The Rask Rebellion

The shuttle began to circle above the territory, spiraling down towards the sparse jungle canopy, shedding velocity as it glided on its stubby wings. It was sandstorm season, and there was already a roiling wall of dust drifting over the territory from the West. I would soon blanket everything in an obscuring, orange haze that would limit visibility to only a scant few feet, the harsh winds that carried it buffeting their little craft.

They flew low over the lake, the city rising up before them as they neared the far shore. The squat buildings were constructed from blocks of yellow sandstone, overlaid with protective mortar that gave them a hand-sculpted appearance, the wooden support beams that helped to reinforce the structures protruding from their facades at intervals. They had no windows, all the better to keep the interiors cool, and to prevent the ever-present sand from finding its way inside. Few were more than one or two stories high, as the Borealan gravity made building tall structures architecturally challenging. The larger and more decorative buildings had stone arches and domed roofs that were self-supporting, and stout, load-bearing pillars that were carved with murals and inscriptions. Between them, the cobbled streets were already packed with drifts of sand from the previous storm. There was no point clearing it away at this time of the year, as it would soon be deposited again. What few figures that could be made out at this altitude were wrapped in robes that protected them from the airborne particles, the wind tearing at the fabric. Most of the citizens would be taking refuge inside right now.

Korbaz spied the Matriarch's palace in the distance, sitting in the center of the city. Land was at a premium in the Rask territory, the sprawling compound a testament to her wealth and power. It occupied a space of about fifteen thousand square feet, most of which consisted of a large courtyard, the complex surrounded by tall walls. At each corner was a needle-like spire that reached as high into the air as the Rask dared to build, the white marble caps ensuring that they could be seen from a great distance.

The main building was a sprawling cluster of domed structures that almost look like soap bubbles from the air, each one tipped with another towering spire. Every needle was adorned with a finely embroidered flag that fluttered in the wind, their edges tattered by generations of sandstorms. They depicted various triumphs and important historical events in the territory's history, some of them now too damaged to make out clearly.

The courtyard itself was overlaid with a covering of red marble, veins of lighter yellows and oranges winding their way through the massive blocks of stone. It gradually gave way to dirt and sand, the center of the space occupied by an artificial oasis. The pool of water shimmered as it caught the light of the suns, as clear as a mirror, the colorful desert flowers and spindly trees that encircled it adding a splash of color and greenery.

Unlike the streets outside, everything inside the palace walls was spotless. There were people seeing to its upkeep around the clock.

The shuttle banked, heading towards a clearing on the far side of the palace, just outside of its walls. The sandstorm was coming in fast, already darkening the blue sky as they began to descend. There was a thud as the craft touched down, bouncing on its landing gear for a moment as the engines wound down. Korbaz collected her bag, waiting by the troop ramp as it began to slowly descend. The heat hit her like a wall, but she welcomed it, feeling it warm her to the very bone. As she left the artificial gravity field of the shuttle, she had to save herself from stumbling, Borealis' gravity tugging at her. Her body had been hardened by this environment, but she had spent many months on the Pinwheel, where the humans kept the gravity thirty percent lower.

She was greeted by a pair of Palace Guards who were dressed in a blend of the UNN Shock Trooper armor that had been supplied to them by the aliens, and the traditional Rask armor. The Matriarch wanted to make use of the best technology available, but she liked to give everything a little native flair. They were wearing thick, padded jackets over the high-tech battlesuits, left open to expose the ceramic chest piece beneath. On their right shoulders were short, purple capes that were embroidered with gold threads, a holdover from their traditional uniform. Rather than the tactical rigs favored by the Marines, they wore slings and holsters that were filled with knives and handguns, the majority of which hung from belts around their waists. Their boots were more suited to the desert, and the leather cuisse armor that they wore helped to break up the clean, artificial lines of the alien suits. There was no danger of them overheating, Korbaz knew that the armor was climate-controlled as long as its batteries were charged.

"Welcome home, Vice Admiral," one of the guards said, his voice muffled by his opaque visor. "The Matriarch awaits your arrival. We have been sent to escort you to the palace."

