Viridian Sands

"And I'm the runt, I take it?" Ramos asked.

"You have not earned your authority through blood or merit," she complained as she turned her eyes back to the flat expanse of sand ahead. "It was merely given to you, just as a parent gifts their kitten with a toy, and you treat it with the same frivolity."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Ramos began, starting to get annoyed. "But, the way I heard it, your Matriarch and your Alpha have both ordered you to obey me. That means if I say jump, you jump. You're not going to learn how to regrow a rainforest and fix your territory's water cycle through trial and error, and I'm the guy they sent to teach you, so it's in your best interest to perk those fuzzy ears up and listen to what I say."

Zhura bared her sharp teeth, loosing a low growl that reverberated through his bones, her ears flattening against her head like an angry cat. Ramos felt himself sinking into his seat again, but he remembered what Orzi had told him. There would be friction, but if he wanted to gain the respect of the pack, he had to assert himself. Not confrontation, but confidence.

"You don't scare me," he replied, sitting up a little straighter. "You're all bark and no bite. Lay a finger on me, and Rashka will give you the correction of a lifetime. Now, pay attention to where you're going, or do I have to tell her that you're not cooperating?"

That gave her pause for thought, and although she remained visibly angry, she turned her attention back to driving. After leaving her to stew for a few minutes, Ramos spoke up again.

"What's so bad about farming, anyway?" he asked, still a little indignant. "I've been doing work like this my whole life. A lot of people would jump at the chance to work in forestry or agriculture rather than have people shooting railgun slugs and tank shells at them."

"We Rask are warriors," she replied. "Our place is not in the fields and orchards - it is astride sandships with a rifle in hand. There are no tapestries that record the names and deeds of plowmen."

"Where would you be without farmers?" he pressed. "Food doesn't just magically appear out of the ether - it has to be cultivated, harvested, processed. What your pack is learning to do here might one day restore your territory's ecology and make it just as prosperous as Elysia. Don't you want that?"

"What we need, we take," she insisted with a snarl.

"And where did that get you? On the wrong end of an XMR - that's where."

"Do not mock me, human," she grumbled as she began to turn the tractor.

"I'm not mocking you," he sighed. "I want you to understand that what you're doing here is equally as important as being in the military. You don't have to raid caravans to bring prosperity and abundance to the Rask, and there are ways to protect your land and serve your Matriarch without holding a gun. If we can repair the jungle band, it will keep out the desert and restore the water cycle - the Rask territory could flourish. The climate would improve, the lake would grow, and nobody would have to go hungry again. Don't you want that?"

She kept silent for a moment, Ramos glancing out of the window as they passed the channels they had dug on their way there, the deep furrows now filled in with dark soil to create a stripy pattern in the sand.

"What matters is what Rashka wants," she finally said. "She is Alpha."

It sounded to him like Zhura hadn't really been on board with laying down her weapons and becoming a farmer. If what Kozi had said was to be believed, it seemed unlikely that Rashka would force someone to do something they didn't want to do, so he had to wonder what circumstances had led to Zhura being here. He didn't really want to pry - she was surly enough already - so he focused on their work.

It didn't take long for the tractor to cover the grid square that the dozers had plowed flat, turning the barren sand into a field covered in orderly rows of dark soil. It was only a tiny fraction of the ground they had to cover to seal the breach, but it was a start. As they climbed out of the tractor, Ramos turned to appraise their work, the remainder of the pack returning from the shade of the jungle.

"Not a bad job, Zhura," Kozi joked as she patted her packmate's shoulder. "The human will make a farmhand of you yet."

Zhura didn't seem to appreciate the compliment, shrugging off Kozi's hand.

"Drink," Rashka insisted, shoving the canteen into Ramos' arms and almost making him lose his balance. He did as she asked, feeling the cool water slide down his parched throat and into his empty stomach. The suns had dipped a little lower in the sky - though their heat hadn't lessened - and he was starting to get hungry. It must be getting close to evening. Like the Rask, he was drenched in sweat, his clothes sticking to his skin.

