Black Velvet

As Jules looked across the table at the Araxie, he wondered what their social structure was like. They certainly seemed laid back compared to the Elysians and the Rask, there was no snapping or bickering, nobody was asserting their dominance over anybody else that he could see. They were all eating communally, passing around dishes and chunks of meat. He could see a few chubby kittens sitting in their parents' laps as they were fed smaller morsels.

"A drink for our guests," Bozka bellowed, raising a hand into the air like a thespian performing a stage show. After a moment, a female approached from the other end of the felled log, a tray laden with large earthen cups balanced precariously in her furry hands. She looked like a waitress at a diner, maneuvering around the other seated villagers. There was an angry yowl as she stood on someone's tail, the sound making Jules jump out of his skin, and he watched as she appeared to apologize profusely before continuing on her way.

She was much like the other Araxie in appearance, covered in a coat of silky fur that was as black as night, the sheen of her coat reflecting the light from the fires as she passed them. Her hair was equally dark, cropped fairly short, and her eyes were that same striking shade of green. She wore the leather shorts that he had become accustomed to seeing, along with a leather belt from which was hung a kind of loincloth made from a silvery pelt that made him think of a wolf. On her upper body, she wore a leather vest that was quite different from the slings that most of the females favored. It covered in pouches and pockets, much like the rigs that the guards wore. The garment was closed tightly over her bust, and beneath it, he could make out slivers of white fabric. It looked to Jules like she was wearing bandages beneath it, was she recovering from an injury perhaps?

She approached the table where Jules and the Patriarch were sat, leaning forwards in an attempt to place the tray before them and jostling one of the other aliens with her hip. The other Araxie had such grace and poise, but this one was downright clumsy. Even Bozka seemed to be pulling away from her a little, as if afraid to get too close to her lest she elbow him in the nose or spill the drinks on him.

She began to place a cup in front of each of them, reaching around the Patriarch precariously as he leaned backwards to give her more room. She placed one before Bozka, one before Jules, but when she reached over to set one of the cups before Yuta, she knocked Jules' drink over with her arm. It toppled onto its side, spilling its contents across the table and pouring into his lap.

"Oh! Forgive me!" she exclaimed as Yuta bared her teeth, and Bozka sighed with exasperation.

"Zuki, can you not be relied upon to perform even the simplest of tasks?" the Patriarch snarled as Zuki danced on the spot nervously.

"I-I'll fetch a rag," she said.

"It's quite alright," Jules said, "there's no need for that. I was soaked with sweat anyway, this is hardly a step down."

The Patriarch snapped something at her in their native language, and she scurried away, disappearing into the far end of the massive log.

"My apologies," the Patriarch said as he reached into one of the many pouches on his rig and produced a strip of cloth. He handed it to Jules, who began to mop up some of the drink that had spilled on his suit. It seemed to be some kind of wine, it was sticky, and it smelled strongly of alcohol. "Zuki is clumsy, we try to find ways to keep her busy and out of trouble."

"It's fine, really," Jules insisted. "The humidity in this jungle was soaking my clothes long before I ever arrived in the village. They should have given me a damned wetsuit..."

***

Once the meal was over, they left the magnificent log dining hall, most of the natives having slowly trickled away by that point. The suns were higher in the sky now, and the day was coming to an end for the Araxie. The Patriarch seemed tired, squinting his eyes against the bright light, his pupils reduced to almost reptilian slits. The aliens weren't just well suited to a nocturnal lifestyle, they seemed downright uncomfortable in full sunlight, like it was hurting their eyes.

"I will show you to the accommodations that you requested," the Patriarch said as he led them through the deserted village. Perhaps this was why none of the structures had windows, the Araxie wouldn't want the light spilling into their homes while they slept. It was still fairly dark beneath the canopy as far as Jules was concerned, but if these aliens could see clearly in an environment where he needed night vision to see ten feet in front of his face, then they must have sensitive eyesight indeed.

They stopped at one of the domed houses that was built into the base of one of the trees, the tangled roots closing around it like the spindly fingers of a skeletal hand. The wood was coated in a layer of moss, droplets of water clinging to the fuzzy carpet, and it had been draped with fallen branches and leaves. It would have been tough to spot if nobody had pointed it out, it just looked like a mound of dirt at first glance.