"I know the way," she replied, the pair flanking her as she set off towards an arched entrance in one of the towering walls of the compound. There were two more guards posted to either side of it, long rifles clutched in their hands, the barrels lined with copper-colored rings. Those were XMRs, the standard-issue railguns of the UNN. They were designed with a modular frame that could be scaled up or down based on the stature of the wielder. The bayonets mounted to their long barrels had been replaced with a decidedly more wicked design, making them look more like spears than rifles.

They emerged into the courtyard, Korbaz admiring the reflective sheen of the polished marble beneath her paws. The fronds of the trees that encircled the oasis waved in the wind, the flowering shrubs seeming to flutter. She looked to her left, seeing that the ominous shadow of the storm was still encroaching.

As she neared the main structure, the two guards broke off, returning to their posts. She passed beneath another ornate arch built from blocks of ochre-colored marble that was streaked with veins of white, the temperature cooling as she stepped inside the building proper, as though she was entering an underground cave. The interior was also decorated with varying colors of marble, masterfully sculpted pillars from which were suspended tapestries and banners lining the long, sandstone hallways. The walls were at least ten feet apart, the ceiling twice that height. The floor was paved with smooth, black stone, reflecting the glow from the burning chandeliers that hung from the wooden beams above. Mineral deposits were one of the few resources that the Rask possessed in abundance.

She pressed on, steeling herself for an audience with the Matriarch herself. Her heart began to beat faster as she approached the audience chamber, finding a pair of heavy doors blocking her path. The wood was engraved with scenes of battle, the reliefs depicting the victories and massacres of the territory's storied history. Korbaz stopped before them, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. She fought the impulse to relinquish the myriad of weapons that hung from her belt, as she was required to do when entering secure areas on the Pinwheel. That was a human custom. In Rask culture, everyone attending an official function was expected to be armed. If one attendant drew their weapon, then so would everyone else. It was mutually-assured destruction, a guaranteed blood bath.

The Vice Admiral swallowed the lump in her throat, then pushed the great doors ajar with a loud creak, stepping through into a vast chamber. The main dome of the palace rose high above her head, perhaps thirty feet at its apex, opulent pillars carved from solid chunks of black marble ringing the circular room to support its immense weight. There was almost no sandstone visible here, it was all covered up by flowing drapes in shades of deep purple, the delicate fabrics extending from the beginning of the dome to the ground. Between each pillar was a stone column topped with a ceramic pan that was filled with burning coals, the bright flames licking at the air. They served as the chamber's only illumination, casting dancing shadows, their light reflecting off the polished floor.

At the far wall was a subtly raised platform, the steps that led up to it made from the same black marble. Upon it sat a massive throne hewn from a single block of red stone that was crisscrossed with white veins of ore, giving it an uncanny resemblance to fresh meat. It was carved with more intricate reliefs, the armrests ending in the sculpted heads of Rask hounds.

One of the creatures was sitting beside it obediently, an especially large specimen, its long snout covered in faded scars from past dominance battles. It stared at Korbaz with its glassy, beady eyes as she approached, its sagging lips pulling back to reveal an impressive set of pearly tusks as it snarled menacingly. The archeox were beasts bred for war, quadrupedal pack hunters and scavengers native to the Borealan deserts. As fearsome as they appeared, their social system made them ideally suited to domestication. Its pointed ears swiveled to face her, the thing rising to its feet, the dull claws on its splayed paws scratching at the platform. It was about five feet tall at the shoulder, the wobbling hump on its back rising a good foot higher, its ample store of fat indicating that the animal was well-fed. Its coat was sand-colored, patterned with horizontal stripes, and there was a comb of raised fur running from its skull to the tip of its tail that was a darker shade of brown.

The large figure that occupied the throne reached down to tug at the chain that was attached to its leather collar, the beast returning obediently to its reclining position.