"I think we can probably call it for today," he announced, handing the canteen back. "You guys did a good job. You learned how to tap wells, program drones, and plant seeds. You all got a turn in the tractor, too. Remember - practice makes perfect. The more hands-on experience you gain, the quicker and more efficient you'll become. This is just the tip of the iceberg, of course. There's much more to cover, but we'll pick up where we left off tomorrow."

"We shall have plenty of time to practice," Kozi sighed, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the suns as she gazed at the hazy jungle on the far side of the breach.

"It'll go a lot faster when you have a rhythm down," Ramos said, trying to reassure her. "The trick is to split everything up into smaller sections and tackle the grid squares one at a time. It's a little like carving stone," he added, remembering the impressive masonry that he had seen in the Rask villages. "You chip away at it little by little, removing a small amount of material with each hit of the chisel until you eventually end up with something beautiful."

That analogy seemed to reach Kozi, and she gave him an appreciative nod.

"You'll be teaching others to do the work once I leave, too," he continued. "Nobody is expecting you to handle all of this on your own."

"We should set off soon if we are to return home before nightfall," Rashka said. "We must make a detour to drop off Ramos at the alien camp, and he is not dressed for the cold."

"Does it get that cold here at night?" he asked.

"The temperature plummets, and it becomes dangerous to be caught in the open," Kozi replied.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "That explains the jackets and the leather getup! Your clothes aren't just for protecting you from the heat - they have to be warm enough to keep you alive during the night. I thought you guys were crazy for wearing leather in the desert at first."

"These clothes are traditionally worn by Rask warriors," Zhura added. "The jackets are padded to protect from knives and bayonets, the belts allow a soldier to carry all of the weapons and supplies they require, and they can be worn during both night and day. One never knows when they may become stranded or face harsh conditions in an environment such as ours. Winter strikes as quickly as an icy blade."

"It is rather extreme," Ramos conceded. "I saw people wearing shawls and cloaks on the way here. What about those?"

"Civilian dress," Rashka replied. "Near settlements and places of refuge, lighter fabrics are favored. They protect the wearer from the sand and heat. The material is woven from plant fibers and breathes well."

"Sounds kind of like linen," Ramos said with a nod. "It's a very ancient fabric that we weave from something called a flax plant."

"Are you well, Ramos?" Kozi asked as she leaned down to examine his face. "You are sweating a great deal."

"I guess I'm just not used to the desert yet," he chuckled, wiping his brow on his sleeve. "I've been working in the Amazon - it's basically the polar opposite of this environment. I spent about six months on a climate-controlled jump carrier, too."

"Kozi, Zhura," Rashka snapped, her commanding voice almost enough to make even Ramos jump to attention. "It is time to return to the crawler. Call back the dozers and see that the trailers are hitched. I do not want any equipment left out here to freeze overnight."

While the pair packed up, Ramos and Rashka trudged across the sand to where the tractor was parked, the Rask surprising him as she extended a hand to help him climb up into the cab.

"Thanks," he muttered, sliding into the passenger seat. Rashka sat down behind the wheel, Ramos noting that she remembered how to work the controls on the dash. He hit the A/C dial, and this time, Rashka didn't show any signs of disapproval. Perhaps he looked like he needed it.

He relaxed back into his padded seat, letting the cool air flow over him, the sweat that coated his skin making it feel even colder.

"Man, I am looking forward to a shower," he sighed. "I hope Catla doesn't cut me off."

"Catla?" Rashka asked, giving him a questioning look.

"My landlord," he explained. "Long story."

"I am sure that the Polar will see to your care," the giant Rask rumbled in that husky voice. Just hearing her talk was almost like hearing a lion roar, the sound resonating in her chest. "Orzi has proven herself to be a responsible caretaker."

"I can take care of myself," he insisted. "To an extent," he added when she raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I've worked in harsh environments before, you know. The Amazon, the Congo, Daintree. It seems like everyone here thinks I need to be coddled."

"You are ignorant of the desert's dangers, and your size makes you appear as but a runt to our eyes," Rashka explained. "I was told to protect you, and so I shall."

"Zhura used that word," Ramos added. "Runt. Is it an insult?"

"It can be used in that way," Rashka conceded. "Runts are the smallest and weakest of their litters, which puts them at a disadvantage when it comes to contests of strength. Zhura surely disapproves of someone in your...position...being given such power and authority over a pack like ours. She sees you as being unworthy. I would remind her that it is the Matriarch's will that we cooperate, and that to defy you is to defy her."