"This house should suffice during your stay," Bozka said as he gestured towards it. "The pack that lived here was killed to the man during one of the Rask attacks some days ago."

"Oh...my condolences," Jules muttered, taken off-guard.

"They are survived by two kittens who are being cared for by another pack. There are enough beds for all of you, along with what amenities we can provide here."

This wasn't coincidental, the Patriarch had brought them here to make a statement. Jules couldn't help but feel a little manipulated. Bozka was trying to make them feel guilty, trying to garner sympathy in an attempt to influence the coming evaluation, no doubt. He was more devious than he had first appeared. Jules looked over at the solemn faces of the Marines and decided not to make his observations known. It wouldn't do anything to improve their relationship with the Araxie.

"I will return at nightfall, and then we can proceed with the inspection," Bozka said. He bade them goodnight, or good morning in this case, and then he slunk off into the village.

"You think that's true, what he said about the pack who lived here being killed by the Rask?" Velez asked once he was out of earshot. Jules was surprised, the Marine was more perceptive than he had given him credit for.

"Maybe, maybe not," Simmons said. "We have to keep in mind that these guys have an agenda, they want something from us, and they'll do whatever's necessary to get it. Just don't let your guard down. They've been good hosts so far, but we don't really know much about them yet."

"Agreed," Edwards said with a nod.

Simmons took the lead and opened the heavy wooden door of the house with a creak, the rest of the group stepping in behind him. Yuta closed the door after her with a loud thud, plunging them into darkness. Before Jules had time to complain, Edwards had retrieved the collapsible lantern from his pack, kneeling to place it in on the wood floor. It illuminated the space, Jules looking around as he examined what would likely be his home for the next few days. It looked like a log cabin that you might find in the backwoods of some national park, mostly made up of exposed paneling. He was surprised that there was no draft, and it was actually quite a bit cooler on the inside than out. He walked over to one of the walls and placed a hand against it, trying to find a break between the pieces of wood. They were fit together more tightly than seemed possible, he couldn't have pushed a slip of paper between them. Perhaps the humidity caused the wood to swell, and the Araxie used that to their advantage.

The dwelling was comprised of a single large, circular room with six cots spaced out around the circumference. The beds were made up of a wooden frame with fabric suspended between them, like a kind of hammock. There were a few shelves and a small table, but there was no bathroom and no kitchen. The entire village much eat together in their giant felled tree, there were no facilities for preparing food inside their homes it seemed. There was a fire pit made up of stones that was built into a hole in the middle of the room, and there was still some ash left over from the last time it had been used. Maybe they could roast food over that fire if they needed to, they certainly didn't need it for heating. Jules examined the fire pit, reaching down between the stones and rubbing the ash between his fingers.

"I can't imagine lighting a fire in his heat," he muttered.

"It's probably for the winters," Yuta explained. "The dimmer star eclipses the brighter one twice a month, which causes a brief period of intense cold. These jungles will freeze over such that the leaves on the trees will seem to turn to glass. We generally hibernate during those periods, the Araxie may do the same."

"Does that happen even in the deserts?" Jules asked.

"Yes. The nights in the deserts are frigid, even without the eclipse. Have you never been in a desert at nightfall before?"

"Can't say that I have," he replied with a shrug. "I do most of my work in an air-conditioned office, my biggest problem is usually female coworkers turning up the thermostat."

"Yep, it gets cold as fuck," Simmons confirmed. "You think it's too hot right now, but come winter, you'd throw yourself into a pile of mad cats if it would warm you up."

"And it would," Velez chuckled.

"Guess they shit in the woods," Edwards said as he claimed one of the hammocks, dropping his heavy pack beside it and starting to kick off his boots. "I don't see a bathroom."

"I don't see any personal effects either," Velez added as he walked around the room. He was right. There were no hunting trophies on the walls, no pelts, or antlers. There was nothing to indicate that anyone had lived here recently save for the ash in the fire pit, no clothing or tools, no decorative flair. It looked like it had been abandoned for some time. "I don't like being lied to," the Marine added.