The Matriarch was imposing, even by Borealan standards, reaching almost nine feet in height. Her sun-kissed skin was covered in the remnants of healed scars, and she wore an eyepatch over one eye that had been lost in battle, the other a striking shade of amber. Her mane of long, blonde hair had a feathery, puffy quality to it. It cascaded over her shoulders like a golden waterfall, almost reaching her clavicle. Her appearance was not especially regal. She wore no elaborate jewelry, no cape or crown, only a leather jacket and pants in the usual Rask style. The only indication of her high rank besides her stature was a purple sash that she wore across her chest, which was adorned with golden badges and medals. The jacket, too, was finer than most. The various zippers and buttons were all made from gold, and the lining was fashioned from soft, purple satin that was only really visible on the collar.

The jacket was open, revealing the grey tank top that she wore beneath it. The garment exposed her impressive cleavage, along with the sculpted rows of her abdominal muscles. Her body had been honed by a lifetime of Borealan gravity and savage battle, bestowing her with a figure that looked as though it had been chiseled from the same marble as the palace halls. She was the epitome of everything that a Borealan strived to be. Confident, powerful, commanding. She sat with her stout thighs parted, the dimples of her muscles visible through the clinging leather, lounging on the padded cushions of her chair.

She was not alone. On soft cushions that were arranged around the foot of the throne sat half a dozen consorts, a display of youth and beauty that Korbaz couldn't help but drink in. Male and female bodies in their prime were on display, clad in delicate, flowing fabrics that left nothing to the imagination. This was not the Matriarch's pack, these people had been selected to sate her appetites and nothing more, their fresh faces and full lips drawing the Vice Admiral's gaze. These were not slaves. Any sound-minded Rask would revel in the opportunity to serve their Matriarch in any way that she required.

Korbaz took a knee as she reached the foot of the platform, bowing her head. The marble floor was so polished that she could almost see her reflection in it as she stared intently at the ground.

"My Matriarch, I answer your summons."

"Rise," a deep, gravelly voice replied. Korbaz dared to lift her eyes, watching as the towering figure began to descend the steps. "You have made good time, Vice Admiral."

"Only thanks to your foresight, my Matriarch," she said as she stood up straight. "It was wise to hire a Courser. The troops stationed on the Pinwheel will not be returning for two weeks, maybe more if the humans take measures to delay them, as I expect they will."

"I needed you at my side," the monarch replied, Korbaz turning to walk beside her as she made her way to the wooden doors. "You have dwelt among the aliens, you know them better than anyone."

"Their politics, certainly," Korbaz said as the pair stepped into the long hallway.

"I need that expertise," the Matriarch continued. "Their laws, their rules of engagement, what measures they will and won't take against us. You are also an accomplished Crewmaster, you made a name for yourself as a sand sailor."

"Yes, my Matriarch," Korbaz replied as she hurried to keep up with her long strides. "I have experience commanding raiding parties."
"You must be wondering what my plans are, what preparations I have made," the Matriarch continued. "I could not warn you in advance, the humans have spies everywhere. It would be foolish not to assume that they have full control over the communications technology that they created, that they can intercept messages, listen in on our conversations when we think ourselves alone."

"You are wise, my Matriarch. I know that to be the case."

They exited beneath the marble arch, walking across the courtyard. The wind whipped at the Matriarch's golden hair, Korbaz glancing to her left, seeing that the sandstorm was nearly upon them.

"For some time now, I have been building my forces in secret, knowing that the day would come when we would be at odds with the Coalition. From the outset, I knew that they did not understand our ways, that they did not respect our traditions. But we needed their weapons, we had no hope of countering Elysia's forces unless we made a pact with the humans. Now, we have their weapons, their technology. Our warriors have been put through the crucible of war on a dozen worlds, they've been trained in the alien's tactics, their battle doctrine. The humans have unknowingly sharpened the blade that we will be putting to their throats."

"My Matriarch," Korbaz began hesitantly. Phrasing her question as a criticism could earn her another scar for her insolence. "The humans are as numerous as they are powerful. We face a far superior force, one which has capabilities that we do not. In your wisdom, how do you plan to achieve your goals?"