"It isn't always an insult, though?" Ramos pressed. "I'm curious now."

"It is considered decent behavior to protect a runt," she continued. "One might be admonished for targeting one - it is seen as dishonorable - and they are sometimes desired in much the way that some Borealans desire your kind."

"How's that?" he mumbled.

"Is it not obvious?" she asked, those yellow eyes meeting his gaze. "Some find a certain allure in taking packmates who cannot hope to best them. Has Zhura been uncooperative?" she added, saving her flustered copilot from having to respond to her statement. "Does she require discipline?"

"God, no," he stammered as he tried to center himself again. "She did everything she was told. She did a fine job, in fact. But I do get the feeling that she doesn't really want to be here. Not as much as you and Kozi, at least."

"The end of the war was a difficult time for us," Rashka replied stiffly, staring out at the horizon. "After our combat unit was dissolved, the new Matriarch gave us a choice. We could join the newly formed mercenary companies and fight for riches, or we could answer her call for laborers. Kozi and I were in agreement, but Zhura did not wish to lay down her rifle. We argued, but I did not force her hand. I gave her the option to leave the pack or to remain."

"And she chose to stay?" Ramos asked. "She must think a great deal of you two if she turned down that opportunity for your sakes."

"I am glad that she stayed," Rashka said, her expression hard to discern. She was like a giant bronze statue sometimes. "We saw one another through the rebellion, and losing her after facing so much would have been...distressing. You have shown her great patience, and I thank you for it. She will adjust in time."

Ramos heard a clunk as Zhura and Kozi hopped up onto the tractor, Kozi rapping her claws on the glass to signal that they were ready to leave. Rashka put the tractor into gear and they began to trundle away across the sand, the crawler serving as a towering beacon on the horizon, the procession of automated dozers and trailers falling in behind.

"You know," Ramos began, glancing up at Rashka with a smile. "You're not what I was expecting. I was always told that Borealans were violent and domineering, and that the Rask were the most aggressive of all. They'd claw your head off if you looked at them funny. You're not like that at all. In fact, you're downright likable."

"I would caution you to be more careful around those outside of our pack," she replied, deflating his enthusiasm a little.

"Why's that?"

"Those who are not bound to obey you by order of the Matriarch will not be as lenient or as understanding as I have been."

"Uh...okay," he muttered. "Kind of ominous. Are you suggesting that you'd behave differently towards me without the Matriarch's decree in place?"

Rashka turned those intense eyes on him, her golden irises glowing like burning coals as they reflected the sunlight, her dark pupils drawing him in like tiny singularities. For a brief second, there was something predatory in her stare - something primal that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and butterflies swarm in his belly. In that scant moment, she seemed as insurmountable as a sheer cliff face, the power that she radiated making him shrink away.

Then it was gone, and she was back to her usual stoic self.

"I have not undergone the integration training of the auxiliaries you are familiar with," she replied. "Provocation - whether intended or not - is often met with...correction."

Kozi's gleeful voice echoed in his head, her smirking face appearing before his mind's eye.

"If I provoke Rashka, it is because I enjoy her corrections..."

He glanced out of the passenger side window, seeing the Rask in question hanging off the outside of the cab. She noticed him, giving him a toothy smile.

They parked the tractor in the shadow of the crawler when they arrived, returning all of the equipment to its proper places. The Valbaran who had helped Ramos sign out the vehicles reappeared with a couple of her flockmates in tow, the three aliens giving the dozers and trailers a brief look over to ensure they hadn't been damaged. They were cautious, and it led him to believe that some of the Rask hadn't been quite so diligent in their maintenance.

Ramos was starting to wonder how Rashka and her pack intended to get back to the camp. Orzi had driven him here in a buggy, and it was a bit of a journey, so they couldn't walk back. His question was soon answered as she led their group over to another ramshackle Rask vehicle that was parked near one of the house-sized treads of the crawler.