"We don't know that Bozka isn't telling the truth," Jules said hastily. "He might be leaving out details, bending the facts, or it might have happened exactly as he said it did. But as Sergeant Simmons so aptly put it, the Araxie want something from us. We should keep that in mind."

There was a loud creak as Yuta lay down on one of the hammocks, the frame screaming its protest as she shuffled to get comfortable. She was fully clothed, while the Marines had begun to remove their armor and their boots, stripping down to their blue jumpsuits. Jules slipped off his own boots, the mud that still clung to them making them stick to the floor, then he made his way over to one of the empty cots. It didn't look like he was going to get much privacy, this was certainly no luxury hotel, but it hardly mattered. He was so tired, and his joints ached so much that he could probably have slept soundly on a bed of nails.

He collapsed onto the fabric, an immediate sense of relief washing over him as all of the weight was taken off his legs. It scarcely took a minute for his eyelids to grow heavy. If he closed them, he could almost pretend that he wasn't dozens of light-years from home, stranded in an alien jungle with only the cast of an action movie and a village full of strange aliens for company. Hopefully, he would have sweet dreams about hazard pay...

CHAPTER 4: WARGAMES

"The key determinant for any invitation to new members is whether their admission to the Coalition will strengthen the alliance and further the basic objective of Coalition enlargement, which serves to increase security and stability across allied space."

Jules lowered his tablet and looked up at Bozka, the alien mulling over what he had been told as he scratched his furry chin with one of his clawed fingers.

"You ask what the Araxie can do for your Coalition?" he finally asked.

"I suppose that's a more succinct way of putting it, yes," Jules replied. "While I am not a military man myself, I believe that Sergeant Simmons is more than capable of evaluating Araxie combat performance, and making a recommendation as to how they might be incorporated into Coalition units."

Simmons nodded, Yuta and the other Marines milling about nearby. The air was thick with humidity, and the suns had only just set, their dying embers painting the sky in pinks and reds. This was morning for the Araxie, and the village was rousing, the inhabitants going about their business. They no longer hid from the newcomers in the trees, paying them very little mind now, a few curious stares and lingering glances were all that Jules had received today.

Packs were going hunting, marching towards the curtains of vines that concealed the village in groups of five or six, sporting nets and spears along with the tools that they carried on their person. Others were walking to and from the giant felled log, likely seeking out their breakfast, and still others were setting off on unknown pursuits. Jules noted that none of the activities were divided along gender lines. There were just as many females as males in their hunting parties, and there was no shortage of males tending to unruly kittens.

"You guys do wargames? Training?" Simmons asked. "Sparring, play fighting, anything like that?"

"We do," Bozka replied, "and I think I understand what you are proposing."

"Me, my two Marines, and our Elysian guide against a pack of your best soldiers. Bring whatever weapons and gear you want as long as it's non-lethal, and we'll have to work out some ground rules. The last squad standing wins."

"Are your weapons not far superior to our own?" the Patriarch asked skeptically, "it hardly seems fair."

"Seems fair to me," Simmons replied with a shrug of his armored shoulders. "You've been holding your own against the Rask, right? They have XMRs and body armor, so you must have been doing something right. What weapons do you field anyway, are we talking black powder rifles? Bows and arrows?"

"We have been aware of the powder weapons used by the other territories for quite some time," Bozka replied as he began to walk. Jules and the others followed behind him as he continued to talk, he seemed to be leading them towards some new area of the village. "For generations, long before this recent wave of attacks, we have struck fear into the hearts of any who would trespass in our lands.."

"Yuta, didn't you say that the Rask were too afraid to come to Araxie?" Jules asked.

"That was my understanding," she replied tersely, clearly not fond of being called out.

"She is not wrong," Bozka replied as a group of locals stepped out of their way, watching curiously as the humans passed them by. "The Rask do not seem to learn, they attack and are defeated, then they develop a fear. They grow bolder over time, they forget the warnings of their elders, and they attack once again. In recent months, it has become far worse. They are emboldened, perhaps by their new alliance with your Coalition. They attacked in large numbers and with much equipment, I fear that next time, we may not be able to hold them back."

