly quiet as she vanished into the brush, the odd rustle of leaves and the snap of a fallen twig the only thing giving her away. Jules didn't feel as though someone so large should be able to move so quietly, it was unnatural, spooky. The three Marines followed after her, making far more noise as they pushed into the jungle. Jules hurried after them, his joints already aching as the planet put more strain on them than he was built for. At least they hadn't made him carry one of those massive rucksacks...

The jungle was so dense that once he was beneath the canopy, he lost all sense of direction. It was just green everywhere he looked, his eyes struggling to focus. It was oddly gloomy, the thick leaves high above him blocking out the suns, a few bright rays finding their way through here and there to create what looked like puddles of golden light on the ground. There was a thick bed of plants that reached up to his thighs, it was like wading through a green ocean, waxy leaves that were wet with moisture impeding his progress.

Everything looked slightly off, he couldn't identify any of the plants, and what flowers were visible were exotic and unfamiliar. The gnarled trunks of the tightly-packed trees were covered in layers of clinging moss and hanging vines, their roots jutting from the soil, threatening to twist ankles and trip the unwary. The oversized boots that they had insisted that he wear slipped in the wet mud, and he cursed his employers for failing to properly prepare him. He hadn't realized that jungle literally meant that he would be traipsing through miles of untamed rainforest. The Elysians lived on the borders of a jungle, after all, and they were perfectly civilized.

"So...does this high gravity...not bother you?" Jules panted as he took up formation behind Edwards. The Marines were clearing somewhat of a path for him, and the Ranger was using a knife the size of a sword to cut through vines and other native flora that blocked their way.

"You grow accustomed to it after a while," Edwards explained. "We rotate out to one of the orbiting ships every six months, though, just for a couple of weeks. Stops us from developing too many joint problems."

"Joint problems?" Jules asked, climbing over an exposed root.

"Oh yeah, the human body isn't designed for this kind of gravity. It'll wear down the cartilage on your joints after a while, gives you a kind of arthritis. It's all good as long as you take time off to recover, and you take your meds."

"So...why do you and the others...stay on Borealis?"

Edwards shrugged, holding a flexible branch out of Jules' way as he let him pass.

"I guess I got into the routine. Borealis is a...strange planet. There isn't anywhere else like it. It's harsh and inhospitable, but it's also beautiful, wild. If you can cut it here, then going back to civilization feels like putting the kid gloves back on, y'know? Borealans do things differently, they have a unique attitude, and I guess it just clicks with some people. The brass doesn't complain, the more experienced personnel they have down here, the better. Working on Borealis has...a bit of learning curve."

"Yeah, I read the pamphlet that they hand out to new arrivals," Jules muttered. "Calling the locals antisocial would be an understatement."

"They're not antisocial," Edwards chuckled, "they're just...differently social. The mad cats aren't so bad once you get to know them. There's a method to their madness, a kind of primal logic that starts to make sense once you understand how they think."

"You look like you've gotten to know a few of them," Jules said, gesturing to the scars on the Marine's forearms.

"Let's just call those beginner's mistakes."

"Some of those mistakes look like they required quite a few stitches."

"You should see the other guy," Edwards replied with a grin. Jules couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

***

After walking for a while, they took a break, stopping amongst the tangled roots of one of the larger trees to pass around canteens and catch their breath. The heat and humidity were nightmarish, as if the increased gravity wasn't bad enough. Jules was coated in a layer of sweat, the salt stinging his eyes, the intense humidity preventing it from evaporating so that it wasn't even cooling him down properly. The Marines were sympathetic, despite their grizzled exteriors. They probably remembered their first few days on Borealis in acute detail, and they didn't seem to mind that he was slowing them down.

Simmons insisted that everyone stay hydrated, practically force-feeding Jules some kind of sugary sports drink on top of the liters of water that they were required to consume. It seemed like far more than was necessary to quench his thirst, but the Marines knew better than he did, so he made an effort. On top of the copious amounts of water that they carried in their packs, the Marines also had food and other emergency supplies. Edwards passed Jules a protein bar along with a small container about the size and shape of a tube of toothpaste. It was full of an amber-colored, sugary substance that had the consistency of honey. The Marines called it Jarry Juice, but they didn't elaborate on where it came from or what it was made of. It tasted good, and it made him feel reinvigorated, so Jules didn't press the issue.

The Ranger kept her distance from the humans, perched on one of the taller roots like a gargoyle as she surveyed their surroundings, on watch for native animals perhaps. She certainly seemed on edge, like she was expecting something bad to happen. Her imposing rifle was always at the ready, her fuzzy ears twitching at every unknown jungle sound. There were birds in the canopy, Jules couldn't see them, but he could certainly hear the racket that they were making, and the buzzing of insects was incessant. Fortunately, none of them seemed too interested in biting him.