"Is that...an armored personnel carrier?" Ramos asked, stopping to appraise the angular hull with wide eyes. It had boxy armor that was slanted at the front to deflect gunfire, and it was sitting on a set of four large wheels with thick tires, the suspension lifting it high off the sand. It was clearly of human origin - military surplus maybe, like the kind the PDF commonly used. It was old - that much was obvious by its outdated design, and the years hadn't been kind to it. Its crude desert camo paint scheme was flaking off, and when he looked more closely, he noticed that it had several slug holes down its flank. This thing had actually seen combat. On top of the sloping nose were two panels of reinforced glass that served as windshields, along with a pair of headlights whose protective cages were falling off. It might have had some kind of turret or blister at some point, but it was gone now.

"This is how we travel," Kozi replied as she walked to the back of the vehicle. "It is a little faster and more reliable than a sand skiff."

She pulled open a pair of reinforced doors with the sound of creaking metal, then vanished inside, Ramos stepping closer to get a better look. Inside the hull was a troop compartment that had been stripped of all the seating and cargo netting that he might have expected to see, hollowing it out to make more room for its Rask passengers. It ended up being rather spacious - Kozi not having to duck very much to avoid hitting her head.

He was surprised to see that the bay had been filled with fabrics in shades of pink and purple. The Rask had laid down soft carpeting over the bare metal deck, and they had strewn piles of plush throw pillows around, covering the walls with silken drapes that had been welded to the ceiling on metal rings. It looked like a mobile bedroom now, the carpet ending at the cab, which had also been gutted and rearranged to better suit its eight-foot driver. The contrast between the exposed electronics and dusty displays when compared with the comfortable furnishings was bizarre and intriguing.

"What is this?" he chuckled as Kozi turned in the compartment to look back at him.

"Humans are very utilitarian," she explained. "It needed a Rask touch."

As he moved aside to let Zhura pass, he realized that a buggy like Orzi's wouldn't have fit a whole pack. They averaged five or sometimes six members, and the eight-foot, five-hundred-pound creatures couldn't exactly pile into an SUV together. There was room for them in an APC like this one, and it made an unconventional but effective means of transportation. Zhura turned, seeming irritated by his hesitation, reaching down to scruff him like a cat and haul him inside by his coveralls. She deposited him on the padded cushions, then closed the doors behind him, only a sliver of sunlight bleeding through the gaps.

There was the sound of clashing metal again as Rashka opened the driver's door and squeezed into the cab, taking the wheel. The engine choked a few times, then rumbled to life, the floor shaking beneath them as the vehicle pulled out from beneath the crawler's shadow. It was a bumpy ride as the APC bounced over the dunes, threatening to shake itself apart, and there were no seatbelts in the furnished bay. At least he'd be hitting his head against silk curtains and soft pillows instead of a hard bulkhead if they crashed. It was dingy inside, the only illumination coming from the cab and the little bullet holes along the flank that let shafts of light pour in.

"Where did you get this thing?" Ramos asked, raising his voice to be heard over the engine.

"The former Matriarch bought many such vehicles for use in the war," Kozi replied, sitting on the cushions across from him. She rocked and jostled with the motions of the APC, but she was relaxed, clearly accustomed to this mode of travel. "After the coup, we ended up with more military vehicles than civilian."

It was hard to hold a conversation in such a loud environment, so it was a mostly quiet ride back to the camp. They eventually came to a stop, Rashka turning in her reclined seat to peer back into the troop compartment.

"We have arrived. We will return to pick you up at first light tomorrow."

"See you soon, runt," Zhura whispered as Kozi popped open one of the doors for him. He hopped out onto the sand, finding himself standing on the outskirts of the camp, then he turned to see Kozi give him a grin that exposed her sharp teeth.

"You could come back with us, if you wanted," she suggested. "See how a Rask pack lives when not on the hunt. It would not be hard to find a place for you - small as you are."

"Uh, thanks," he mumbled. "I think I'll pass for now."

"Suit yourself," she said with a shrug. "See you tomorrow, runt."

She rapped a fist on the hull of the APC, then slammed the door shut. The bulky vehicle revved to life again, then pulled away, Ramos watching it kick up clouds of dust as it drove back in the direction of the city. In the distance, there was a crack of thunder, his eyes drawn to the sky as the glow of a lander entering the atmosphere pierced the blue haze. It was probably heading for the spaceport.