"Your doubts are well-founded," she replied, "but you merely lack the keystone that holds up the arch. Defeating the Coalition is not our goal, nor could it ever be. As you say, they are far beyond us. Yet their strength is not that of an Alpha, they do everything in half-measures. They have the power to induct the entire Galaxy into their pack, but not the will to do it. The Rask bow only to true strength, our fealty cannot be bartered for trinkets and toys."

"So...how does one win a war without...winning a war?" Korbaz asked, confused.

"This is why I value your expertise so greatly," the Matriarch replied as she led the Vice Admiral towards the far wall of the lavish compound, her leather pants creaking with every step. "Your station has been to learn their laws, their conventions, the terms of their treaties. You know how their laws permit them to respond, in what ways their sacred conventions will stay their hand. This war will be a careful balancing act. We must defeat them in the field, but we must never provoke them into using their full strength against us. We will exploit their civility, their pity, their compassion. We will strike from the sands and fade away before they can react. We will out-maneuver them, trap them, sabotage them."

"A guerrilla war," Korbaz mused, nodding her understanding.

"Just as our ancestors have always done, we will use our maneuverability and our knowledge of the land to our advantage. We will exhaust them, and when the war becomes too costly for them to continue, they will abandon it. They do not care about Borealis, they never have, their focus is on protecting their colonies from the insect hordes. They use our people as cannon fodder, they shield our world only to deny a foothold to their enemies."

"And you have secured weapons, equipment?" Korbaz asked.

"The Coalition has been providing us with defensive weapons as part of our treaty with them for some time. Armor, firearms, ammunition. Enough to outfit our warriors. But they have never fully trusted us. They will not provide us with ships, vehicles, orbital weapons. They correctly suspected that we were still engaging in raiding and piracy. Yet we have been able to get around those limitations in...creative ways, as you will soon see."

They emerged onto one of the cobbled streets, the two guards who were posted at the entrance to the compound bowing as they passed. They waited for a moment, standing between the mortar facades of the buildings. A pack of civilians passed them by, their bodies wrapped tightly in shawls to protect them from the blowing sand, lowering their heads in submission when they noticed the Matriarch.

After a minute, Korbaz heard the rumbling of an engine. From the street to their right came a wheeled vehicle, the bright beams of its headlights piercing the haze that the sandstorm was beginning to create. It rolled to a stop in front of them, the Matriarch crossing her muscular arms and looking on with a grin as Korbaz began to walk along its length. It was of human design, that much was obvious by the sleek, rounded nose of the craft. But once she reached the vehicle's glass canopy, it took on a more Rask quality, welded armor plates making up the rest of its chassis. At the rear was a flatbed upon which was mounted a railgun turret, currently uncrewed.

"If the humans will not sell us armored vehicles, then we must make our own," the Matriarch explained. She gestured for the pilot of the vehicle to leave its cockpit, and he stepped out, rounding the curving front section to stand before her. Simply by his body language, Korbaz could tell that he was of low social standing. He stank of insecurity, his eyes darting between the two females nervously. He was not wearing any UNN armor under his leather clothing, but he did have one of their holographic gauntlets attached to his wrist. Korbaz knew them to be onboard computers, the humans used them frequently to view data and to interface with their machines.

"This is Vitza, I have made him my Chief Engineer. He has been overseeing the acquisition and modification of our new technologies. I have given him the authority to make decisions in that regard, and he is not to be challenged."

"Yes, Matriarch," Korbaz replied. It was not uncommon for those of special knowledge or skill to be appointed roles within the social hierarchy that they had not earned through dominance bouts. Otherwise, stronger and more aggressive Borealans would simply overrule them, and no work would get done.

"Vitza," the Matriarch continued, "explain to the Vice Admiral what this vehicle does."

"This is what they call an SUV," he replied, becoming a little more confident as he began to talk about his subject of interest. "It's a civilian transport. We bought a fleet of them and have been outfitting them for battle. Our people could not fit inside them, so they had to be stripped down to the engine and drive train, then rebuilt to better suit us. They run on hydrogen engines, making them fast and fuel-efficient. They have a range of about a hundred leagues before the fuel must be replenished. We replaced the tires with something more suitable for desert travel and upgraded the suspension. Unlike our sand skiffs, they do not rely on the wind for power."