Jules stood and brushed away some of the fallen leaves that were clinging to the seat of his pants, his boots sliding in the mud as he stumbled over to where the Ranger was sat. Networking was important, if he wanted the best and most up to date information that he could get, then he would need to engage with the alien as well as with the Marines. She seemed to be the only one who knew anything about the enigmatic Araxie.

One of her ears swiveled to track him as he approached her from behind. Remembering what the pamphlet had said about how to behave around Borealans, he decided not to pat her on the shoulder to get her attention, clearing his throat instead.

"So...seen any monsters yet?" She turned to look back at him, glaring down at him from atop her perch. She didn't seem angry, more annoyed that he was interrupting her silent vigil. "What's your name?" he continued, taking a seat on another raised root beside her. The gnarled wood was uncomfortable, a large knot stabbing him in the butt, but he tried to hide his discomfort as she watched him with her feline eyes.

"You would do better not to distract me, human."

"Oh, sorry," he said as he retreated a little further back. "Are you expecting something to come after us?"

"I cannot say," she replied tersely, looking out into the densely packed trees. "My people have not charted this territory, its native animals are a mystery to us. There are many dangerous creatures in the jungle band of Elysia, and there may be many here as well."

"I wanted to ask you about that, if it's alright," he continued.

"Very well," she grumbled, "but make it quick."

"My job here is to evaluate the Araxie and see if they meet the requirements for joining the Coalition. The more I know about them, the more informed my decision will be. Do your people know anything about them at all? Rumors, hearsay maybe? At this point, I'll take baseless conjecture, it's better than going in blind."

The Ranger sighed, but she didn't send him packing. She turned one ear in his direction as she kept the remainder of her senses focused on the trees.

"The Araxie are as shadows, little is known about them besides that they prefer to remain unknown."

"Can you elaborate?" he asked, frustrated by her less than informative answer. "Why do they choose to stay hidden? How do you know of them at all if that's the case?"

"Do you know of the Rask?" she asked.

"The Rask? I've heard of them, yeah, they're another Borealan territory. They supply front line troops for the Coalition. They trade primarily in weapons, and their exports aren't much to write home about, mostly raw materials like ores and unrefined metals for use in the Martian shipyards."

"The Rask are desert pirates. They make their living traveling the barren lands between the great lakes, raiding trading caravans, and mounting incursions into lesser territories."

"Not anymore," Jules interrupted, "one of the conditions that they agreed to when they joined the Coalition was to cease all illegal activity and to respect the sovereignty of neighboring territories."

She didn't reply, merely giving him a sideways glance before continuing her tale.

"The Rask stopped raiding near the borders of Araxie a long time ago, long before your Coalition arrived on Borealis. They are a stoic people, accustomed to cruelty and hardship, there isn't much that strikes fear into a Rask. But something about Araxie kept them away for good. Maybe it was superstition, perhaps the stories that they returned home with were exaggerated, but they never again dared to set foot inside this jungle. They claimed that it was cursed, taboo."

That certainly explained why she seemed so nervous, but he couldn't let her stop there, the story intrigued him.

"So, what stories did they come back with?" he asked. "What had them so spooked?"

"The raiders that made it home spoke of shadows, ghosts striking from the trees. They came at night, shrouded in darkness, attacking quickly and then retreating before the Rask could retaliate. They were said to be silent, invisible, with no discernible scent to set them apart from the jungle itself. It may be hard for you to understand, human senses are so dull compared to ours." Jules let the implied insult slide, shrugging his shoulders as he waited for her to get to the point. "But for a Borealan to be unable to see a foe, unable to hear or smell them, that is something that troubles us deeply."

"I think I'm starting to understand. So they might be lurking just out of view, and you would have no way to know that they were there at all?"

She remained silent, scanning the trees, her massive rifle clutched in her hands. She didn't seem scared exactly, just on edge, hypervigilant. Jules had to admit that it was a disquieting thought, joining her as he peered between the moss-covered trunks, the deep shadow cast by the canopy playing tricks on his eyes the longer he stared. There could be anything out there, in a jungle this thick, you could scarcely see fifteen feet in any direction. It was gloomy, the lines of sight broken up by plants and trees, the sounds and smells unfamiliar. He felt an involuntary shiver crawl up his spine.

"Perhaps we should get moving," he muttered, "Simmons said that we shouldn't dawdle if we want to make it to our destination before sunset. Somehow, I feel even less enthusiastic about spending the night out here now..."

She grunted affirmatively, and as he made his way back to where the three Marines were sat, he turned to look back at her.

"You didn't tell me your name."

"It's Yuta," she replied.