"I'm surprised that such a small village has been able to hold out for so long," Jules said.

"Don't be foolish," Yuta chuckled, "this will only be one of many villages."

"The Elysian is correct," Bozka said. "This is the largest village, and it is the seat of the Patriarch, but there are a great many more spread out around the jungle band. In a way, we have the Rask to thank for uniting all of the tribes under one leader. There is safety in numbers."

"Indeed," Jules added, hurrying to keep up with Bozka's loping strides. "That's the philosophy of the Coalition too, but replace the villages with entire planets."

"How do you stay in touch?" Velez asked, "I thought you guys didn't have radio until very recently?"

"We use couriers to transmit messages between villages," the Patriarch replied. "But if we can obtain more radios, then we can improve coordination and communication."

It was nice to see him optimistic about some aspect of the Coalition for once.

They arrived at another wooden structure, this one larger than the average dwelling. Rather than having a single door, there were several entrances that were sealed with small curtains made from fabric, not unlike the material that had been stretched across the bed frames.

The Patriarch guided them inside, once again plunging them into darkness, and then he lit another candle with his portable tool. Simmons chuckled, Jules gasping as the flickering light was cast on what was undeniably an Araxie armory. The walls were stacked with weapons, and there were dozens of the camouflaged cloaks that the Araxie guards and hunters wore, the garments laid out on top of tables. There were spears, knives, nets, and all kinds of tools that Jules couldn't even identify.

"We Araxie prefer something a little more...discreet than the powder weapons of the Elysians and the Rask," Bozka said as he reached out and took one of the weapons down from a metal hook on the wall. He handed it to Simmons, who began to turn it over in his hands.

"Well I'll be. You Araxie are full of surprises..."

"Is that a fucking crossbow?" Velez asked.

It was large, maybe four feet long and change, and it looked heavy. It resembled a rifle, with a buttstock and a trigger that were almost certainly modeled after the powder weapons used by the other territories, but there was a bow at the far end of the contraption instead of a rifled barrel. The string was suspended between two surprisingly short, flexible limbs, and there was a cocking stirrup at the end of the barrel that was large enough for a Borealan foot. It looked oddly advanced for such a primitive class of weapon, the aliens had obviously borrowed design elements from some of their more advanced counterparts while being unable or perhaps unwilling to reproduce them in their entirety.

"This is a fucking beauty," Edwards said as Simmons handed it to him, almost buckling under its weight. "I used to mess around with compound bows back on Franklin. Look at this, wood and metal construction, the flight groove is so straight that it almost looks machined..."

He shouldered the weapon as best he could, Velez doing him the courtesy of placing a hand under the barrel so that he didn't topple forward.

"It's heavy as all hell, but it's actually pretty light for what it is, they shaved off all the material that they could get away with. Look at the one-piece stock, see how they've hollowed it out? It's got a good grip, almost feels like a pistol grip, and they sanded all of the wood smooth. The thumb hole is placed too far back for a human, but this must be a dream to shoot for a Borealan. Here Yuta, give it a try."

He passed it to the Ranger, and she weighed it in her hands, shouldering it and closing one eye to look down the iron sights.

"It handles well," she muttered, "but it can't match the stopping power of an Elysian rifle."

"Maybe not," the Patriarch said, "but it is near silent. If you fire an Elysian rifle in the jungle, then everyone within earshot will know where you are. They would be able to hear you clear across the band. With these weapons, an entire pack of Araxie can fire from cover and go undetected. An Elysian rifle fires a single round, and so does an Araxie crossbow. The bow must be cocked before it can be fired again, but a powder rifle must be reloaded, and so the overall rate of fire is not so different."

"You fought the Rask with these?" Simmons asked skeptically.

"How else do you think we were able to recover their equipment?"

"So, Araxie armed with crossbows have defeated Rask raiding parties armed with XMRs?" Velez said, whistling his approval. "I guess all the firepower in the world doesn't help you if you can't figure out where you're getting shot from. How do you get through their armor?"