***

"How much further?" Edwards asked, Velez's face lighting up with an orange glow as he checked the instruments on his wrist-mounted computer. The suns were starting to dip below the horizon now, making the already shadowy forest even darker and more foreboding, the sky stained pink in the scant places where it was visible through the thick canopy.

"I don't understand," Velez replied, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his gloved hand. "This should be it, but I don't see anything. There are no buildings, no people here to greet us. Do we even know what we're looking for?"

There was indeed nothing to differentiate this patch of jungle from anything that they had seen so far. It was deserted, and there wasn't a single artificial structure in sight, no evidence of any Borealan activity whatsoever. The Marines glanced around warily, their hands creeping instinctively towards the rifles that were slung across their chests.

"They just gave us the coordinates, no further instructions beyond that," Simmons said. "What's your take, Yuta?"

She stopped, her leather clothing creaking as she rested the ornate barrel of her gun across her shoulder. She didn't seem as bothered by the humidity as the humans were, the Rangers spent their lives in these jungles, so Jules had been told. Her skin glistened where it was exposed, beads of sweat catching the light like droplets of dew on a blade of grass. She was certainly an impressive woman.

"My guess is that they do not wish to reveal the location of their village to outsiders," she said. "They do not trust us, they will likely lead us to our final destination once they have made contact, and they determine that we are not a threat."

"They called us, not the other way around," Jules complained from the rear. The lull in their hiking gave him the opportunity to sit down and take some of the load off his legs. His joints ached, and his muscles burned, he couldn't remember ever being so exhausted in his life. He sat heavily on the bed of ferns and leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree, catching his breath. They wouldn't let him take off the heavy armor, but he had at least been able to hang the stifling helmet from his belt, Jules running his fingers through his damp hair as he took in gulps of the humid air. Simmons passed him a canteen, and he took a long draw from it, screwing the cap on and handing it back to the Marine before continuing. "Why would they be suspicious of our motives? They know who we are and why we're here. They invited us, didn't they?"

"It doesn't matter," Edwards said, shrugging off his pack and joining Jules beneath the tree. "We don't have any choice but to play by their rules. That's obviously the way that they want this to go."

"You sure about the coordinates, Velez?" Simmons asked.

"I'm sure, boss. You can check for yourself. The magnetic poles are a bit fucky on this rock, but we got the GPS satellites up and running a few months back. It's all good."

"Alright," Simmons said, his eyes darting about as he examined their immediate surroundings. He seemed almost as wary as Yuta was. "We'll make camp here, and if nothing happens before morning, then we'll put a call through to command and ask them for instructions. Keep your eyes peeled, I don't like being at a disadvantage. Yuta, you're on first watch."

***

Jules had imagined them starting a crackling campfire, but there was no wood in this humid hell that wasn't soaked through and rubbery, making starting a fire through conventional means practically impossible. Instead, the Marines had brought some kind of camping lantern with them, a cylindrical device that folded up for transport and then opened to reveal a bright bulb that illuminated the jungle around them. It created an island of light in the pitch blackness, the humans clustering around it as though it might protect them from the unknown dangers of the alien rainforest.

Jules watched as swarms of Borealan insects bumped into the glass, like moths drawn to a flame. They were large and stocky, and they had two sets of wings like dragonflies. Perhaps more lift was required for them to stay airborne in this high gravity environment. The glow reflected off their colorful shells, iridescent like the carapace of a beetle or the wings of a butterfly. The forest was full of what sounded almost like cicadas, and every so often, there was a strange and haunting howling that set his teeth on edge. Did Borealis have wolves? He didn't want to find out.

Once everyone was settled in, hunger became their most immediate concern, the mood lightening as they passed around MRE packets and snacks. Jules couldn't remember the last time that he had eaten a real meal. He had been cooped up on the carrier during its long voyage from Earth to Borealis, it could take months for vessels to cross such enormous interstellar distances, and the food in the mess hall hadn't exactly been gourmet. He was used to eating lunch in some of the high-end coffee houses and restaurants near the United Nations building back in Brussels, where he did most of his work, and so the switch to eating from a metal tray in the company of hundreds of people had been jarring.

Now, however, he hardly cared. The smell of a packet of ravioli being warmed by a flameless ration heater was just as appetizing as the scent of a freshly baked cream cheese bagel or a steaming bowl of French onion soup.

Eating with the Marines was a social affair, they traded food packets and bartered for snacks like kids on a field trip, Jules marveling at the variety of their contents. He was pleased to see that his tax money was going towards something worthwhile, he had only been in the bush for a day, but he could already see what a comfort good food would be to an army on the march. By the time they had finished their impromptu haggling, he had found himself with a main course of chicken and spring vegetables, along with a packet of crackers with salmon paste, and a cinnamon bun for dessert. There was also a nut and raisin mix, instant coffee, some kind of powdered fruit drink. It wasn't just fuel, it was a real meal.